Long Lemons Poems
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Edward, remember this.
Just like you were a caterpillar
Before you became a butterfly;
A bud before you blossomed one spring,
You'll continue to evolve and flourish
In this vale of tears.
You've got a lot of living to do, my friend.
Life is what you make it! Embrace it fully!
Make lemonade out of your lemons,
Take time to smell the roses!
Treasure quality time with friends and family.
Celebrate even the smallest of victories.
You're traveling through this life
On the right trajectory; stay the course.
Let nothing veer you off it!
You're the sea captain of your destiny;
Sail on straight ahead!
I needn't remind you just how cruel
This life can be. As you're well aware,
It isn't done knocking you down flat.
You'll feel it's punch again and again,
And you'll fall like timber each time,
But you won't stay down, Edward.
You'll get up, dust off, and carry on living!
You woke up today, didn't you?
You rose with the morning sun
Grateful to be alive another day
To see it set over the horizon.
Yes sir, you'll rise again like the Phoenix
Whenever life floors you with it's hook...
And float along with hope in the clouds!
Whenever the blue sky turns ashen gray
And warm sunny days grow
Unforgivingly cold; from bright to dark,
Never lose faith, for you'll continue
To feel the presence of God
At your darkest hours, I promise you.
Keep on living life the best you know how!
Keep on growing, personally and spiritually.
May your future continue to be bright
And gravid with infinite possibilities!
Letter To Your Future Self Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Silent One
Date written: 09/19/2021
We’re on Fall break this week and Peter’s favorite aunt - Lita - is visiting. Lita’s a tall, slim woman (eek! A guess), in her early sixties. She’s nicely weathered and tan. I’m sure she once had Peter’s blue-black hair but now it’s mostly white and styled in a loose braid. I think she rocks the coastal grandma aesthetic with a wardrobe of mostly pale tans, whites and flats.
Peter has all kinds of stories about her - she’s a character. When Peter was 5, on Halloween, Lita pretended to sacrifice a chicken, cackling, like a witch. He was wide-eyed until she admitted she was just making fried chicken for dinner.
Lita lives on property adjacent to Peter’s parents, but hers is larger, more of a farm, where she raises chickens and grows Meyer-lemons and persimmons. This may explain why Peter slices up lemons, dips them in sugar and eats them like oranges (I shiver). Peter told me that Lita always liked fruit, which is why she bought Apple stock in 1997.
From what I’ve learned, talking to Lita, she practically raised Peter’s dad (David). Their parents had a boy before her, an older brother she doesn’t remember meeting because he drowned at a church outing when she was a toddler. Their parents, in their grief, had turned in on themselves, becoming as self-centered as gyroscopes.
They’d left Lita by herself for weeks at a time, to raise herself on a more-or-less trial-and-error basis. So, when David came along 13 years later, he became her responsibility. She started working as an auto mechanic and eventually opened a couple of shops of her own. She describes herself as more well-read than formally educated - as if knowledge had just settled on her, like dust from an old library.
“Teressa (Peter’s mom) is very curious about you,” Lita confides to me as we huddle together over venti pumpkin lattes, “Peter’s very tight-lipped where you’re concerned.”
“He is?” I ask, confused, “maybe he’s ashamed,” I venture, “or maybe he’s planning to dump me?” Lita looks amused, ”uh huh, that’s probably IT,” she agrees.
“Look! I say excitedly, pulling an envelope from my purse, “It’s my first-ever paycheck,” I beam. I make a production of opening the thing, like an Oscar envelope. “$223,” I read, shaking my head in admiration, then adding, with sincere sounding hyperbole, ”he can’t dump me NOW, I’m RICH!”
It was not the first time, nor would it be the last, but who's elated about greeting thorns when picking roses from a bush or picking lemons from a tree? I observed from the start that I'd never seen a lemon tree so guarded with most of its lemons in deep and difficult to reach areas behind its new growth of limbs. It was as if the tree in 'Tartspeech'* said to me, "You are free to have and consume my lemons if you can endure the munitions of my thorns".
At the time that my wife was offered fresh lemons by a friend, I did not extrapolate the assigned mission by my wife, and prior to my first approach I had not considered the resistance I would confront nor the pain I would have to overcome. After all, some things are instinctive and routine, not necessitating calculations and strategies. I had no thoughts of the combative nature of the lemon tree until I attempted to extract its lemons. One look at the pointed thorns gave me pause and forced a distraction to count the cost of extraction. I then proceeded cautiously lest I should bleed excessively.
Also at the time, I did not count the number of my pricks, but my best guess would be 10 or less, one of which grew noticeable blood. None, however, triggered a retrenchment or convinced me to quit. I did count the lemons upon arriving home, and they totaled 82 as I recall. A nice crate of lemons for less than 10 pricks. I'd say, not a bad tradeoff.
