Best Fruitage Poems
night market! a juggle of flavors
succulent and citrusy with
pears pumpkins peaches inflamed
and clothed in sweetened rinds like
watercolors of tangerine and mauve...
stems dipped in waters of tender sun
flesh touching flesh,
nectar glazing bronze on squirts turned into nectar,
into savory brine... then to wiggle
upon a harvest filling
quilted baskets sucked and chewed: beaded
globules, bulbs rippling in own honeyed pools,
tangy fruitage which bears the ripest of ovules
lacing the tongue ambrosial. tangy...
and ladies like rush home with flushed romance
in their heads
with piles of delicacies bending swirling
on their ample chests
to taste the liquid radiant syrup
of eve's craving for a night lovers' feast.
For Debbie Guzzi's Just A Little Bit Of Sugar
2/22/2017
It is crop time in Beantown.
The people of the City have the seeds to plant.
Their best harvest is the orange that is yellow.
Jake Castle is a great farmer.
His wife, Nefreda Maria, is one of the conservators.
Their yellow orange yields a greater harvest.
The children of Beantown are full of excitement.
They are the ones that florae.
This year is hyperactive because six years have passed.
The yellow orange is now in vegetation.
Once picked, the seeds are replanted
making the next garnering even more fulfilling.
This year Jake has a plan.
He will visit Giant’s land to plant the yellow orange to grow afar.
He desires the experience of a different crop.
He knows the rich soil of Giantvillism will bring forth a larger fruitage.
This is an ultimate gain to a more endowed yield.
Therein, the next six years will culminate in both places.
Once the harvesting was completed in Beantown,
Jake journeys to Giant’s sphere of influence.
His bag of seeds was his gift to the Land of the Big People.
Giant of the Big People embrace Jake
while Maddy shouted “A hearty hello to Jake.”
Tomorrow they will scatter the seeds of the yellow orange.
Six years later…
Beantown sings as the yellow orange gleams
in the photosynthesis of the sun.
Every family harvested their fruit and
people from other realms travel to purchase the fruition.
Beantown economy flourishes.
In Giantvillism, Giant harvest was grandiose.
The yellow orange fruition was up to
twice the size of Beantown’s fruitage.
Jake and Nefreda along with their three children journeyed afar
bringing back seeds of Giant’s yellow orange to grow in Beantown.
The next six years will make all very proud.
But for now, Beantown wealth is the show stopper.
All over talks about how those people of little means
henceforth a world of meaning.
______________________________________|
Penned on December 30, 2014!
Harvest
Scaturient
Hanging, fluffing, waiting
Provide, provision, work, fatigue
Fruitage
I know you will not be able to see the picture that I am writing about which is not to my advantage.
scaturient -adjective-overflowing, abundant
The purple lines of mid-evening
Announces that lush of plump earth
Will be arriving soon from behind
As fluff of clouds sweep the red of clay.
In a starry blink of a landscape
Which partially hides her face
Full of style and lilting glory;
And In her court are a thousand fruitage
Sharing their heavenly light;
To twinkle through the heavens
With a lovely dazzling vision,
While I relish this bright beauty
My feet rushing to find my place
Cuddling this iridescent display.
Contest Elements Part 1: Earth, Brian Davey
3/12/2016
Two young lovers
Seeing eye to eye;
Ecstatic romance
Promises made
Language of love;
Reality can be harsh
July sun-bathing
Local fruitage surprise:
Durians, mangosteens, rambutans!
Two yellow butterflies
Zigzagging flight path;
Bourgainvillea landing
Sweet nectar sip
Momentary focus;
Long haul to tall casuarina
Old banyan tree witness
School boy quarrels echo;
All gone away
Time passes quickly
So many ambitious kids;
Now preside over meetings
Old school mates
Chance encounter;
Discuss happenings
Witty old father checks
Vivacious mother tags;
Facebook excursions
Fancy smart phones
Tablets for dummies;
Slow learning curve
Purple flowers
Creeping vines on fence;
Morning salutation
Morning Glory flowers
Here at dawn;
Gone by dusk
Leon Enriquez
23 July 2014
Singapore
Our gardeners planted seeds in a box
And got a garden.
