Best Fruit Poems
In my little garden, balmy blooms are on display.
My purple Zinnia wears the crown in August sun
attracting tiny Hummingbirds and butterflies.
Ripe golden mangos blush with scarlet hues
so lush and juicy sweet…a favorite fruity treat.
Cooling ocean waves lure swimmers to the shore.
School begins, a sigh, it’s just August once more.
8-7-22
~First Place~
JUST AUGUST Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich
Forbidden fruit is sweetest, or that’s what they all say
So I thought I’d give it a try and went for some today
I didn’t know just what to choose something firm and hard or what
So I thought I’d take a sample of everything they’d got.
There was some really hard ones, some were ripe and very sweet
But I chose one in the middle and it looked good enough to eat
I caressed it very gently and waited for it to please
I nearly didn’t go through with it, I was really gonna tease.
My taste buds are not set for sweet they prefer something more savoury
But no I stuck to my guns but I want no awards for bravery
I took one that looked just right, its rich colour tempted me to bite
But have you ever bitten a persimmon, that isn’t really ripe?
It sucks the moisture out of your mouth and covers you teeth in wool
Believe me you just try it; I am not giving you any bull.
Now for those that thought the fruit, would be some other man
Maybe that’s on my ‘to do’ list, before I kick the can……….LOL
Shame on you all, for all your naughty thoughts
Especially for those of you, that can’t keep it in their shorts
To all those that do struggle, to keep the forbidden fruit at bay
Just remember the persimmon and you will never rue the day.
© ~GG~ 4/12/2012
REAPING AND RELISHING SAPODILLA PLUMS
Reaching out towards freshness all ripened,
Holding onto huge branches hovering high,
Not bothered about tan getting deepened,
I hand pluck lush naseberries straight from the sky;
Savouring sweetness with a satisfied sigh.
2nd August, 2017
I dreamed that I stood in a valley, and amid sighs,
For happy lovers passed two by two where I stood;
And I dreamed my lost love came stealthily out of the wood
With her cloud-pale eyelids falling on dream-dimmed eyes.
William Butler Yeats
Notions had gathered inside my head;
a wanderlust that refused to be denied.
Within my mind, the need of love was bred,
burned in tongues of fire that torched a hole
inside my heart and seared my soul.
I sought the finest wine from the valley floor,
to sate my thirst when he'd stand at my side.
I climbed heathered hills; crossing streams
Down twisting paths I ambled, taking wrong turns
until I found the enchanting vision in my dreams,
and feasted on the fruit of my heart's desire.
But too soon he slipped from my arms.
Left behind were his vespers in passion's embers,
and fading echoes of his whispered words.
Time rushed through years like sifting sand
but the fire he kindled has not died.
I remember the gentle touch of his hand,
and sweet moments of devotion we stole.
Now, with feeble steps I remain in pursuit
of memories we made long ago in the valley.
I hear his voice in the wind, and I cannot refute
that love's flame still burns within my soul.
An interpretation of ''The Song of Wandering Aengus,"
by William Butler Yeats.
Barefoot in luxuriant grass, luscious, pearl moonlight falling down,
In the golden season of sensual thrills, in the hours without sound,
Underneath the tempting tangerine tree, eating of its fragrant fruit,
With the stars dancing to tomorrow, by enigmatic, invisible routes.
Barefoot in peaceful dreamland, caressed softly by romantic moon,
When the ebony world lies in waiting, for the yellow canary's tune,
Barefoot in tangy tangerines, in the warm, soft, wandering breezes,
In the darkest hours of sleepless night, when it seems time ceases.
A busty young lady from Peel
Her boobies she couldn't conceal
They were such a huge size
That she won a first prize
For the fruit men most wanted to feel
7th April 2015
I made a bit of a boob on the 2nd line - thanks Paul Callus for your advice
Stayed
in the sun
to long
today
The skin became like the bark of a tree.
The soul turning to brittle scars
for uncaring worlds to see.
My face
is a pile of
old owl bones.
Sewn into banks of midnight creeks.
Even the plump, over ripened ones no longer look at me...
If their tires were desert flat,
their oil grim reaper black.
they'd manage to paint a wormy, water colored smile...
Slide it through my barbed wired heart.
So long as I could spin the jack...
So I spin it until their potholes turn to satin.
Stayed
in the sun
to long
today
The mind has smoothed over like pebbles in Saturn rings.
A forgotten spice in the conversation of life.
An hour later the word snuggles up to me-laughingly.
Tomorrow or forever(whichever comes first),
I'll stay wrapped inside.
Until my skin turns back to ivory
to an easter egg yesterday
to a time of bouncing ball and spinning jack.
When the mind was a great silky nest.
The face a flowered meadow place.
Where watercolors swirled all day,
the heart worms kept at bay.
I'll stay hidden within the weeds,
till the jewels of memories soothe
every scar - every stripe.
The molten knots of cruelty.
till the sweetened fruit reclaims the tree.
Until then only my curtains breathe...
...stayed in the sun
to long
today.