On these early winter mornings, I have green tea and a mixture of the lemon's juices with a spoon of honey, also given by our friend. It's then that I take a different kind of pause and realize the worth of it all.
011220PoSoupCtest, Favourite Poem from January 2020, Julia Ward *Vocabulary.com Dictionary. As an adjective, tart describes a sour taste, like lemon. Website, Blurtit: Yooti Bhansali answered. ...The word is also used to denote a manner of speech that is especially bitter or blunt in the way it is spoken as well as the connotation of the spoken comment. ....
The dark truth;
There is nothing good in falling, nothing good in fainting
Just getting hurt, and blacking out.
Blacking out is missing in action and bleeding is bleeding.
There is nothing interesting in dreaming, nothing helpful in admiring
Just the misconception about sound sleep and the annoying urge
Craving is not attaining; variance in quality discerns means of acquisition.
There is no good in saying sorry, pay back enrages less.
Humanity seeks vengeance. Forgiveness is getting even
Humanity seeks vengeance, forgiving tastes bitter.
Bitter is bitter, sadness is sadness, the feeling is what it is.
There is no cure for being blue; there is no tonic for melancholy.
To heal is accepting to live with the sad memories. Like there is an option.
There is never going back, there is never going beyond your existence.
Ghosts are real and hallucination is not insanity. Time travel is fiction.
Madness is living in the two worlds; of apparitions and scientists. Science is
real.
There is nothing like water. Substitutes are either too saccharine or too nasty
Water is like living within your means, metaphorical lemons are the suffering
selfless
The sweet are the most vulnerable, the lost in their lost courses.
Pursuit has an end and not certainly at an arrest, fatigue saves the guilty.
Failure doesn’t show the image of success. Success is just success.
Failing again and again is a fair warning. Success will always be illusive.
Shrinks are not for inspiration, money is their inspiration
The work of the poor is not to make examples out off as humility.
Anger is the best example of self-control. Fighting is the worst part of it.
Being poor as being rich comes in different forms,
Being rich can be luck but not certainly hard work, stealing takes you there.
Working for something gives you exactly that thing, extra is comforting.
Bliss; bliss, bliss, ignorance is not bliss. Perhaps death
The silence, the silence and the silent residence…
Then death is not the only scary thing. Solitude is too.
Poetry; this is one of them, buried in voices of scaring truth.
Poetry is not words either, poetry is life and life is everything, poetry is
anything.
Something sad, something glad, and anything you may add. Try the bad.
What does it mean to you
to be loved
right here
where you live and breathe,
eat and occasionally shower?
What value would you give
our investments of mutual regard?
Do you know
you can love
and be loved
for and as who you are right now?
And for that sainted sinner
you inevitably will become,
and for all those you have been
since first I laid eyes on you,
and smelled you,
and listened for your still small
and large voices.
Love cannot be reduced
and confined
to just one tense,
or even two
with those we are committed to
and for;
And best spreads across
all four seasons
of sacred change.
Love is limited
only by mistrusting imagination,
WinLose dissonant assumption,
reductions of sacred organic integrity
to secular strategic mendacity,
deducted images distancing us
confining what I know and feel
for you and us up to now,
Not disregarding
or over-valuing
past and potential future
wealth for what feels safe for us today
to believe and hope,
our reviving health
tomorrow.
When winters hand out plastic bottled lemon juice
and grieving onions
too long endured,
I would like to trade some for limes
and grateful southern summer garlic
if you have those
to share.
Together
we might make lemon-lime local aid
and add community's basic bullion
for regenerate harvest
building stone multiculturing soup,
green vegetarian
and redmeat simmering stews.
When life hands us lemons
and FixIt unpeeling onions
Earth invites rebirthing us
to re-imagine all four seasons
and three tenses together
our re-creolizing cacophany
with restoring beverage
of healthy re-changing choice
for loving peace as resilient ecojustice.
Love of who and what,
when and where,
and why until just us again,
revisiting community polycultural outdoor worship
during summer health climax
And on through fall harvest,
and yet another inevitable winterish lemon
of creolizing discontent,
stuck inside
liturgical long-range extended family garden planning
plotting sun and water worshiping community love redevelopment,
global song and dance sacred restoration,
healthy-wealth of peace
As integrity of love
for WinWin organic choices
changing four-seasons from above
as below,
without
as within.
I am the brown crayon in your crayon box,
and it is clear that you need me.
I can color in the sand your child plays in,
or I can be the trunk of the tree that gives you shade.
Don't try to make me just like you,
I am pretty sure I need you too.
I am the orange crayon in your crayon box,
and it is clear that you need me.
I am the color of the fruit that holds my name,
that makes a juice so very sweet.
Don t try to make me just like you,
I am pretty sure I need you too.
I am the blue crayon in your crayon box,
and it is clear that you need me.
