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The ripe pear
Quartering this ripe pear
- a knife-and-fork job; it gave little away
except a slight softness around the stalk,
yet seems to contain more juice than
any work of man could hold -
quartering this ripe pear,
I'm caught up in wonder:
this is almost too good for human beings -
it should have a religion built around its praise;
as if it wishes to tell us something
that we might have overlooked
about such mouth-worn phrases as
Nature's bounty and God's grace..
or as if, two thousand years ago,
it had leaned, heavy on its branch,
from the wall of Plato's leafy Academy,
saw him writing of ideals,
and smiled;
and now I've written that,
I can eat this pear,
tasting it and what I've written;
this pear, I swear,
now tastes even better;
as if I had submitted
on some altar, to be consumed by praise;
praise that tastes of pear; pear that tastes of praise.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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There Is Something Inside My Mouth (2)
there is something singing inside my mouth
but i keep my mouth closed
i decide when shall the opening be
when shall i hear this little thing sing again
in the open
for now i have closed whatever is it that opens
that sings
it is time to mourn
to be silent
to die
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Idea Of 'Pear Tree
for Robin Blaser
a pear tree forgets only itself as
an audacity
limbs recall themselves
appear to reach
one cannot see them
reaching
they may be silent but
we cannot know that toward
later sweetness they yearn
then seed a still dirt around
content to lie down
the idea of 'pear tree'
reduces to all sparks
yet
no illusion of darkness
hastens the pear
but O it tastes
poem by Warren Falcon
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85
i wish i have a mouth that knows how to speak my love
i wish i have this kind of mouth that knows to speak
about my love
one that opens so easily and dashes with words like
you know i love you, tell me, do you love me too?
a candid mouth, like a shrew who gambles with words and
will not mind losing
a mouth who kisses your mouth without
shame and if shamed because you slap it
does not bother at all,
one who says, why hide love, why not pour love like a
strong wine to a chalice and let it warm
the glass and let the glass
be nothing but a glass
one that does not mind at all, one that loves and if not loved in
return takes the other possibilities
without regrets
or pain,
the mouth that i have is closed and will not open
afraid
i have kept the words
i love you only for you
like a worm inside my tongue,
wriggling
turning into a little butterfly
that never had the chance to see what is outside
and feel the freedom of air,
yesterday
it died and i keep it for the whole night
now, i spit it out
and my mouth closed again
eating only silence
while you just watch there
asking me
and i said there is nothing to worry
nothing at all
i just don't feel anything and there is nothing
worth saying, i look at you as you go, i hold only to your shadow
and you will never never never know,
this
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Wish I Have A Mouth That Knows How To Speak My Love
i wish i have this kind of mouth that knows to speak
about my love
one that opens so easily and dashes with words like
you know i love you, tell me, do you love me too?
a candid mouth, like a shrew who gambles with words and
will not mind losing
a mouth who kisses your mouth without
shame and if shamed because you slap it
does not bother at all,
one who says, why hide love, why not pour love like a
strong wine to a chalice and let it warm
the glass and let the glass
be nothing but a glass
one that does not mind at all, one that loves and if not loved in
return takes the other possibilities
without regrets
or pain,
the mouth that i have is closed and will not open
afraid
i have kept the words
i love you only for you
like a worm inside my tongue,
wriggling
turning into a little butterfly
that never had the chance to see what is outside
and feel the freedom of air,
yesterday
it died and i keep it for the whole night
now, i spit it out
and my mouth closed again
eating only silence
while you just watch there
asking me
and i said there is nothing to worry
nothing at all
i just don't feel anything and there is nothing
worth saying, i look at you as you go, i hold only to your shadow
and you will never never never know,
this
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Every Aspect Of It!
Just because you do not see me driving,
Do not assume I am not licensed to drive.
Or that I do not 'think'...
Because I do not look the part.
You don't see half the things I do and have done.
Nor are you on my agenda.
And folks who focus their sights on others...
Are the first who find these times we live,
Difficult to adjust.
Even though they feel they 'must'...
