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Famous Short Fruit Poems. Short Fruit Poetry by Famous Poets

Famous Short Fruit Poems. Short Fruit Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Fruit short poems

See also: Best Famous Short Poems | Short Member Poems | Best Short Member Poems | Top 100 Famous Short Poems

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by Charles Simic

Watermelons

 Green Buddhas
On the fruit stand.
We eat the smile And spit out the teeth.


by Emily Dickinson

Forbidden Fruit a flavor has

 Forbidden Fruit a flavor has
That lawful Orchards mocks --
How luscious lies within the Pod
The Pea that Duty locks --


by Friedrich von Schiller

The Learned Workman

 Ne'er does he taste the fruit of the tree that he raised with such trouble;
Nothing but taste e'er enjoys that which by learning is reared.


by Mother Goose

A Plum Pudding


Flour of England, fruit of Spain,
  Met together in a shower of rain;
Put in a bag tied round with a string;
  If you'll tell me this riddle,
  I'll give you a ring.


by Linda Pastan

Pears

 Some say
it was a pear
Eve ate.
Why else the shape of the womb, or of the cello Whose single song is grief for the parent tree? Why else the fruit itself tawny and sweet which your lover over breakfast lets go your pear- shaped breast to reach for?


by Wang Wei

The Cornel Grove

 Bear fruit red and green 
Again as if flower further open 
Hill at if remain guest 
Place here cornel cup 

When bearing fruit it's red and green, 
As if the flowers were budding again.
If a guest remains on the hill, Set a cup of cornel here.


by Henry Van Dyke

One World

 "The worlds in which we live are two
The world 'I am' and the world 'I do.
'" The worlds in which we live at heart are one, The world "I am," the fruit of "I have done"; And underneath these worlds of flower and fruit, The world "I love,"--the only living root.


by Amy Levy

At a Dinner Party

 With fruit and flowers the board is deckt,
The wine and laughter flow;
I'll not complain--could one expect
So dull a world to know?

You look across the fruit and flowers,
My glance your glances find.
-- It is our secret, only ours, Since all the world is blind.


by Czeslaw Milosz

Window

 I looked out the window at dawn and saw a young apple tree
translucent in brightness.
And when I looked out at dawn once again, an apple tree laden with fruit stood there.
Many years had probably gone by but I remember nothing of what happened in my sleep.


by Sara Teasdale

My Heart Is Heavy

 My heart is heavy with many a song
Like ripe fruit bearing down the tree, 
But I can never give you one --
My songs do not belong to me.
Yet in the evening, in the dusk When moths go to and fro, In the gray hour if the fruit has fallen, Take it, no one will know.


by William Blake

To Nobodaddy

 Why art thou silent & invisible 
Father of jealousy 
Why dost thou hide thyself in clouds 
From every searching Eye

Why darkness & obscurity 
In all thy words & laws 
That none dare eat the fruit but from 
The wily serpents jaws 
Or is it because Secresy
gains females loud applause


by Hilda Doolittle

Heat

 O wind, rend open the heat,
cut apart the heat,
rend it to tatters.
Fruit cannot drop through this thick air-- fruit cannot fall into heat that presses up and blunts the points of pears and rounds the grapes.
Cut the heat-- plough through it, turning it on either side of your path.


by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Wasted Love

 What shall be done for sorrow
With love whose race is run?
Where help is none to borrow,
What shall be done?

In vain his hands have spun
The web, or drawn the furrow:
No rest their toil hath won.
His task is all gone thorough, And fruit thereof is none: And who dare say to-morrow What shall be done?


by Amy Lowell

White and Green

 Hey! My daffodil-crowned,
Slim and without sandals!
As the sudden spurt of flame upon darkness
So my eyeballs are startled with you,
Supple-limbed youth among the fruit-trees,
Light runner through tasselled orchards.
You are an almond flower unsheathed Leaping and flickering between the budded branches.


by Edna St Vincent Millay

Feast

 I drank at every vine.
The last was like the first.
I came upon no wine So wonderful as thirst.
I gnawed at every root.
I ate of every plant.
I came upon no fruit So wonderful as want.
Feed the grape and bean To the vintner and monger: I will lie down lean With my thirst and my hunger.


