Ripens Poems | Examples

Remedy Rhythms

Remedy Rhythms 
Sometimes writers block 
Sunrises at dawn 
Sometimes secrets revealed 
Render revolver 
Rivers soothing recedes 
Reckoning subsides 
Rain randomly pouring 
Sometimes a hole in the sky 
Life ripens rosaries 
Good deeds to kindness remedy 
Rent is paid 
Giving is a good day 
Better to give than receive 
Knowing to reasoning

The Wonder of Creation

I climb high up the tortuous path
Of a ragged hillock and 
In pensive solitude I look around
Upon the universe that surround me.
 
There from on high
I spy so many mysterious wonders
That God endowed this worthy earth,
And blessed all His creations
With wealth, momentous and great.
 
The waning sun creeps down over the horizon
To gain its well-earned rest.
A reddish dusk tinges the hilltops
As swallows glide serenely below the ridge
In search of a homely sanctuary 
To dream the dark night away.
 
The multicoloured flowers in the valley
That swing in nightly breezes,
And feed the insects bright;
The trees that grow so mighty
Whilst bushes provide haven to so many
Graceful creatures of the wild.	
The glorious stars that light the dark
The dazzling sun that ripens crops,
The lakes and seas that ripple
And reflect the mountains high:
Is it not easy to understand
How blessed we all are?
Yet do we ever stop 
To thank our dear Lord
And ponder on these gracious gifts?

War

A cloud bursts,
and the earth drinks -- 
the sun shines,
and the earth ripens;
the moon, sanctuary
of werewolves and Love,
keeps alive our fictions.

Dawn to Dusk

Pop!
sunshine
and birdsong
awaken them.
The boy gardener,
the sprout breaking the earth,
with the birds, they arise first,
leaving their beds to gather sun,
reflecting, quietly excited,
soil cultivated -   a dream realized.
Vibrant growth, vines branch exponentially,
fueled by the sun, new life triumphs,
as boy and plant conquer the earth.
In time, nature sings it song,
flowers bloom, fruit ripens
as old vines wither
and turn to seed,
resting in
silent
night.

Whispers in the moonlight 26-10-23

Amidst the tranquil moonlit night, the forest murmured secrets.
The leaves rustled in hushed conversation,
the shadows in exuberance
darting from trunk to trunk,
languishing wherever the moonlight was absent.
Shreds of darkness form an eclectic collection of silhouettes,
dusting the trail with beasts yet to be chartered by man.
The haunting howls of owls enchant the night
sending animals bolting frantically into the undergrowth,
their rough countenances illuminated
by the eerie glow of nocturnal fungi,
ignited by the moon's touch.
In this hostile ambience,
a petal of purity ripens in to fruition.
A figure in a dove white cloak amongst the silvery darkness,
beneath the skies, beneath the trees
dancing and fluttering in a hidden breeze.

The Three Apples

Eden's fruit gleams red —

Knowledge wounds deeper and sharper than now

Silicon dreams wake


Gravity's whisper

Via a slew of logical falls

Into neural nets


Jobs' crystal garden

Where aluminium meets glass

Future blooms within


Digital serpents

Now weave through quantum orchards

Teaching metal minds


Machine-wisdom fruit

Ripens on carbon branches

Beyond human reach


Paradise regained?

Or wandering circuits that learn

To think like gods do?

Falling Away

A rusted breeze ripens with early frosts
Ill-fated trees wilt begetting their loss
Rich fermented decay's putrified bloom
Bidding farewell to the song of the loon

The belching pond spurts summers spoil
Bird nests crumble leaving traces of toil
Flowers tilling soil with seeds for new growth
All of life is taking a dying oath

The spreading fire of the evening sun
Blazes in drenched horizons faraway
As days get shorter, and stars have more fun
Popping on flashlights in the milky way

Autumn-extraneous-harmonious 
Ceremonious-Testimonios

Apples to oranges gruk

Not all fruit ripens at the same time,                                                                                               so don't look down on me                                                                                                                from among the leaves,                                                                                                         because you think I am poor fallen.                                                                                                              A callen in suit for when I die                                                                                                                                  it is to bear more fruit

A Place Not Meant To Be: 01

#1:  A Day Begins

 Sand grains station elevated for want
in the cool starless relics spell of dark
a sun behold horizon that dews haunt
favoring a virgin's touch settled spark
illuminate sprawl hope echoes a night
prejudge ripens new to the golden day
freedom speculate oddly slept by light
as shadiness telltale spots dead astray
undulating surge flowing wetness stir
uneasy granules settle in hair strands
surf push nonsensical ashore transfer
waterline mind a sun aloof shift sands
a shoreline of lying seashells mumble
amidst the noisy sand castles crumble

