Short Citron Poems

Lustrous lemon-rays,
Dancing on the lime-green waves:
Tasteful reflections....

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meadow of the noon
wildflowers of all colors
raptly I stand still

flinging both arms wide
underneath the citron sun
I whirl and I dance

the hour of languor
has no way impacted me
I twirl in fragrance...

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Upcountry thunder
turns the plain milled storefronts
to shades of muscat-grape
and citron, dusky rose. 
Pavement ripples with reflections
never thought before, 
as clouds pass
dark as bedrock, molten 
at the core....

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Citron yellow-
                  prussian blue
brings day and night 
                 into view.
Two sides of a coin
      - a shadowless wheat field
      - a brush-stroked sky
Eye-impressions do not lie

WHEATFIELDS with Cypresses /STARRY night- Van Gogh...

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Lotus Blue's body

Swells impatiently

Her lover making art out of citron trees

Lotus Blue

Sighs

Pay attention to me.....

Her lover listening to caged birds singing

Lotus Blue

Listen to my song

Climb

Up my bowing tree

Her lover glances

Smiles

Plucks a leaf...

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brighteners of smiles
floral flares of citron day
many blithe colors

sparkle the sunshine
glow on in the garden green
twinkle of the eyes

flush days of the blooms
lining the natural paths
lingering in hearts

noon flowers flaming
and fragrant beyond compare
clashing with sunbeams...

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How cool the morning,
Tiny clouds drifting above tall summer tree tops,
As I lean back in my giant striped lawn chair
Their leaves flicker as citron flickers
Fascinating my senses pelted by dew drops.
I anticipate the day’s activities
And long for cool breezes of the day,
Blowing through my tree tops,
Until twilight falls....

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Blossom - A Didactic Cinquain


Blossom
Citron, scented
Germinating, thriving, nurturing
Ever so wilted
Prime
~
Blossom
Frailest, fragrant
Sprouting, favoring, flourishing
I could never believe it
Flower


12/12/19
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
A Didactic Cinquain...

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This rose plant I bought yesterday now finds
itself in my yard, blossoms great and bold.
All like with color citron seen, bush climbs
near my fence, flowers' beauty like as gold.
It grows and needs much water I am told,
with pitcher I give rose drink every day.
It's somewhat hidden safe from seasons' cold,
protected free from tempest's harmful way.
New leaves kept clean with spray from my near poison tray....

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These deep summer days
turn opal toward evening,
then amber in a parting 
of light and darkness.

There is a sureness
in the citron, a yearning
for the flames fanned
in the flickering children
dancing in tall blue-green weeds
as the last shadows of sun
turn lawn chairs to brass.

An obelisk of moon rolls
on the thick cloth sky
like an amethyst vase
arranged on tables with stars
like fruit and unmoving
grand parents sacred as artists....

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