Nature unfurls charms
Loving emotions flourish
Her cup runs over
Exquisite passion
Limbs entwined in sweet embrace
Move in symphony
Senses on fire
Symphonic crescendos peak
Cocooned in slumber
Nature’s Miracle
Blooming as she takes on form
Grand Expectation
Footnote:
A Happy Mother’s day to all Mums, Mums-to-be and Grand Mums for without you and the gift of love, this day was not possible.
POTD 16th May 2017
STILL LIFE WITH FRUIT
In spite of the orchard
A far white moon dominates
Its sick room presence lifts the eye
Still life with fruit –
Crescent dish with bananas, apples, pears -
A wrinkled bed spread falls off the sky
In all an angular canvas,
A drowsy cubist squint,
Imposed shapes, lines – Picasso pie
This pointed, silver vase pokes through
Its ample gift of flowers,
Destroys the view – Oh, my!
I’ve come to, limp right arm yet hangs over,
Attendant tells, “Breakfast time. You hungry?
Let’s sit up. There! Good guy.”
Dave Austin
luscious fruit of the tropics
sphere-shaped, tapered, oval-faced
beneath the sun dripping yellow;
tangy as cocktail's zest for happy hour- kisses
on lips that crave for its moist
sweet marrow... peeled
from its curved bodice; sucked
juice trickles from its base--
adding lime, mint to freshen stem glasses
that dangle and anchor the nape
for a voluptuous treat of mild
passion's heat: sliced, striped , tasted
by love's scent—the pulp bits ooze—like
varnished ochre mixed with light rhum
and wine filling hungry vessels
of tongues: the melting husk
cooled by ice as wedges circle around
to whip a luscious Mango Sangria drink!
A fruit like this entices my own
Summer delight, succulent as earth's nectar,
relishing every drool of a caressed,
early night's amber sensation.
For Alcohol Contest: Sponsor Thvia Shetley
Submitted 19/18/2107
The dancing flames lit up her hair
In shades of dark and light
She looked at me with longing eyes
That sparkled in the night.
I know, she said, what you desire
The fruit that longing seeks
She looked me straight into the eyes
I watched her burning cheeks.
I will give all and be your slave
As long as you are mine
We shall make love ‘til dawn is here
And drink the sweetest wine.
She threw herself into my arms
And kissed my waiting lips
I held her tight; could not resist
Her undulating hips.
Our passion’s fire burnt all night long
Each movement – tenderness
I wished this bliss we could prolong
Profound togetherness.
When morn’s first rays peered through the pane
Lace curtains etched our skin
A tapestry of silk domain
She was my Anne Boleyn.
But fantasies evaporate
When light is shed on them
Forbidden love seemed to berate
How tarnished was our gem.
One night we shared, but ne’er again
Could we pursue our lust
Her husband, he was my best friend
We’d violated trust.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Co-write: Paul Callus & Carolyn Devonshire ~ Oct 2014
I kissed July's hot tangerine lips
swam in cool aquamarine eyes
basked in blond and honey rays
dreamed in mango pomegranate sunsets
of lime hillsides and marmalade roses
Years of sweet citrus passed in golden hours
One day I woke
to find translucent eyes
in burnt sienna
as trees wept leaves
in burgundy and olive
Soon the eyes
were frozen in powder
Ashen shadows blew
across barren groves
of spindled spruce
and howled
with December's lonely moon
But from my fire lit window
I hold fast to memories
of daffodils and oranges
mingled with the burn
of lemon tears
7/16/17
Unrequited love is the
forbidden fruit of the heart.
And if you lust for its taste,
it will tear your heart apart.
A love that can never be;
drains dreams of all their magic.
And like a moth to a flame,
results are often tragic.
Behind a facade of smiles,
you try to hold back the tears.
Yet hope is mired in despair;
where it has languished for years.
Loneliness results in a
deluge of sad emotions.
And it feels as though you've cried
enough tears to fill oceans.
You suckle reality
on the bosom of the night.
For fantasies morph into
shackles at dawn's breaking light.
Sequestered in make-believe;
love has brought you to your knees.
But within dreams, you get to
be with whomever you please.
s s
u t
n r
r a
i w
p b
e e
ne rri
d es
the taste is sweet and fresh.
in my garden where many different
fruits grow. a delight for the eyes and
mouth. to touch and smell. the tongue
separates rivers with cream on top.
always let reason hold the reins.
erotic flow of sweet wishes
love that dazzles sweetly
not a disparaging word
about strawberries
one is too little
a large bowl
is too
much
24.04.2023
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
2nd place in the contest
Brian Strand contest no 1211
When taking a bath in the tub
The first thing you'll notice, if you stay in too long,
Is how your fingertips shrivel.
Then, as you rub and scrub,
You might see bits of skin coming off your legs and arms
And you begin to grow little.
Some children pay no attention
To the warning signs I mention;
They stay in the bathtub all afternoon,
Until they start to dissolve.
They get smaller and smaller and smaller
Until they're far too small to holler;
They get wrinklier and wrinklier and pretty soon
They've shrunk so much there's nothing left
Except a ball of wrinkled skin
Where once a healthy kid had been.
This wrinkled skin is dyed blue
And sold in the store as a prune.
"How Prunes are Made" was in Nomo the Zine, November 1991, and was reprinted in The Ratty's Gazette 8, 1995. It is a poem in the ongoing series "Lucifera's Questionable Daycare Poems and Stories."