Best Picking Poems
Are Flowers for Picking?
I question myself,
silently standing beside
the quaint wooden kiosk
in the centre of the square.
My eyes scan the freshly
picked assortment of roses,
carnations, lilies, and orchids.
The array of colours tempts,
softening niggling doubts
arising from tender pity.
I enter the hospice, briskly
making my way to her room.
Her haggard face lights up,
slightly masking her fragility.
A wan withering rose…
I swiftly hide my pain
behind a loving smile and
the fresh flowers in my hand.
-------------------------------
Placed 1st in Brian Strand's
Pick 1 Contest (April 2020)
Categories:
picking, flower,
Form:
Prose Poetry
She liked picking flowers, I liked growing them
She liked picking flowers,
I liked growing them
Her basket filled with pretty blooms,
freshly on the stem
She walked into my garden,
scented sweet and true
I tended to my marigolds
with tiny buds so new
She saw my Gerber daisies,
just smiling in the sun
Then glanced in my direction,
she only wanted one
I nodded my approval,
for what else could I say
To the loveliest of flowers
in my garden on this day
She thanked me with a kiss,
upon my cheek so soft
I felt my old heart skip a beat,
my mind it went aloft
Then as she was leaving
neath springtime skies so blue
I could only stand and stare,
for on this day I knew
Of every perfect flower,
so wondrous and pristine
She was now the prettiest
that I have ever seen
She still likes picking flowers,
I still like growing them
But now I tend my plants and wait
till she comes back again
Categories:
picking, flower, fun, garden, spring,
Form:
Rhyme
I was punctured by punctuations
The words you wielded with such disdain
A ravenous revolutionary
Pitilessly piercing deep into my vein
I pretended such positivity
Holding happy forward as my shield
Your attack so precise and persistent
cold and calculated you would not yield
You left little to the imagination
Expressive expletives flowed from your lips
The harmonization of my horror
I was firmly nestled within its grips
Attacked by your callous conversations
Skillfully white washing every event
They were but measly misunderstandings
Never the nouns that I thought you had meant
The truth is that I perceived your pleasure
Within that capacity of your cruel
Heading towards a cliff like a lemming
Dancing dangerously close like a fool
So I sought out new triumphant treasures
Better lines lead to a more complete me
No more would I dangle dangerously
Halting hearing you speak helped me to see!
Categories:
picking, abuse,
Form:
Alliteration
Seashell Symphony,
On ear, rhapsody playing.
Ocean Conducting!
Dedicated to Raul...you're a very good teacher...tell me what you think?
Categories:
picking, music, nature
Form:
Haiku
.
Autumn apples
Lean your ladder against the trees
Autumn apples
Rust and green creates a chapel
God's bounty nestled in the leaves
A taste of harvest scents the breeze
Autumn apples!
________________________________________
Inspired By Dr. Ram Mehta's Contest "Rondelet Contest"
By Carrie Richards
Categories:
picking, nature,
Form:
Rondeau
A musky, burnt haze sears slowly into my nostrils.
The twilight hour pulses steadily, bathing stark walls in an eerie gloom.
Too awake to drift to sleep, yet too tired to drag my bones off this sinking mattress.
Thoughts cyclone like a tsunami within a withdrawn mind,
picking at scabs; the half-life of my darkness pools in red droplets.
Licking the wounds, the taste of metallic and melancholy blends.
Loneliness wraps its arms around my dejected shoulders like a winding sheet.
A howling wind rattles the paper-thin glass making up my windows,
as I ponder how I became the living dead.
Traumas poisoned my sanity,
slowly paranoia replaced reason,
delusions became my nightly bedfellow,
whispering sweet unpleasantries into tainted ears,
leaving hallucinatory trinkets in my repeating nightmares.
The world is shrinking, withering,
yet as I am becoming paralyzed by fear, I am unequipped to stop it.
Like a freight train derailed,
bellowing at full speed towards the inevitable,
I too am racing at the speed of light towards oblivion.
