Best Oranges Poems
A day’s routine so easily holds me captive.
I confess to mindless, museless departures,
Brainless unpoetic habits so unreflective,
That I cannot dwell in momentary textures.
But January ripens oranges on my neighbor’s tree,
Marking spring’s beginning in California.
Midwestern groomed; such play awakens me.
Fat, lush oranges tumble all over the area.
Bold bright balls, they must be painted,
Landing in my drive, my car mashes them.
With this mortal crush, I breach life sacred.
Yet, once I eat one, it’s no longer a problem.
Tree of oranges brings fruit reviving passion.
Luscious harvest renewal of vibrant conception.
Was it just the juice of oranges?
Was it childish innocence?
Was it just a summer barefoot-song?
Have I swallowed it amiss?
My mouth remembers tasting it -
remembers it was sweet.
Where is the salty flow of tears?
Did sorrow soak into the soil – or run,
or roll, into a wider sea?
A sighing breath escapes.
Has every piece of me grown up?
Does any of that child remain?
Do I desire to find her soul?
Or, am I safer lying tame?
During the depression if you got an orange in your sock
You could feel blessed and lucky, and it felt like Christmas.
Orange tea and orange cake delight me in all kind of ways but
Marmalade I eat every morning on toast is the sweetest orange of all.
Smeared on my toast, I smile at the bits and pieces of peeling
I know are going to wake up my taste buds and say “hello”.
Orange marmalade jam. Nothing like it. Nothing close to it.
No other taste comes close although
jalapeno peppers give me a perk too.
When all else fails, and we are out of marmalade I
might break down and have mandarin oranges
But they do no justice to a sweet juicy recently peeled orange.
My taste buds are going crazy as I type this.
I will have to stop at the store now.
Bringing home marmalade, oranges, and orange cake mix. Yum. Yum.
Groves,
parallel patterned rows
(hardly higher than bushes),
dot and stretch up hillsides,
looking from a distance
much like cornrows
on the tight tan scalps
of hip young New York
subway riders.
Luscious fruits,
at closer range,
mimic setting suns
boldly drawn in crayon:
oranges evoke essence,
name their own color.
ON APPLES AND ORANGES
Apples hard and slick,
oranges puckered and soft.
Hard to suck apples.
For the Apples and Oranges contest
Peewee Orange upset the apple cart
For Mr. Adam who had a apple mart
So they hacked each other
And packed up Queen Mother
Who got the pip and ate the apple tart
óóóóó
A verse that has no rhyme may speak of love
No doves required – all poets sing for joy
For we may write at last of oranges
Forbidden fruit as sweet as heroin
In words that do not rhyme with anything
In lines that no one cares about at all
And doves, well they’re just pigeons after all
Unnecessary when it comes to love
For lovers see romance in anything
No need for complex rhyming schemes, a joy
That floods within the veins like heroin
As pure and bittersweet as oranges
The virgin orchards groan with oranges
She never wrote of oranges at all
Until today, or wrote of heroin
Or now you come to mention it, of love
Not truthfully, for she finds little joy
In telling everything and anything
To everyone. There isn’t anything
To tell, she lied, and picked the oranges
The juice upon her fingers smelled of joy
She licked her fingers then she picked them all
And drunk on oranges she wrote of love
And of the bittersweet of heroin
There was no poetry in heroin
Just days when nothing rhymed with anything
No lust for life, and even less for love
‘You know where you can stick your oranges’
She would have said. For heroin was all
She needed then, for all its bitter joy
How strange - no doves, no judgement - only joy
Came flooding through her veins like heroin
And spilled upon the page. She wrote it all
In words that didn’t rhyme with anything
For we may write at last of oranges
And how they smell as bittersweet as love
Strange kind of joy, not finding anything
That rhymes with heroin and oranges -
And that is all I have to say of love
© Gail Foster 26th January 2019
*Image of Apple Fruit Oranges provided by Pixabay.
Apples and Oranges
Poetic Form: Monoku
I have gazed o'er the orchards ~~ until the time your apple caught my eye
2021 April 30
*1st Place*
All Yours (May 12)
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2021 May 12
*1st Place*
"The Way You Look At Me"
~~JCB Brul: Judged 2021 May 03
Apples and oranges
balance between black and white.
No need to compare.
Both foods are healthy
Red and orange, juicy too
Fruit of a rainbow
Apples and oranges growing on tree
in a world where all people are equal
yet many of us will still disagree
Waiting for the next terrible sequel
Where force is used instead of any speech
Even our churches are becoming bare
They search for serenity at the beach
Children telling their folks this isn’t fair
We’re much more than apples and oranges
We all have a heart and a soul for life
Forget about those apples and oranges
since those fruits can’t have a husband or wife
The human race is the only race here
when we come together we’ll face our fear
apples and oranges
freshly fallen fruit finds flight
delicious delight
© May 22, 2011
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
I love oranges
but whenever I visit an orange tree
I find pumpkins hanging.
With weeping eyes
they look at me
as no one takes ever extended a finger
to them since birth
Apples and oranges are different
It must be the color
They sell at markets at low prices
Along with all other fruits and vegetables
Who have no souls to bargain for
Atheist to the core
Kissed by the sun for warmth
When apples and oranges are pressed for information
Truth and juice ooze from their pores
A real taste for justice must be explored and savored
When cut into slices
Displayed at parties openly
You find out what they really are
But the difference between oranges and apples
Poring over and over again in the mind
Remains a mystery
Oranges are orange
But why are apples red
It must be their color
But that's just a guess
Perfectly observant,
We share the same exact struggle.
Perfectly normal,
A conversation with all but one subject.
Eyes that refer to the category
Of deep need.
Apologies do no justice.
Unpeeled oranges that sit in wait.
Guilty at first glance, suppressing true desire without a word.
Wanting to unravel- peel away at things kept from view.
Mistaking ears for a heart.
Just what are we observant of,
Have we become profound.
A perception seen but not heard
Are we that oblivious.
Selective, inconsistent.
Following our hearts through unspoken lips.
Soiled in the thought of need.
Was I ever ready to speak,
Needing, urging.-
What is it that you are trying to say,
I feel that this is us.
The priority of a first thought,
Overcoming all else.
Every day, a basket of oranges
In arms reach- woven together
In deep thought.
Beauty is only skin deep.
Spoiled by the nectar of lips