Long Lemonade Poems
Long Lemonade Poems. Below are the most popular long Lemonade by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lemonade poems by poem length and keyword.
The old West has porches made of wood
Two rockers creak away with Mom and pop on board
Reclining out their days and ages spent
Dreaming about the prairie days gone by
Tall glasses holding lemonade and ice
Crash quietly as they dose off in Summer
Violence rises in the distance
The canyon can not hold it back
Above the noise dad and mom snore on
Floor boards and porches pull themselves together
Hound dog licks between the cracks
White under shirts hang out on the line
Blow furious kisses then surrender to the wind
Don't mind the storm or tumbleweeds
Tornadoes don't care either deep inside
Sweeping through the West in just an instance
Clearing out the landscape in the blinking of an eye
Leaving dust behind as a reminder
Why mom and dad are not reclining
on their rockers any more
Night cantors into the mind,
a sable tail paints blackness to the eye
sky nymphs straddle the moon... singing.
Spider sprints across the faceless dream
soul woven in silky-slick yesterday
bike bells, pigtails, over-sweetened lemonade.
Bitter scythe swings a rancid promenade.
Put a chew toy upon the train tracks
for certain the puppy found its way.
He's never coming back.
Youth violently tossed aside,
diamonds turned into clay.
Where's the sun when life marches cold
sun tender heart slung to icy bays.
The sun will softly turn the blinds,
Put rainbows into burned-out eyes.
All things will scar within a stitch of time.
{like bent berries on winter's tangled vine}.
Green shoots will bouton sky into songs.
Place gentle moss over jagged rocks.
Turn the day back into diamonds.
Age back into silver brooks.
Whoever finds a wife finds a good thing,
And obtains favour from the Lord above.
You are that good thing, my answered prayer,
The embodiment of grace, of peace, of love.
Happy wife, happy life — they say it lightly,
But I have lived it as a sacred truth,
For your smile is the sunlight of myself dwelling,
Your joy is the keeper of my youth.
I promise to treat you better,
Not merely in words, but in the way I live,
To love you not when it is convenient,
But with all the love a man can give.
To be with you forever,
Not for a season, not for fleeting years,
But through the autumns of our lives,
Until eternity itself disappears.
I will never mistreat you, never forsake you,
My vow is carved upon my heart,
I will always be by your side,
Till death itself shall try to do us part.
When life gives you lemons, I will make your lemonade,
I will turn your bitterness to sweet,
When the world grows heavy and unkind,
I will be the calm beneath your feet.
I will be there to give you a shoulder to lean on,
When strength abandons you and hope feels thin,
I will be there to wipe your tears,
When the night is long and sorrows creep within.
Because being yours is my purpose,
And loving you is my eternal goal,
You are my everything, my world beyond measure,
The prayer that completes my soul.
Your love is a treasure I have never taken for granted,
A rare jewel I could never trade,
It is depthless, endless, and divine,
The kind for which empires would fade.
So take my hand, my wife, my forever,
Let me love you as a man was born to do,
Wholly, deeply, faithfully and endlessly,
For there is no life, my love, without you.
"In a world of worries, find your happiness in yellow." - Unknown
I find you everywhere
Morning, noon and night,
On the sun in my hair
Even in the moonlight
I see you sway in the breeze
Upon sunflowers in the yard,
Then again on autumn trees
To find you is not hard
The school bus, it was due
Went roaring on it's way,
The pencil marked, #2
Still where I left it lay
Bananas on my cereal bowl
A cool glass of lemonade,
Butter on a dinner roll
Or bread just freshly made
Cheese in my grilled sandwich
Melts slowly before my eyes,
Makes a burger extra rich
With a side of golden fries
Turning on the T.V.
I see you in a glance,
From the Simpson family
To Spongebob Squarepants
You bring a smile to my face
If ever I'm feeling mellow,
With a way of warmth and grace
Such is the color ... yellow.
I must report that the Professor of Anthropology was more interested in how extinct prehistoric man, more specifically, Neanderthals, lived and why they didn’t survive. They seem bigger with bigger brains from the fossilized records. To her, it just didn’t make sense. So, she bought an island in an undisclosed location (classified) to create an unsanctioned closed environmental experiment inspired by recent advances in archeological biogenetic engineering. She intends to create not just one but a whole community of Neanderthals. So, she can study them, up close and for real, to see if there’s anything to genetically encoded inheritance.
It’s been six months since she announced her findings to the world. A special envoy has been dispatched to investigate. Upon touchdown on the sandy shores of the island, this journalist must deviate to announce, “What the ...?” For high up on top of the bank was a common lemonade stand with a little Neanderthal girl sitting behind a sign in front reading, “5 shells for my Galactic Transport Juice (special in-house formula)!!! DRINK UP NOW!!! Before the next MASS GLOBAL EXTINCTION Event!!! Only 5 shells!!!”
It’s like she was waiting for us. And she was alone.
My daughter my best friend, autism does not define her, sweet, funny, a spirit so full of life, she has such a joy so full of life. While as her mom I cannot deny..
While I was tracing maps of fear,
Her upbeat heart made heaven near.
That smile, a gift she freely gives,
Is proof of how the Spirit lives.
Not bound by labels, jobs, or walls,
She hears the song that mercy calls.
A bubbling brook, a radiant grace,
I see God’s kindness in her face.
Animals, both extinct and alive I dare anyone to test her of her knowledge, while watching fish, turtles, ducks while sitting upon her favorite dock, sipping lemonade on a bright sunny day.