Categories:
picking, angst, dark, death, gothic,
Form:
Free verse
On a cool, crisp mid-October morning,
the sweetness of apples flavors the air.
And a chevron of geese honk their warning
that Winter is coming; stay if you dare.
I loved picking apples, but I was small
and only picked those I could reach by hand.
I didn't like using ladders; after all,
the orchard was my childhood wonderland.
Dad had a burlap bag rigged to my back
that allowed both of my hands to be free.
I'd put as many apples in my sack
as possible, wobbling from tree to tree.
I was told that apples were nutritious,
and yet, they're oh-so-sweet and delicious.
Categories:
picking, age, autumn, boy, cute,
Form:
Sonnet
Quote: "I shall be like a tree planted by the river"
Amidst the orchard's verdant scene, I stand tall,
Beneath the azure sky, I hear the river's call.
Cherries ripe and red, like jewels they gleam,
Delightful treasures in this picturesque dream
Each blossom to cherry, a journey of sweet delight,
From dawn till dusk, in the soft glow of twilight.
Gentle breezes carry whispers through the air,
Harmony of nature, beyond compare.
"I shall be like a tree planted by the river's flow,"
Juicy fruits my bounty, in abundance they grow.
Kindred spirits, birds of all size and hue,
Lingering, feasting on cherries, fresh and true.
My friends gather 'round, with glee upon their face,
Noshing on cherries, a sweet embrace.
Overflowing baskets, a bounty to behold,
Pleasures of cherry picking, stories untold.
Questing for perfection in each cherry's hue,
Ripe with flavor, each one tried and true.
Seasons bring bounty, no pesticides in sight,
Trust the organic purity, cherries invite.
Underneath the cherry tree canopy, I find solace and peace,
Veiled in nature's beauty, my worries release.
With each passing moment, I learn to thrive,
Xenial with the world, in which I'm alive.
Yearning for wisdom, like leaves in the breeze,
Zealously embracing life's mysteries.
Categories:
picking, fruit,
Form:
Abecedarian
Picking up the pieces,
Of her shattered life,
Every joyous memory,
Lances through her, like a knife.
Time's slipping between her fingers,
Like sand through an hourglass,
The turmoil in her mind,
Never ceases, doesn't pass.
Vicious words were spoken,
Jagged scars remain,
No amount of alcohol,
Can ease the searing pain.
No more sorrow,
No tears left to cry,
She's picking up the pieces,
Her resolve will not die.
Categories:
picking, heartbreak, heartbroken, lost love,
Form:
Rhyme
PICKING UP THE PIECES OF MY HEART
Thunderstorms and lightening,
Can be very frightening,
Stormy weather keeps reminding me of you
Sometimes I don’t feel like waking,
My emotions keep on quaking,
And, my heart keeps breaking over you
Where’s my happy ever after
The rain drowns all the laughter
Hope hangs from the rafters, after losing you
Chorus
Picking up the pieces of my heart
This time you have gone way too far
I can see it clearly, loving you wasn’t that smart
(Now I'm) picking up the pieces of my heart
I always thought we’d be together
After promising forever
Forever’s gone, now that the tethers torn in two
Now my summers turned to winter
And my hearts left in splinters
You must have felt that I would hinder you
Chorus
Picking up the pieces of my heart
This time you have gone way too far
I can see it clearly, loving you wasn’t that smart
(Now I'm) picking up the pieces of my heart
Bridge
You can’t tell when love begins
If it will last, or if it ends
Isn’t that the mystery of it all
The ecstasy when love rises,
and the crashing as it falls
Chorus
Picking up the pieces of my heart
This time you have gone way too far
I can see it clearly, loving you wasn’t that smart
(Now I'm) picking up the pieces of my heart
I can see it clearly, loving you wasn’t that smart
Now I’m, picking up the pieces of my heart
I can see it clearly, loving you wasn’t that smart
Now I’m picking up the pieces of my heart
John Derek Hamilton January 03,2019
Categories:
picking, betrayal, break up, goodbye,
Form:
Lyric
In the cool of an autumn morning
my father and his friend,
Jimmy Kerin, would go
mushroom picking in paddocks
way out past the last suburban fence.