They watered that garden
And got an orchard.
They cultivated that orchard,
And got a forest.
A forest of beautiful men and women,
Of all walks of life.
Some tall, some short,
Some light, some dark,
Some fruitful and generous,
Others austere.
But through all the toil,
The gardeners,the cultivators
Continued to prune,
To refine even the smallest of trees.
Like a mother and child
Even when things got tough
Like overtime with no pay,
They got their reward.
They got their fruitage
From the very garden they watered,
The very orchard they cultivated.
We have been given a foundation
To build upon
And we took to it.
Sank our roots deep
And stretched our leaves high.
Foundations that will not crumble
When exposed to the elements.
Nor will they give out
In times of need.
We remember it like it was yesterday
We were fresh seeds in gilded soil
Ready to take on the world
With smiling masks on our faces.
But within an unseen struggle commenced.
A battle to separate the wheat from the weeds
The men from the mice.
The runners from the crawlers.
To prove that we have what it takes
To hold our own and emerge
From the darkness of virgin minds
And blissful ignorance.
So here we are - the wheat,
The men and women,
Ready to walk out that door
And become your tomorrow.
Separately, we cannot cause a ripple,
But together, we can move the world.
Chapter I
Part II: Power and emptiness
Mariah of Magdala!
Opulent woman yet juvenile
Did your 'hood' bestow upon you such affluence?
Look how youthful you are
Flawless beauty with an enchanting aroma
Like a spring in the wilderness
Of apparent mint breadth of solace,
Your velvet skin, Maria, of such cottony
How do you make your even delicate body soft, Mariah?
They make figures stick like Sahara honey on your sheath
Your eyes Mariah of Magdala
They see through a soul-like infinite
They see the pain and confuse them with pleasure
A short, well-lived excitement.
Where did you get those sharp milky teeth?
Well separated neatly arranged ages
Like a perfect green cob for export
Your Mona Lisa smile Mariah of Magdala
They make your face like the goddess
Did the same maker who created other women create you?
How biased?
For the best, you gained
Of perfect Eden plump on the season after another
They say thy fruits are the sweetest
We have the best adage than yours Mariah
Yet men threw stones at yours
They sneaked with weapons
Some dug deep holes ensuring no ending harvest
Some made wings with baskets
While others became your best of friends yet foes
Some were witty and gave you toxic cherry
Just for a piece of your pie
To have fruitage where they ever so desired
Each left with a piece of sweet melody
Their half-filled hearts thirsted
They longed to come back sooner than they had left
They fought among themselves
Did they slay for your Eden Mariah of Magdala?
Mariah of Magdala!
How did it feel to let them in one after another?
Did they hurt you? Did they make you happy?
Did it convey completeness to thy thirsting soul?
To see the sons of women destroying each other for you
Was it pleasurable?
Oh! Mariah of Magdala
Piece by piece they took off your humanity
Did they neglect you when you needed them most?
Did someone hurt your childhood?
Did they trade you for generational wealth, Mariah of Magdala?
Or did they curse you for the cleansing ceremony?
For that which made you this cardinal
Must celebrate in a cheer of win.
By all these lovely tokens autumn days are here,
with summer's best of weather,
and autumn's best of joyfulness,
every soul is dedicated to it,
and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth,
seeking the consecutive autumns.
There is harmony in the air,
and the days become vivacious and brittle under fruitage heavens,
a luster is in the atmosphere,
which through the summer is not perceived or understood,
as if it could not be, as if it had not been!
the landscape is decorated in glowing shades of scarlet, saffron and russet.
Autumn's fire burns slowly along the forests,
and day by day the lifeless leaves fall and melt down,
I trust in nature for the steady laws of prettiness and usefulness,
Leaves grow old gracefully; bring such joy in their last lingering days,
How vibrant and bright is their final flurry of life.