I can color the sky that is the cosmos above your head,
and I can give you a refreshing drink of water.
Don't try to make me just like you,
I am pretty sure I need you too.
I am the green crayon in your crayon box,
and it is clear that you need me.
I am the color of the leaves that give you shade,
and I represent the money you spend.
Don't try to make me just like you,
I am pretty sure that I need you too.
I am the purple crayon in your crayon box,
and it is clear that you need me.
Your art teacher might have told you that my name is violet.
I am the color of grapes round and sweet.
Don't try to make me just like you,
I am pretty sure that I need you too.
I am the black crayon in your crayon box,
and it is clear that you need me.
I am the most popular font color on your computer.
I am the color of the lines that make the picture in your child's coloring book.
Don't try to make me just like you,
I am pretty sure that I need you too.
I am the yellow crayon in your crayon box,
and it is clear that you need me.
I color the sun that warms the day.
and I am the color of the lemons that make lemonade you drink.
Don't try to make me just like you,
I am pretty sure that I need you too.
I am the red crayon in your crayon box,
and it is clear that you need me.
I color the cheery that taste oh so sweet,
and I am the color on map to indicate heat.
Don't try to make me just like you,
I am pretty sure that I need you too.
We are the colors in your crayon box,
and we are sure that you need us all.
We work together in harmony,
but yet we are all different as can be.
Don't try to make us just like you,
We are pretty sure that we need you too.
Lest we forget that back in 2017 at a softball game,
they tried to massacre members of the republican congress.
Then between 2016 -2020 they impeached trump twice
for nonexistent and/or trumped-up charges.
During the fentanyl Floyd riots
they attempted a REAL insurrection at the Whitehouse.
None of those insurrectionists were jailed.
Then in 2020 the CCP and the Fauci DNC
unleashed a gain of function plague on the world
to shut down our booming economy
to crush our livelihoods
to uplift the globalist agenda
and disrupt our electoral process.
They closed churches and decimated small businesses
deeming them non-essential.
While fast food conglomerates and Nancy Pelosi's nail salon
remained open.
Since then, they've illegally wire tapped {aka Watergate}
Trump properties.
Storm troopered his home with authority to kill
They've tried to:
slander
jail,
bankrupt
frame
keep him off the ballot in several states.
Biden said we need to put a bullseye on Trump,
Mere days later {they} tried to assassinate him.
Additional plots to assassinate him
were stopped before they came to fruition.
They {LEFT} the unvetted borders wide open
to build up their dwindling voting base.
Mixed in with the desperate migrants are drug cartels
human traffickers, known terrorist and rivers of fentanyl.
Whose ingredients are made in Communist China.
Whom by the way are buying USA farmland at an alarming rate
Complacent representatives have let the trojan horse inside our (Billy Gates)
They kicked old Joe to the curb (disregarding all those who voted for him in the primaries) because of plummeting polls.
Then They claim that republicans are suppressing votes
by promoting voter ID laws.
They replaced old Joe with Kamala
who set up bail funding for the Floyd looters and rioters and not the victims of the looting and riots. She promotes a no bail agenda in general.
She has now selected late term abortionist Waltz as her running MATE...
During covid Waltz set up a hotline so people could snitch on one another.
And they have the nerve to scream that Republicans are a threat to democracy...
When in fact they are Projectionist of the highest degree.
Wake up people The D.N.C tree only yields fetid lemons.
speak it as it was to be
something for a world of
people to love and admire.
delicious and special.
she wanted something that was flavored naturally.
we determined that a sweet fruity flavor would
be best. because she was cooking chicken
and felt it was best to have as much chicken as vegetables
she decided to make it easier on herself by using
something large to marinate the birds in.
she was cooking twenty game hens, and wanted a mixture of flavor
to marinate the birds in.
she came up with this.
in a large roasting pan she added,
5 pounds of grapes (vines and leaves)
2 trouts (scaled and cleaned)
4 garlic bulbs (halved and unpeeled)
5 medium onions(quartered with peels)
10 lemons(squeeze the juice and and halved)
5 sprigs of rosemary
4 sprigs of thyme
2 gingerootz (chopped)
5 small chilis (halved)
1 cup of cilantro
roast for about one hour( to extract the pungent aromas)
you only want the juices that are extracted from the mixture
drain by using a colander, and a fine screen.
allow to cool.
in a blender add
2 cups of olive oil
1/4 cup of salt
2 green peppers
1 large red onion
2 small chilis (seeds removed)
2 cup of red wine
3 cups of lime juice
1 cup of light brown sugar
4 tablespoons of ground ginger
1/2 cup of white vinegar
7 cloves of garlic
mix smooth and add to the cool mixture
2 two five gallon buckets with lids
add the game hens and pour mixture to cover all the birds.
marinate overnight.
broil birds in the oven until done.