Thus is how she sees our Heavenly Fathers love, who am I to interrupt, if only I could make today’s society see her potential, please God help me here, I cannot bear to think, she will still someday, leave from under my wing, to live where we won’t be there to protect her.
As I dry my tears, I can hear her funny laugh, her ear to ear smile, someone has caught a huge fish, snappy the turtle has made a appearance, Jesus thank you for sending forth your creation, to remind me that I need not worry, You are in charge, thank you.
“I'm a conundrum. Or an enigma. I forget which.”
James A. Owen
I am a midsummer storm, veiled in cerulean smiles,
swirling above sangria seas~
enveloped in gracious glimmers of the unicorn sun,
where the black dahlias dance, and onyx-winged
butterflies never die but flutter lemonade lies.
Yet whiffs of clary-sage breeze
unravel crystalline clairvoyance,
calming the chaos tangled in corals of confusion~
searching for something real,
like sparkling sapphires,
floating in charismatic cadence.
Tonight, I’ll walk through
the untouched wilderness~
seeking Ayurvedic clovers coated
in perennial peace.
There, purple petals of iris thrive from amorous herbs,
in the fragrant heritage of blooming purity,
whilst acrylics on my cranberry canvas
shift in slow waves,
reminding blazing stars to
flicker penciled streaks of clemency,
mirroring my love-glazed
heart that gently beats~
in sync to the virtuous violin whispers.
Perhaps, I am the birth of a tragedy unspoken,
when love soars, intoxicated from the
scented sins,
of a poisonous pleasure
drenched in whiskey and roses,
drowning in foxglove fantasies from loneliness..
I ponder, if I were like the darkness,
cuddled by the stars, will I be found?
Or would I forever be an enigmatic embodiment
too deep for the shallow shadows
that dare not feel beyond what is to be seen?
So if tomorrow, there is no poetry,
I hope you’ll remember
beyond my skin and name..
I could be your frozen flower, or the warm willows;
snapdragon and sweet-pea.
There is no synonymous noun to depict
the aura of a citrine arc,
lost within faded lines of phased seasons.
The steely-eyed hombre stepped down from the stage that sultry afternoon.
He looked about with disdain, then swaggered to the Cripple Creek Saloon.
His hat lay low upon his brow and swung low was a pair of 44's on his hips.
He sported fancy duds and greeted a few loafers with a snarl on his lips.
Jeremiah Slade was the feller's name and gamblin' was his trade.
He sauntered up to the bar and stunned the bartend by orderin' a lemonade!
Then he strolled to a table in the back of the room with his back to the wall.
(This was his usual modus operandi just in case there was a free-fer-all!)
He announced, "Boy's, my name's Jeremiah Slade and gamblin' is my game;
Join me and ante up fer a round of poker, but, boys let's keep it tame!"
Three chumps took the bait and scurried fer Jeremiah's table to grab a chair!
He let the dudes win a game or so to assure that things were fair and square.
Now, unknown to the three suckers, Slade was a professional gyp!
The scoundrel was invited to leave umpteen towns west of the Mississip!
Slade had a few tricks up a sleeve that he soon entered into play.
Mysteriously, numerous aces appeared in his draws and were on display!
The trio got wise to his game and jammed three rods in Jeremiah's face!
He was quickly consigned to eternity fer playin' too many an ace!
Jeremiah was conveyed out of town, that no-good cunnin' knave,
And now lies at the foot of Mount Pisgah a-molderin' in his grave!
What a difference a divorce makes:
Constant hubbub's given way to eerie silence,
Peels of laughter to a fluorescent light's buzz;
Ringing phones to muffled cries in my brains,
'Pacman streaming' to rusted mufflers screaming
On the highway outside by the drain.
What a difference a divorce makes:
Sunshine's moved out; clouds've moved in:
Lemonade and cookies replaced by memories
Drowned in tonic and gin.
No happy dogs at play; just stray dogs growling;
The company of neighbors now's a grey wolf howling.
What a difference a divorce makes:
"Can you help with my homework, Dad?"
To "Bartender, I need a drink bad," transformed.
"Dad, take us to the park, pretty please."
Now forlorn: "It's closing time, friend. It's best you leave...
When I was a kid, the family reunion was the highlight of the year.
Aunts, uncles and dozens of cousins came from far and near,
To meet at Memorial Park to eat, brag and enjoy the fellowship.
I was admonished by Mom to behave and not voice any sassy lip!
The ladies vied with each other to provide jello, cakes and pies,
Pertater salad, baked beans, termaters and heaps of chicken thighs,
Ham, peas and carrots, cole slaw and gallons of lemonade,
And home-made ice cream, the speciality of Aunt Clara, the old maid!
The patriarch of the clan was usually asked to bless the food.
Stomachs growled, flies swarmed, the old geezer wouldn't conclude,
Until his spouse of many years poked him saying, "That's enough!"
Then, all took a seat and elbows flew as they began to stuff!
After the meal was over, old folks would reminisce and muse.
Others found a shady spot to curl up and take a snooze.
Ne'er-do-well Uncle Wilbur would sneak a forbidden nip of booze,
While snobbish Cousin Sarah boasted of her Caribbean cruise!
The kids frolicked on the teeter-totters, swings and slides.
The older ones grabbed bats and balls and chose up sides.
Now I'm the patriarch and am usually called upon to pray,
But I make it snappy so we can get on with fellowship and play!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Entry for Craig Cornish's "The Park" Contest