by Sylvia Plath

Metaphors

 I'm a riddle in nine syllables,
An elephant, a ponderous house,
A melon strolling on two tendrils.
O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers! This loaf's big with its yeasty rising.
Money's new-minted in this fat purse.
I'm a means, a stage, a cow in calf.
I've eaten a bag of green apples, Boarded the train there's no getting off.


by Friedrich von Schiller

Different Destinies

 Millions busily toil, that the human race may continue;
But by only a few is propagated our kind.
Thousands of seeds by the autumn are scattered, yet fruit is engendered Only by few, for the most back to the element go.
But if one only can blossom, that one is able to scatter Even a bright living world, filled with creations eterne.


by Kathleen Raine

Paradise Seed

 Where is the seed 
Of the tree felled, 
Of the forest burned, 
Or living root 
Under ash and cinders? 
From woven bud 
What last leaf strives 
Into life, last 
Shrivelled flower?
Is fruit of our harvest,
Our long labour
Dust to the core?
To what far, fair land 
Borne on the wind 
What winged seed 
Or spark of fire 
From holocaust 
To kindle a star?


by Rainer Maria Rilke

Song Of The Sea

 (Capri, Piccola Marina)


Timeless sea breezes,
sea-wind of the night:
you come for no one;
if someone should wake,
he must be prepared
how to survive you.
Timeless sea breezes, that for aeons have blown ancient rocks, you are purest space coming from afar.
.
.
Oh, how a fruit-bearing fig tree feels your coming high up in the moonlight.


by Theodore Roethke

Pickle Belt

 The fruit rolled by all day.
They prayed the cogs would creep; They thought about Saturday pay, And Sunday sleep.
Whatever he smelled was good: The fruit and flesh smells mixed.
There beside him she stood,-- And he, perplexed; He, in his shrunken britches, Eyes rimmed with pickle dust, Prickling with all the itches Of sixteen-year-old lust.


by Liam Wilkinson

ON BLAKE STREET

 I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again,
but if I do, I want you to notice
and nod your head, or even turn away –

if you can, run over to the florist
or the fruit shop, make me believe
you have more important things to do

than to be here in my poem,
turning up again after all these years,
noticing me in the street

before making for the nearest distraction.


by Hilda Doolittle

Sea Poppies

 Amber husk 
fluted with gold, 
fruit on the sand 
marked with a rich grain, 

treasure 
spilled near the shrub-pines 
to bleach on the boulders: 

your stalk has caught root 
among wet pebbles 
and drift flung by the sea 
and grated shells 
and split conch-shells.
Beautiful, wide-spread, fire upon leaf, what meadow yields so fragrant a leaf as your bright leaf?


by Katherine Mansfield

There Is a Solemn Wind Tonight

 There is a solemn wind to-night
That sings of solemn rain;
The trees that have been quiet so long
Flutter and start again.
The slender trees, the heavy trees, The fruit trees laden and proud, Lift up their branches to the wind That cries to them so loud.
The little bushes and the plants Bow to the solemn sound, And every tiniest blade of grass Shakes on the quiet ground.


by Edna St Vincent Millay

Scrub

 If I grow bitterly,
Like a gnarled and stunted tree,
Bearing harshly of my youth
Puckered fruit that sears the mouth;
If I make of my drawn boughs
An Inshospitable House,
Out of which I nevery pry
Towards the water and the sky,
Under which I stand and hide
And hear the day go by outside;
It is that a wind to strong
Bent my back when I was young,
It is that I fear the rain
Lest it blister me again.


by Robert Herrick

IMPOSSIBILITIES: TO HIS FRIEND

 My faithful friend, if you can see
The fruit to grow up, or the tree;
If you can see the colour come
Into the blushing pear or plum;
If you can see the water grow
To cakes of ice, or flakes of snow;
If you can see that drop of rain
Lost in the wild sea once again;
If you can see how dreams do creep
Into the brain by easy sleep:--
--Then there is hope that you may see
Her love me once, who now hates me.


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