The magic of autumn has seized the rural areas,
the air is intense and vibrant and full of possibilities,
everything looks like a supernatural oil portraits,
Autumn leaves with an emotionless caress,
leaving us to grieve the frosty grip,
of winter in extended sunset.
Fear is a fatal flower that blooms in every breast,
twining its vicious tendrils to choke hope's infant rest.
Fear bears a bitter fruitage, a wine of black despair;
hope, drunken, weaves the linen to shroud her dying heir.
Fear is the devil's vintage of desecrated years;
but Jesus treads the winepress and His love casts our Fear.
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, 1987
hedgerows greenup-
nature's pastiche
awakens from winter sleep.
Quiet greets the Spring morn,
a shaft of light diffuses night
snow melts slowly-
a trickle,unseen,runs free
begins a new spring
#
A babbling burn ,riverine unseen,
a stream of freshwater silts sloping banks
the current slows to-
eddys, where fat chubb doze.
Quiet greets the Spring morn,
a shaft of light
diffuses night into -
a dawn chorus.
Amid the eerie dayspring light
yesterday's memories glow so bright
#
blossoms a welcome
springtime emblem-
the foretast of fruitage
to come
Why you in my life taking me down every time I get up from my low? Just as
fire meet gasoline my tummy burn with passion. I'm so sick of feeling sick of
you. Why won't you stay away?
You come running with the good then make me feel hopeless when you gone.
Just as a machete in my gut twisting its way through my back I scream for
mercy as death flee from me.
You destroyed the fruitage of my womb. Now they are lost scattered in the winds
of life not knowing which way to go.
Life is never fair. Justice never prevail in this dark scary world where ghost and
gobbling lurk every where around corners ready to snatched you into nightmares
keeping you awake most nights
More
As the bindings of morality
Become looser every day
Every adult, every youngster
Is seduced to have his way
Inhibitions once had merits
The lack of them was to one’s cost
But the change of times now teaches
That those virtues are best tossed
As we watch how mores and cultures
Overwhelmingly decline
One should actually start to wonder
’How has this affected mine?’
For a human without culture
Without values, without belief
Keeps on living with abandon
All he’ll reap is woe and grief
Though the harvest of this fruitage
Shows there is a lot to mend
Still a virtuous opinion
Will most certainly offend
For all evil now gives pleasure
Who would dare to make it stop?
We’re like greedy children sucking
On a poisoned lollipop
And the damage is so obvious
But we cowardly ignore
For we revel in excesses
And we keep on craving more.
Wendy Nipas
Love
is what you feel,
when God to you is real.
Joy
is, a feeling inside,
you,
cannot hide,
that rarely subsides.
Peace,
Will come over you,
When you have,
an overview,
Of God's purpose for you.
Patience
is needed by everyone,
to remove the sting,
of injustice,
and for God's will to be done.
Kindness
Is what you do,
when you perceive,
someone has a problem,
or a special need.
Goodness
is a quality that inspires the rest,
to be self-sacrificing,
and do their very best.
Faith
Is required to please God well,
when you have it,
he can tell.
Mildness
Conquers rage,
calms it down,
at every stage.
Helps you to,
turn the page.
Self Control
Is needed to keep us,
from harm,
It also helps us,
to keep,
sounding the alarm.
John Derek Hamilton October 25,2015
sunset red fruitage
raspberries ripe on the vine ~
perfect pink parfait
(July Full Moon – Native American)
Memories are fickle things
They seem to love to torture
When you desperately just want to forget
Seems memory's fruitage is an orchard
They can seemingly come from anywhere
But they don't need to be regretted
They should still be remembered fondly
Not bemoaned, erased, or fretted
Because if memories were cheating
No one could be loyal
Just because something comes to mind
Doesn't mean your love is foiled
You can smell a smell or see a sight
Even hear a familiar tune
But none of thats a problem
Because he will still love you
So don't hate yourself for your memories
Your love's no passing fad
You can still be loyal to each other
And be grateful for what we had