Long Apples Poems
Long Apples Poems. Below are the most popular long Apples by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Apples poems by poem length and keyword.
I had a hut
on the bank of the river
beneath the sky painted blue
no patch of sorrow
only the berry hue.
The willow tree shreds
its barks, the birds circle
with their wings flung
I could see the sun
piercing through the wings.
I used to collect
Apples
from the bottom of the apple trees
I was happy, I was tranquil
but I didn't know their true meanings .
Until
one day invaders came
destroyed my hut, my habitat
since then I have been roaming
down the history lanes,
all over I could even imagine.
I am ever homeless, I am a human refugee,
my journey is forever, and my story has no ends.
Majestic White Mountains surround me, I travel the curvy road
They call this road the ‘Kanc’ for short, where panoramic views are sowed
Green valley’s lay beneath me, with rivers in the ravines quite deep
The slate gray rocky cliffs I pass by, look like murals, slopes are steep
A patchwork of color blankets the far reaching, lush, mountainside
Where white puffy clouds circulate around the top, floating to hide
Amidst the pines, the clean air I breathe is cool, refreshing and clear
I pass by turn out spots for viewing and hiking trails everywhere
In the fall you will find the old man who sells apples at his stand
Where you can try different kinds or buy some cider he has on hand
In the winter, the snow paints the mountains and trees a shining white
Where fallen flakes and ice crystalize everything there is in sight
The State Forest is nearby where people visit, the wildlife roam
I view all this with gratitude, to live where mountains are my home
Heidi Sands
8/9/17
*Placed 4th in the contest: Mountains
Ides of Brussels
Rapport
Lionel Derbyshire
“Lennon asked the world to live as one ..
There is a harmony of birdsongs in his song.
Jackson made a change when he looked in the mirror ..
Steven’s rejoiced .. My Sweet Lord hallelujah..
There is no little green apples for Smith in a summertime.
Simon walked down in the middle of the street looking for a role model.
Sledge loved a woman, she was his world.
John’s english rose was called out to heaven ..
A candle burnt out too quick ,
A legend never vanishes.
Pussycat remember’s Mississippi? in dreams of yesterday until the end of time.
Kelly is everything, the world greatest .. he made it.
Flack looked at the moon and stars and the earth moved , the first time ..
Two guys were feeling weary under a bridge over troubled waters.
Simply Red were holding onto years and kept holding on .. nothing growing.
Manhattan’s says everybody has a dream , wheels turning ..
It’s just one moment away.
Smoke got into the eyes of the Platters ..
But their hearts were on fire.
The lady sings the blues ,
Sinatra made it in New York.
Singing and dancing in the rain make you happy .. "
It is glee
“We are the world .. God’s big family ..
We made a choice ..
We can make it a brighter day ..”
Hey ! .. Here comes the sun with Beatles ..
“We stand together as one”
Fallen angel’s have left us .. cleft
There is hurt .. a spineless attack
We must never give in .. it is a
World without end.
Their terror will never destroy us ..
They hide away like . .
The red poppy will ever grow in Brussels
And the herb will heal the people of the land.
The talents and artistry of a land ..
They cowardly bomb destroy ..
They murder ..
They run away ..
Ivory Coast , Mali ,Tunisia , Paris , Brussels
Songs in bond.
in the uncoloured tint of another everyday
amongst the spit polished waxed apples
tightly packed in burlap bags
they walked like minded
in their own burly wrap
oblivious to the irony
to their similarity
of the markets round red fruit
unaware of the tragedy
the horror of events yet to come
it will rain metal shrapnel
as human minds grasp
with the purpose of their existence
as in their ignorance
they understand their worth as human bombs
with a belief the heavens will open the gates
with a fanfare and a promised blessing
for their divine act of unquestioned belief
the clay shaped bricks
the black iron metal stairs
the drum sound of engines
then the lull
not after
but before
before
the pulse of the storm
the rain of death
yet this moment captured
this photograph
with man and child in hand
smells sweet
you wonder
bemused
why?
the world travels
aimlessly
singularly
no one
nothing in the universe
suggests
exposes
even a hint
even a glimpse
not a clue
that would lead
reveal
an answer.
life in its contradiction
like the proverbial apple
offers both
the miracle
the curse.
09/23/2014
There’s a box lying somewhere.
Somewhere in a dusty cupboard.
Somewhere behind old paper, older words, and wounds older still.
Somewhere no one can find it.
I think about it, sometimes.
Sometimes, when I breathe.
Sometimes, when I exhale puffs of grey smoke and let those rashes bleed.
Sometimes, when in the dead of night, my lashes are wet.
Sometimes, when I’m looking somewhere, lost and stumble upon a sunset.
Apples and peaches,
Magentas and vermilions,
Pearls and emeralds,
all strewn across a cobalt, teal sky.
The sky you loved.
I drown in it when no one’s looking.
No one would understand, anyway.
I miss them reflected in that shard of glass we held together.
The one that broke, in giggles and hysterics, that very summer.
The one that I, upon a whim, hid in a wooden chest.
The one that I, with trembling hands, unlatched years later.
Long after you had left.
And it’s much too late
to go back
Much too late.
Near the edge of democracy’s garden
sprouted the Tree of Misinformation,
quickly growing into the largest tree
with leafy branches broad and long and tall.
Though toxic was its eye-catching fruit,
many ate the deceptive apples
that clouded their minds
and blinded their eyes.
They could not even perceive
the clear, self-evident truth
that a deceitful serpent
had slyly seduced them.