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1 and one half cups of lemon juice
1 cup of coconut milk
1 cup of grapefruit juice
4 tablespoons of cayenne pepper
1/2 cup of honey
8 tablespoons of crushed garlic
1 cup of minced shallots
1 cup of coconut flakes
1/4 cup of light brown sugar
6 tablespoons of rum
4 tablespoons of grounded cumin
1 and 1/4 cup of olive oil
1/4 cup of mint leaves
3 pounds of deveined shrimp
marinade.
in a large roasting pan, add 1 cup of butter
and a half cup of olive oil
sautee about
6 cups of chopped eggplants,
6 cups of diced (cooked potatoes)
1 cup of green onions
add shrimp (cook shrimp underdone!)
add marandae and thicken with cornstarch
As the sky weeps
in periwinkle petals of
multicolored roses,
rinsed in lemons, and lavender,
the poet within me
releases a bougainvillea
bouquet of unfiltered gratitude,
swaying to the celestial duet
orchestrated by
the angel of raindrops,
adorned in braided
wildflower crowns and
windswept wishes,
echoing dulcet melodies
rendered in whimsical accents.
I ponder, if tears had a tune,
would it be the
sound of drizzling dewdrops?
Would you then feel
the pain I carry,
veiled in smoky silence?
Or would I forever be
the silhouette cloaked
in fogs of charcoal confusion,
too dark to be deciphered
by the fragmented eyes
that eulogize
all that sparkles and glows?
But when stained sunflowers
swirl beneath starless spheres,
scattering seeds of sorrow
to cultivate a garland of grief,
puddled with poignant poems,
I remain throned,
as the goddess of black rain,
riddled with cosmic rituals,
sprinkling kaleidoscopic dust
upon forsaken fields,
while listening to the
drifting leaflets in crisp air,
pleading for the demise
of my unfaltering faith,
oblivious to the truth
that I fear not
mists of melancholy.
I surf through surging seas,
unafraid of twirling torrents
and blazing tides,
piercingly striking
shimmering sapphires
floating in deafening despair.
There in the abyss of obscurities,
I’m nestled within restlessness,
in rooted resilience,
like a perplexed paradox
weaving crippled odes to
the sun that longs to rise and sail,
splashing hues of cinnamon clemency.
Tonight, I’m counting crooning comets,
amidst quivering hailstones,
dancing in cataclysmic rhythm above,
to find my home within
an island of daphne dreams
and singing seashells.
For I hear the flaming flowers
in their solitary stillness
serenade rain rhapsodies,
to awaken the petrichor
soul of heavy horizons,
wrapped in stringed
milky-quartz beads,
bursting forth blooming tomorrows,
illuminated by chamomile water,
concocted from charismatic spring falls…
Yet I think of us, engrossed
in umbrella moments,
Cupid too envied this
symphony of romance
where love conquered all,
and grief but a blurred memory,
in sunlit souvenirs of yesterday.
Standing on a ridge a sight can be seen. The kettles were choosing a queen. Bouquets were bought for the waters within. For waters will want wonderful and wonderful it was. The chosen kettle was a marvel. Complete with glowing sides and clear too. Captivating when boiling as the bubbles could be seen. But when cleaning was required it was time for the little wire brush to trot over to the kettle. Insert itself then move around to clear the debris. WOW. Look how it sparkles. Amazing isn't it?
But a bored baboon can only be made to smile through sipping a cup of banana juice, kissing trees, and playing ping pong with the dainty pig who was also rather fed up at this moment in time as the apples were not falling from the trees and that was a travesty.
Oh go and play a game of noughts and crosses in a shoe then. And definitely play monopoly in a chest of drawers. It is irrelevant the scores given to twenty over sized marbles in a washing machine. Scores should only ever be awarded to skittles. And skittles skate so when the pond is icy always put skating boots on them.
To outsmart a heron with a bunch of melons and some keys is to kiss over ninety frogs at a ball. But attending a ball has to be the most single important factor on a calendar card for a pineapple whose hair stood out from the rest in lovely green spikes. But lemons never wear such head dresses for they prefer triangular tiaras and triangular tiaras are neither tepid training turtle-neck tulips and neither are they tigers talking to timbers. Timber-frames are most thwarted at the tango but woods can waltz most admirably. Positioned palettes pirouetting.
And never forget to keep an eye on the Pyrex dish for Pyrex dishes can be filled with a vast array of produce and arrays of produce are mainly understood to be as vibrant as a colourful garden windmill. Spinning in a breeze then. Good. Creamy coleslaw calming carrots creatively creating canopies. Pea wisdom in a skirt skimming the stones into the lake from the shore holding the umbrella and a picnic basket.
WOW
Curtain chop on a tight rope.
Z Wunderpus photogenicus Z
At thirty six flies zooming on a lawn to 18 garlands of flowers in a florist.
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