Best Apricot Poems
Your wrists smell of fig sap and October rain
your shoulder blades two furrows turned for seed
your spine the long fence-row the sparrows read
at dusk, each vertebra a sheaf of grain
The vineyard heaves into your windowpane
as roots cleave—slow, below, agreed
and where your collarbone dips, the ripe world feeds
its split apricot, moth-wing, what my palms have gleaned
I turn toward you at the sink, your hair still wet
and lay my ring along the small of your back
the pear boughs laden, the foxes at the run
the creek gone sloe at the farthest bend
what forty years of kneeling cleaves in earnest
one body known, the soul brought into harvest.
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As I lie here on my death bed
Feeling the last beats of my heart
My only regret is, I didn't close
The lid on the apricot tarts
Sounds like a kind of trivial thing
But to some, it's a big faux pas
Little things are very important
To me, that's a major flaw
In the overall scheme of things in life
So they're not as fresh as alleged
I'll eat those things any way they come
Don't mind if there's fur on the edge
I think they call it **** retentive
And applies to so many things
Like how dishes are placed in the dishwasher
And how you must rinse everything
I really do feel sorry for these **** people
They need to start enjoying their life
Stop worrying 'bout all those silly things
Now you have it, my sage advice
© Jack Ellison 2014
Apricot skin
Apricot face
Apricot hands
Apricot knees
Apricot apricots
Apricot cat
Apricot paint
Apricot baby's bottom
In my world I always think
Of a pricey apricot dress
My husband's pal paid way too much for it
Wanting to impress a girl who modeled it at a table for us.
Wanting to show off that he had three hundred dollars,
He gave them three hundred dollars for that dress
To surprise his girlfriend, Kathy.
Kathy was surprised.
She would have never chosen this dress.
It was so expensive, he pouted until she wore it to
Every dinner, supper, lunch, and finally to play racquetball in.
Apricot always reminds me of poor Kathy and her irritation.
Oh cute white blossoms
Wow! What a clear sign of spring!!
Aroma of pink
soft apricot skin
golden yellow
summer fruit
.
Sun rose like Apricot jam..
saddled in Cobalt Blue horizon clouds..
The colour of apricot is warm,
and like the jam you see in shops.
It's like a symphony.
It's like a symphony of gold
that you find you have forgotten
suddenly.
The colour of apricot is not raspberry.
It won't make you think of red in the night
and scream.
It's like peach, but more rounded somehow,
like a fat woman you see on a beach
who really should ...
The colour of apricot is what it is -
like all the apricots you see in
Madame Paul's window.
But she's mean. Don't go to her.
She'll give you apricots gone bad
and out the window.
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4/19/2016
Contest - Favorite
Sponsor - Casarah Nance
3rd place win
There once was a woman named Sandy
Who liked jelly candies and apricot brandy
While her teetotaler husband was away
She drank a bottle of brandy that day
When he was home enjoyed only the candy
In my garden, there’s an apricot
tree with pink fragrant blossoms that
fall from the branches one by
one to the ground. From a
tree, then tiny green
leaves sprouting out.
The fruit it
makes and
grows.
On
the full
apricot
tree, the young fruit
cover the branches
with sweet, juicy orange
apricots. They are very
delicious; even the blue jays
and crows eat the fruit right off the tree.
what will you write of the apricot,
when the fruit has fallen for the last time?
'and the last apricot was
like his last letter
received a decade ago;
that was very little to quench my thirst
but his memories were enough to last for the lifetime'!
He fuel the flames of her esse
He is the essences of her poem
He was in her beneath like inebriation
His philtres and potions arouses welding
"He never returned and how time flies;
The apricot jam spread over the toast was his favourite
The coral fruit enfolded his tastes and touches
And the aroma of the juicy flesh dampen his ardour"
All I remember is 'the apricot and his last letter'.
Apricot sunrise
by a rippling muddy creek...
Spring rain overflow
The scent of honeysuckle
permeates the cold north breeze.
apricot sunrise
seen through pear tree's white blossoms....
birds quietly sleep
As I lie here on my death bed
Feeling the last beats of my heart
My only regret is, I didn't close
The lid on the apricot tarts
Sounds like a kind of trivial thing
But to some, it's a big faux pas
Little things are very important
To me, that's a major flaw
In the great, overall scheme of things
So they're not as fresh as alleged
I'll eat those things any way they come
Don't mind if there's fur on the edge
I think they call it **** retentive
And applies to so many things
Like how dishes are placed in the washer
And how you must rinse everything
I really do feel sorry for these people
They need to start enjoying their life
Stop worrying 'bout all those silly things
In Heaven, there's none of that strife!
Apricot Melts Daily Sorrows.
Apricot Dissipates Daily Strains.
Apricot Dulls Daily Physical Pains.
Apricot Deceives All Others.
Apricot Emotionally and Physically Isolates.
Apricot Purges First True Love.
Apricot Forgives A Deceased Father.
Apricot Forgives A Deceased Mother.
Apricot Distances A Living Brother.
Apricot Abandons Birth Home.
Apricot Tolerates Daily Supervisors.
Apricot Confines Youngest Daughter.
Apricot Confines Eldest Daughter.
Apricot Hates Youngest Daughter.
Apricot Hates Eldest Daughter.
Apricot Betrays Both Daughters.
Apricot Bottle Fifth of Size Daily.
Apricot Trees
David J Walker
My mother randomly spoke of the beauty
She saw in trees that lined
The streets in town
The boughs and branches placed
in parks and esplanades on Arbor days in the
all but forgotten past now hidden in the ether
Of dementia that was literally riddling her mind
But If I listened carefully
There was a story connected in
Every 3rd or 4th word about her
Childhood on a prairie farm
with a large garden and
Fowl of every kind
Where her mother
Planted apricot trees in line
by the dirt road leading to their
Front door
and plans to make jam
that fall
I stood by the bed as
mother lay dying
Reaching with her right hand
I imagined her as a
Young girl picking apricots
Near the farmhouse
Taking her time
Going down the line
tree to tree
Carefully placing the ripened fruit
in her apron pockets
I imagined her smiling again
in a youthful glow
That I had never seen before
The day she had to go and
Help make jam