Short Fruiting Poems

The massive field of this World 
Virus eating to emptiness 

My love to you remember
Fruiting proper and prosper!...

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No more a cheerful giver
Than this, bird-voicing.
Who lights up the prettier
Fruiting for fruit tree.

Which sound, uninhibited
Look, of sheeny gloss
Intensifies, when upsped
With basket, dearie ....

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Morning renewal, belong to me 
Bring a fresh bouquet of song to me 
Resound revival, a gong of glee
Pour like roaring waves, a throng of sea
Supply vigor of a strong brew tea
Bloom like fruiting spurs along a tree
Transformed by the One I long to see

3-18-2021...

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He came to save.
But the cross was the crux
Of the Father's dire demand.
So he went.

He came to give life,
But was lifted, left on a tree,
Hanging in the singeing sun.
So he died.

He came to reap,
But the fruit must first die,
Buried in the belly of the earth.
So he budded..

He sprouted the third day,
Fruited—a hundredfold, and more.
Still fruiting because
He came to save....

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He came to save.
But the cross was the crux:
The Father's dire demand.
So he went.

He came with life,
But was lifted on a tree.
Hanging in the sun,
He gave the life.

He came to reap,
But must bear the fruit.
He fell into the ground.
And died! Buried!

He sprouted the third day,
Fruited. Still fruiting
'Cause He came to save.
And reap!


Copyright © 2013
By Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi...

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Fields of freedom fruiting our fantasy
Liberty from the Ironshore sugar crumbling days
Airport displaced and struggling for land
Nature strewn where Taino and Maroons ratified claim
Kin and flesh held one displaced place, ancestral lands
Enticing too the greedy barons claim, but they had none
Rights must be the thrust of the masses, so dream
Struggle, fight, Flankers must unite against the chains of night...

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So Libra
Scale of deities and Zodiac
Balancing our hopes
And green renewal
Giving birth
The way you were birthed
From the fables of the earth
Imposed on man's ignorance
So Libra
For fruit you bring the ripening leaves
For beauty you show the dying trees
And in the face
Of nature fruiting and death
The bees come laden
With the hope of spring
Their belly golden
With uncopulated pollen
And butterflies
Coming home again
All things balanced
Between the winter and the rain...

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Bush: she had a deep
black birds nest.
Fecund Arabic woman
dark peaches for thin lips.

White faced, I redden in the sun,
a blanched fig, a thirst
for dew drops.

One night is enough, maybe two,
there must be a Spanish guitar
pleading the stars for more tears.

I have a comb
for her oval waves,
she is, for a while,
the mother of the world
the secreting seeds
of a fruiting pomegranate.

I am her despoiler of silk sheets,
she, a font of arousal
baptizing a love-song.

...

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