Fanatically following the swindler,
angrily amplifying audacious lies,
they spread wide more tainted seeds
throughout the lush fertile garden.
Will the garden wither into wastelands
littered in reeking, rotting fruit and minds,
while the people perish
not understanding why?
(This poem was inspired by the not-nearly-so-dark Oct. 8, 2024 Frank & Earnest cartoon by Bob Thaves as well as the equally dark Garden of Eden story in Genesis 2 and darker-still political events. See also my poems “How Would Jesus Vote?” and “The 2023rd Psalm.”
SHE THOUGHT BETTER THAN TOSS THEM OUT
THEY WERE PRIZED FOR THERE PERFECT SIZE
SHE JUST DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO
SHE HAD SO MANY FROM THE FIRST PICKING
ONLY IF SHE HAD MADE BETTER PLANS
ONLY IF SHE HAD THOUGHT IT THROUGH
THEN SUDDENLY SHE SAID " I KNOW WHAT TO DO"
I'LL INVITE ALL OF THE CUCUMBER LOVERS
OVER TO RELISH IN MY FABULOUS IDEA
I HAD BEEN SO TIRED OF SALADING
THAN I CAME UP WITH THIS CONCEPT
THE PEOPLE FAR AND NEAR SHALL LOVE ME
AND ALL WHO LOVE ME SHALL DRINK MY CUCUMBERS
SHE ROUNDED UP EVERYTHING SHE NEEDED
THE CUCUMBERS, THE GRAPES, THE APPLES
THE MINT, THE STRAWBERRIES,AND 5 CUPS OF LEMON JUICE
THIS SHALL BE AN
EXOTIC BLEND TO MAKE ALL THOSE
WHO SEEM PUZZLED LOVE MY
CUCUMBER
SHE HAD 100 CUCUMBERS: SHE SAVED ONE FOR HER
REASONS, BUT THESE 99 SHALL DELIGHT THE WORLD
OF CUCUMBER LOVERS, THEY SHALL FIND MY JUICES
DELICIOUS AND SATISFYING
SHE JUICED ALL THE FRUITS AND VEGETABLE
AND THEN SHE ADDED HER SPECIAL INGREDIENT GIN
SHE MADE TWO FIFTHS THE SECRET OF HER
DELIGHTFUL JUICE
THIS GIN AND ICE SHALL MAKE THESE CUCUMBER LOVERS LOVE ME AND
MY DELICIOUS JUICE.
WHEN THE PEOPLE CAME TO HER HOME TO TASTE HER CONCOCTION, THEY WERE PUZZLED
WHO WANTS TO DRINK CUCUMBERS THEY SAID.
SHE SAT THEM DOWN AND SERVED SALMAN BEEF AND PORK
WITH THESE DISHES, THE CUCUMBER WOULD
SHINE LIKE THE STAR SHE MADE IT INTO BEING.
THEY SIPPED, AND SIPPED UNTIL ONE GENTLEMEN ROSE TO SPEAK.
HE WAS SO DELIGHTED, HE ASKED HER TO COME TO HIS RETREAT AND MAKE HIS
CUCUMBERS TASTE AS GOOD AS THE ONES HE HAD JUST DRANK.
OF COURSE THE WOMAN AGREED.
AND EVERYONE WAS HAPPY
WITH THE CUCUMBERS THE WOMAN HAD MADE FOR THEM.
Snow was sick to death of doing all the work
While the merry little rat-men sat around
Farting, eating, snoring, farting, and laughing
Snow had decided to not clean or cook or
Do any of that other garbage today.
Matter of fact, she went on the hunt for mushrooms.
She was gathering them about when a nice crone
Came upon her, and invited her to eat a nice juicy apple
The crone had the eyes of one of the dwarfs
This made her mad, so she snatched the apple
Out of the old woman's hand, and smashed it
Into her face.
The old woman fell down, dead.
Oh, gee. A heart attack?
Snow felt powerful now.
She could Kill people?
She lay in wait for the Rat-men that night
Knowing she was capable of much more
Than merely kicking them to the curb
She had brought along all of the old crone's apples
Ready to kill.....
Pink dust of love in some tiny wrinkle
Small spots showing shadows of our season
Still the tomato children there twinkle
Heartbeats that we exchanged we still listen
This is why possibly in the open
Window, I’m glad to see your face again
The distance of thirty years is broken
Despite ruthless passage of the time-train
Somehow I feel apples are still eyesome
Blue clouds from the dimples wander in joy
In the breath plays warm and bouncy ransom
Our eye to eye birds we should not destroy
Now that flowers have again come a few
Let us relook if we have some cute dew
_______________________________________
26/8/2016 For : When Love Reckons for a Second time poetry contest: Sponsored by Nayda Ivette Negron
Eating my apple in the dark.
On a cold, cold night under the stars.
Wondering how high or how far
Is someone else eating an apple in the dark.
Does it taste the same in their world?
Are we looking at the same star with each bite?
If we were face to face would we smile and carry on eating our apples or would we fight?
So many things make us different in so many ways. Belief plays its part in those dark ways. Religion forming minds with its dictation of ‘right’. But I believe that there is kindness in all living beings out there in the night.
So if life was like eating an apple we’d appreciate the variety of the tastes. We’d smile at eachother in kind, natural ways.
So I’ll eat my apple in the cold dark night. I will look at the stars with each sweet bite. I’d think that somewhere out there someone is doing the same. In quiet contemplation enjoying the taste. Possibly smiling at our star to reflect peace through the night in this cold, dark world where we steal eachother’s light.