Uterus Fruits

             First picked Summertime cherry 
             Dew glimmer marble blood clot
    Taut fruit platter embitters sweating cheese
              Liver pate shivers jiggle jelly
       Nepenthe Mountbatten hidden chicken 

    
                 Lays a tablecloth festive
            Red checkered rewashed faded
        Season with sea swell returns faithfully  
       Sickle slender silver moon smile harvests 
            Follicle forests expanding to full


            Bright verve verdancy bursting 
                  Peril of temporal balls
      Metered to melt before resuming build
Knife blade moonbeam ripens the coming crop
     Basket bulge fibrous beckon buyers’ bids


                 When the ceremony’s over
              Feasting has ceased, linen’s off
Pink penned love letters are scrunched up thrown out
  Reform engorged nightcap warmed moon omen
  Sun demurred eclipse naps, menopause opaque 


          Unborn bends branches for Mary
               Dulia in bloom banquets 





                   
        Written for Contest: Seven Ten 
               Sponsor: Emile Pinet

Summer Comparisons

I relish spring's green growth; plants at their best 
and babies after mama birds build nests.
But I cherish summer trips on fishing boats, 
going barefoot, bare arms, no caps or coats.

Fall embellishes with gorgeous colors
but it’s back to school and few days outdoors.
Summer can have hellish heat from the sun
but then swimming makes for all kinds of fun.

Winter’s also nightmarish - snow and ice storms;
a fireplace brings comfort, hard work that warms.
Nourishing summer’s heat ripens gardens
corn on the cob, juicy watermelons.

Finished. No season’s perfect, I suppose -
outdoors is why I think summer comes close.

''A Love So Hot and Tempting as Rising Dough'' Reprised

A love so hot and tempting as rising dough,
     like fruit, oft' ripens during spring's brief life.
So feed the hunger! Bite the apple. Though
     some will judge you, let it not cause you strife.

“What role does Nature have for a pure virgin?”
     That, O chaste, young head maiden, is the question:
enjoy the pleasures of youth, long before sin
     takes hold by the Pharisee's loathsome religion.

Even priests tire from their show of virtue,
     set ablaze like kindling with their great lusts!
The constant flames in you which won't harm you,
     yearn for the feeling of your Father's thrusts.

Thus, God's saints gather round in heaven's choir,  
as love hopes to lift bone-hard cocks even higher.

Drifts and Promises

Your sweet breaths and perfumes provoke so,
have I found love in this drift of circumstance?

DO you love me? If so, pray, swear it on the tireless sea,
whose thrashing cold, intemperate waters will last forever. 

I swear it freely, on the sea, on breath, and on life itself 
- may both be forfit should my vow prove shallow perjury.

As pronounced vows become curses, if they be lies, 
truth only ripens, its harvest yielding the sweetest fruit

Reading By the Window: a Glimpse Into the Story

The pages open 
like leaves fluttering 
in a stiff summer breeze 
that reaches through the window, 
carrying whispers and echoes 
from lands far and away. 
Beckoning restless hands 
to turn the pages.

A breeze caresses the face 
with a delicate touch, 
like a hand tracing 
the rough, grainy words on a page, 
forever altering the contours 
of oneself.

The flip-flap of pages
in  silent moments
between a held breath
and whisper of words
like tiny wings of a hummingbird,
carrying you on endless adventures.

Shadow of the sun creeps by 
while words gleam 
in passing moonlight. 
As dews gather light 
on a ripening orange 
glimpsed through the window. 
The moment ripens while 
dewdrops trace a winding, halting trail 
along the pitted mien of the fruit 
as the eyes flit over the words, 
trying to prolong the inevitable, 
enticing you to savor 
the bittersweet moment 
this long-awaited fruition brings.

A cocoon of warmth and safety
recedes like fading echoes
and the breeze vanishes,
carrying a part of you
leaving behind a lingering phantom
till the pages open again.

When I Saw the Hastily Growing Tree

As I look on, what the seed has into grown,
The tree, rises in haste, lets her arms free.

As I look on, I wonder what seed I sown, if
Ripens a fruit as star to sing my life's flute?

As I look on, I inquire the days bygone, their 
Silence now greets my feeble defiance......

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