I would tag along not to pick
but feel the freedom of open land
stretching as far as the eye could see
and for the pleasure of the ride.
I would sit in the back seat
of Mr Kerin’s 1950's Skoda, taking
in the smell of the leather
and laying out along its length
like a ferried prince.
I can remember the wet, green
paddocks, the cold dew being
flipped up to coat the back
of my bare legs as I walked.
Then, seeing a carpet of white crowns
pushing up through the short grass,
plump eruptions catching
the morning sun that got my Dad
and Mr Kerin excited and set them off
decapitating the tallest with their kitchen
knives. They soon would each have
a bucket full, some mushroom heads
as big as Dad's hand.
That evening the ritualized meal
would be acted out. Dad sitting
at the table waiting, Mum frying up
the mushrooms in a cast iron pan
then making the juices into a thick
buttery gravy. It was a celebration
with Dad voicing his pleasure
on downing each savored mouthful.
Mum and us kids would look on,
none of us could stomach the taste
of fungi and instead, tucked into
tomato soup and toast.
Such simple memories seem
to cling onto life as if sensing
autumn, stirring deep in the self's soil
to poke their heads up here.
Categories:
picking, autumn, dad, memory, mother,
Form:
Free verse
Anyone can count the seeds in an apple, but only God can count the number of apples in a seed. - Robert H. Schuller
Luscious crimson, amber, falling
Trembling on branches, perfect yarns
Reciting journeys, their calling
Seeds thrown aside while nature darns
Trembling on branches, perfect yarns
Fables and feelings, rustling winds
Seeds thrown aside while nature darns
Blessings eternal, gentling minds
Fables and feelings, rustling winds
Glossy skins need peeling, tasty
Blessings eternal, gentling minds
Autumn swirls its songs so hasty
Glossy skins need peeling, tasty
Scrumptious liquids dribbling juices
Autumn swirls its songs so hasty
Startling bliss without excuses
Scrumptious liquids dribbling juices
Orchard scented with fruity hints
Startling bliss without excuses
Perfumed by autumn’s trailing prints
Orchard scented with fruity hints
Picking between the red and gold
Perfumed by autumn’s trailing prints
Harvest time, striking to behold
Picking between the red and gold
Reciting journeys, their calling
Harvest time, striking to behold
Luscious crimson, amber, falling
Categories:
picking, autumn, seasons,
Form:
Pantoum
Eeny meeny capellini,
Ziti, elbows, bucatini.
Vermicelli, farfalloni,
Gnocchi, orzo, rigatoni.
Alfabeto and linguine,
Cavatelli, fettuccine.
Penne, pappardelle and gigli,
Stelle, risi, tripolini.
Picking pasta gives you choices;
Any way, your mouth rejoices.
Think I'll go and boil me some -
If it's cooked al dente - yum!
Categories:
picking, food,
Form:
Rhyme
Picking pretty flowers without any vase
matching painted stories to a perfect little face
empty out barrels full of apprehension and
crush the bits of dystopia lying underneath
Through hallowed halls hold on strong
fixate on skewed linen flows un-swirled
tinted in shades of blue and green
yell out side by side and be seen
You don't have to carry dusty records
or be a whisper in the breeze
take my hand anchoring our astral ceiling
and wander away with me
*Another poem inspired by a painting on my wall
Categories:
picking, beauty, flower, places,
Form:
Rhyme
One of my childhood memories I wish to keep with me is apple picking time. Once a year
On a Sunday our family would head out to apple orchard country. Never forget the large
sign :Pick your own Apples: 5 dollars a bushel Well, out of the car and in no time My
sister and I were filling the basket with big red juicy apples. Knocking them out of the trees
With one hand and eating them with the other. In no time our basket was full. All the way
home both of us munching on these big juicy red apples. Some things you never forget. This is one of them.
Categories:
picking, autumn,
Form:
Prose