September’s Apples
By Frank Daub
September apples rest in the cellar,
barely in the light,
mellow,
turning cider
beneath their shining skins like cinnamon wine.
I bite one –
juice bubbles out
to the edges of my mouth.
There is sweetness first.
Then at once the tart September taste and
the white circle roughly broken from
the red round.
How long, I wonder, before the white darkens.
The white goes nut colored
before
I can finish peeling the red entirety --
Or
after I’ve taken the first bite.
What is it that makes us put apples in the cellar?
To keep them Autumn-like, extending the
crispness of a season bringing harvest?
This, or it does something to their flavor that the sun can’t finish.
I try to remember how the apples tasted when the old man and I pulled them
from the tree.
They were cold.
A little less mellow.
They are sweeter now.
Being buried was good for them. Buried in the deep cool of this cellar,
away from the sun.
Lovely lemony filling such a tasty treat
Easy to make, and so delicious to eat
My recipe is so easy, I confess that I cheat
One pastry case bought in the high street
Now everyone will know about my deceit!
Two eggs, sugar, and heavy cream is best
Add juice of two lemons and lots of the zest
Rapidly whisk, but do not splash your chest!
Then bake tart in the oven, it’ll thrill any guest
Family function on the Easter holiday.
Relatives arrive right on time.
Uplifting hugs and brief catching up.
Instantly sit around the table and say grace.
There is nothing better than the scent of food.
Time for dessert: a fresh fruit tart.
A pastry with smooth mascarpone cream filling.
Recipe: rich, slightly tart, and sweet fruit topping.
The star of our Easter dinner.
fruits, both sweet and sour are dear
fruit tart is the dish
of my all- time favorite.
a baked pastry crust
topped with fresh ripe fruits
makes mouth drool.
yum!
grandma’s favorite recipe
warm tart cherry pie
dessert straight from the oven
ice cream if you please
A slice of cheese too
Marvelous
Dish
You broken my heart
Before we could even start.
You seen my feelings
As objects, pieces of art.
Your choice of words are so tart.
A basket full of apples,
an assortment of flavor.
Wide plethora to pick from,
maybe that is the problem.
This is far too much to ask,
a basket full of apples.
By nature not gluttonous,
decisions hard decisions.
Tart, candied, a bit of both.
Which bite will truly fill me?
A basket full of apples,
I only want to eat one.
Scent rolling off of the peel,
the spicy feel of autumn.
Cinnamon hot is my sweet,
a basket full of apples.
It’s just an illusion
that softly stirs sadness within my broken heart’s
confusion.
I have been tricked.
I'm seduced by the Queen of Tarts -
and pricked.
Voodoo
casts magic darts -
you.
It’s just an illusion,
I'm seduced by the Queen of Tarts -
you.
I don't see the funny part
Of calling a woman Tart:
What you now plan to restart
And just burn a happy heart
Words of mischief stacked in cart
Had never won Purple Heart
The loosed tongue may around dart
But don't fail to smell like fart
I foresee some tomorrow
Face of repentance borrow;
The hacked heart still in sorrow:
Tina's: tears fill a barrow.
the orb
hung
in the haze
like a
lemon-drop
tart
tickling
my tongue
A little of 3 ( sweet, tart, and insanely brilliant)
the fruitcakes of our world know much, yet we deem them crazy
The fine line between sanity and insanity has been crossed
we now no longer know who is a doctor, who is a quack
I watched her bury stones inside the earth
all over the grounds of our complex
She spoke to herself and she spoke to the aliens
God help her, one more complaint and they'd lock her up
I went home to a sane house of quiet, and kneeled
God give me the strength to survive one more day
Then I buried my amethyst deep in the soil
like the sweet tart had shown me,
Insanely Brilliant !
She declined to eat a pop tart
Because all that fruit makes her fart
Yet tends to favour
Raspberry flavour
For rhapsodies straight from the heart
There was but one
dark chocolate tart
left in the silver tray
It’s cherry, pinched by passersby
so early in the day
Its dreams were dashed
as it could see
the softly dimming light
meant that the little bakery
was closing for the night
It longed, just to be purchased
A cream filled destiny
But all was lost, it seemed
as there was little hope, you see
Though thoroughly delicious
and still a work of art
No one seems to care about
another stale old tart
Lemon meringue pie makes me salivate from here to Alaska
I love her color, her texture, her sweet, her sugar, her sour.
Her flaky crust, her tart lemon, her well -formed meringue
My mouth is dripping saliva as loudly as a dog’s when I think of her.
Ever so tasty!
Muareen Macgreavy and Harry Horsman Speak Truth to power
In my darkest moments on Poetry Soup
These were hero and SHE-ro who did not imply
Dr. Anil Deo is insane for writing about George Floyd
They did not maintain a thundering quiet
Cowardly quiet, when we will write about terrorists
when "White governments" call any of us terrorists
Not quite right, "White governments" call THEM the terror
A senryu for these heroes, or for POETRY's sake ---
sudden gusts of Fall -
green heroes fall in twos, threes
yes, trees, and you, me
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