Windfalls Poems | Examples

ALCOHOL IS IN OUR GENES

It would seem that our early ancestors 
Foraged afar to find the freshest fruit   
But sometimes they would have to eat windfalls 
That were covered with that white fungal fur  
Which made the windfall fruit start to ferment  
And making alcohol from the sugars. 

Was this fermented fruit more popular, 
Perhaps providing them with much pleasure? 
Did fermented fruit become preferred food? 
Maybe over many millions of years  
Our human genes then slowly did evolve 
So we take to consuming alcohol.

Senses

   Sunlight and shadows
   White clouds drifting by
   An old apple tree
   Birds of a feather
   Scavenging windfalls.

   Barefeet on grass
   Cool leather seat
   Glass table top
   Sunshade retreat.

   Urban noise
   Church clock chimes
   Lunch Bell rings.

   Hot spiced
   Garlick 

   Wings.
   

   12/ 5 / 2024.

Crushed Apples

The windfalls
have been trod and gnawed upon.
A sweet sludge of pith
is spread across a ripe carpet
of cider scented soil.

Here in late autumn,
an amber painted orchard
is the heady mulch of a waning sunlight.

The unburdened branches,
now are open spaces, tunnels,
for the tangy tongues of drinking winds.

Blight tinted apples dwindle
within mossy cups of time,
still deliciously edible
for the ever-hungry earth.

Keeping It Real

My Muse awoke me,
I had been listening to a thunderstorm
from my warm bedroom.
She wanted me to write about
the storm.

The morning came fine and fair,
she was still pressing me
to talk about the thunderstorm,

but I am done retouching
and tweaking
dusty old images
that cannot be verified
in this very moment.

The present is a fact checker
and a sunny sky don't lie.

If you must know
there are peaches in the orchard
Squirrels are nibbling away the windfalls.

My son is almost playing a tune
on his electric guitar,
the smell of bacon
is pulling me toward the kitchen.

I turn on the TV
but all the shows are reruns.

Family Tree

I am the surplus confusion of my mother,
the left-overs of Uncle Tommy –
sous chef and demon lover,
the aftershave of my father,
and his father before him.

We are what we are,
but of course
there are the missing links,
the ghost branches,
the genetics of glitches
and other social chicanery.

Time hides
what we are in the windfalls,
vestiges that end on the forest floor,
illicit bones
forming invisible roots.

When I was a child
I had a swing on one of its lower limbs,
leaning back
I would watch the sky rolling around,
never thinking that it was I
floating by
that was the stray leaf.

Sipping Cider With My Sweetheart

Cider only requires one straw—
Sipping with my Sweetheart.
Dreaming about apples—
Some big (and) some small...
Whispering windfalls upon a fallen time ground.
Fields endless waves motionless now;
And then
Hearts as sweet as Cider’s bottomless feel
Incapable of prediction;
Moments blossom molding beauty
Out of anticipation.
Sweetheart runs in place.
Spiraling emotional curiosity—
Butterfly knots twist.
Squeezing fresh juice;
Containing lovely pulp (of) free will.
Circling around and around every last one of each other.
Without help; mutually
Sipping Cider with my Sweetheart.


11-23-18
Contest: COOL WRITES AND IMAGINATION CONTEST
Host: Kim Rodriguez

Plagiarists

Plundering stuff to clone is obscene
Leeching from others whose work they have seen
Always alert for what comes their way
Grabbing their windfalls by night and by day
In their bid for acclaim and contests to win
As they strive to be first to get copyrights in
Redoubling their effort with every deed
It flies in the face of our Creative Creed
Shunned is the justice they'll get for their greed
Their peers, once alerted, will expose them by name 
Serves them right when they're Caught and Outed in Shame

Wind Songs

Ribbed  strands of wheat across the plain
bend at the knees, to drink the rain
in windfalls
Brown from harvest, drought and blight,
are cornstalks spinning through the night
like windmills
The dry stalks slant and dangle leaves
and rattle music through the trees
in windstorms




__________________________________________
Written for Nette's Contest: Fire, Earth, Wind
By Carrie Richards 11/20/14

Autumn Wind

A litany of leaves tango
to the tune of your chilly flow,
so windblown.

Moody clouds move silently by
in a turbulent silver sky,
as windfalls.

Showing signs of your wrath, the trees,
to whipping the waves of the seas,
so windswept.

© 2014 Connie Marcum Wong
11-16-14
WIND - Compound Word Verse

Pie Eyed

The trees have pumpkin-pied themselves
they're dipped in orange butterscotch.
The squirrel's nests of pick-up sticks
hide acorns stores which plink-plop.

Below the apple trees bowed branches
mother harvests windfalls for pies.
Father takes a old buck down
for mincemeat pie, bye and bye. 

The corn field's full of children small
gathering ears for Dutch Corn pie.
A cider smell of cinnamon
reminds of crispy crusts on standby.

Mother's at her best this season
and all those pies-- why its the reason!

Autumn In the Graveyard

Windfalls of apples,
dull reds and brown leaf
scattered amongst
the creeping mist
that filters through
the wily woven web of spiders,
laying in wait
unknowing of the migration
that followed the sun...!

© Harry J Horsman 2012

Hearth of Winds

Hearth of Winds

From west to east you plumb axisal spin,

And darted on the limbs of the poles.

On longitudes and latitudes, you are dotted in silhouettes.

Just above the horizon of age, you journeyed,

Beckoning the threshold of syllabubic windfalls.

Sated with doldrums of lambent haul,

And the pomp of sycamore hover instill.

When you call again at the Isle of trench,

The oracles of time shall tune again the aviary.

Seated upon the pillion of days the carter roves,

Tilting in all directions with hopes of succour.

A long way from time indeed you are,

But as the tides of valour surmise you triumph.

Once I saw an array of humanic acclaims,

In a manger of Sylphic heath of tenderness.

The hills of tonic travails titivating the hold,

And all the flakes of materialism dancing attune the vista.

The tales of deeds will forever entail polemic puzzles,

And the spate of the weaver’s loom shall reckon amidst.

 

Adeola Yusuf Amuni

Take Me All the Way

For too long I kept my eyes from seeing the clues
	Too many signs left unseen
	Though you never gave up on me
	You made things plain to see
	I tried to wipe the clues clean
And used every excuse and diversion in my ruse

For too long I ran from the signs and accompanying guilt
	I turned from your proffered path
	Though you never gave up on me
	You made things plain to see
	Usually I chose my self-inflicted wrath
And I collected enough self-doubt and loathing to make a quilt

For too long I ignored your help and turned the other cheek
	I blamed you for all ills and pitfalls
	I cursed you more than I can say
	I spat at you and swore your name everyday
	Even while thanking you for little windfalls
When in reality without you I was mild timid and meek

For too long I neglected you and ignored you and took you to task
	Have I burned the bridge is it too late
	May I beg for forgiveness and save face
	May I earn your favor and your good grace
	Is it too late to for you to steer me to my fate
Yet now I come to you hoping you’ll lead the way so I humbly ask

God's Delight

do not be afraid for you are God's delight
Her only wants you to serve Him like His son Jesus Christ
for God would like to have with you a tete a tete
a little chat with Him that is intimate
it does not matter when, it does not matter where
it only matters that it's from you He wants to hear
and when you talk to God don't be like those that think they know it all
don't be like those who brag about their financial windfalls
and don't be like those who think to show off their unearned power
just tell the Lord God thanks for the blessings on you He has showered

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