Demand understanding,
Without participating in the development of it.
You know the kind...?
The ears closed, mouth open types!
With claims they don't know what is going on!
And rush they do to prevent,
The circumstances of truth.
Coming to bombard and overwhelm.
With the consequences of their ignorance.
You know the kind...?
The ears closed, mouth open types!
Yet conflict they are quick to define...
Instead of using their minds to take time,
Comprehending remedies.
To set aside a strategy...
To stop the havoc that has begun,
Happening in their own lives.
You know the kind...?
The ears closed, mouth open types!
And this kind of mindset today,
Is reflected on a massive scale.
People into minding the business of others...
Have found their business in shambles.
Every aspect of it!
With shock and disbelief,
As a return for their 'investment'!
You know the kind...?
The ears closed, mouth open types!
The ones who rush to cover their butts,
With implusive mindless decisions!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Lovers How They Come And Part
A Gyges ring they bear about them still,
To be, and not seen when and where they will;
They tread on clouds, and though they sometimes fall,
They fall like dew, and make no noise at all:
So silently they one to th' other come,
As colours steal into the pear or plum,
And air-like, leave no pression to be seen
Where'er they met, or parting place has been.
poem by Robert Herrick
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Aunty Anna's Orchard
it was the largest house
next to it an orchard
full of apple and plum trees
and one lonesome old pear tree
in the corner of the backyard
this was
where she spent several summers
most of her time
leaning against
the gnarled trunk
she could dream
she could hide
she could feel free
for a few minutes
or all day
she could watch
the growth of the leaves
creating a green roof
it was a shelter
if some rain fell
the glorious pear blossoms
and it's private perfume
filled her room
for a while
the blossom leaves disappear
with the wind
more than a few
stayed behind
for coloring a carpet
on the floor
sometimes
nothing happened
nothing changed
all though she was not being patient
about the growth of the pears
out of reach
high in her old tree
still standing on her toes
she needed to be tall
she stretched every day
and grew too
at last
picking that first pear
enjoying that view above
showing she would reap
very soon
so much more
she just had to wait
for the pears to fall
poem by Ellie Daphne van Stralen
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Pears
Some say
it was a pear
Eve ate.
Why else the shape
of the womb,
or of the cello
Whose single song is grief
for the parent tree?
Why else the fruit itself
tawny and sweet
which your lover
over breakfast
lets go your pear-
shaped breast
to reach for?
poem by Linda Pastan
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If you want to know the taste of a pear, you must change the pear by eating it yourself. If you want to know the theory and methods of revolution, you must take part in revolution. All genuine knowledge originates in direct experience.
quote by Mao Zedong
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A ripe pear is more likely to fall in the shit than onto the clean ground.
Queer Things
One nostril means latin,
The other means greek.
My legs will be
little steel rods,
which will continue
trotting after
I am dead.
My arms are
two useless limbs
when I stand on my head,
(Which 1 never do).
My mouth, too often open,
will be my despair -
clogged and sputtering
and drivelling, -
when I'll be very old
(which will never be)
I hate my head
My rotting head
which will never fall of itself
like any decent pear.
It has the intention
of flying up to the sky,
but it will always trail in the dust:
eating grime and dirt,
screaming erotic songs,
begging all the world
to enter in it.
poem by Emanuel Carnevali
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The Bare Necessities
Look for the bare necessities
The simple bare necessities
Forget about your worries and your strife
I mean the bare necessities
Old Mother Nature's recipes
That brings the bare necessities of life
Wherever I wander, wherever I roam
I couldn't be fonder of my big home
The bees are buzzin' in the tree
To make some honey just for me
When you look under the rocks and plants
And take a glance at the fancy ants
Then maybe try a few
The bare necessities of life will come to you
They'll come to you!
Look for the bare necessities
The simple bare necessities
Forget about your worries and your strife
I mean the bare necessities
That's why a bear can rest at ease
With just the bare necessities of life
Now when you pick a pawpaw
Or a prickly pear
And you prick a raw paw
Next time beware
Don't pick the prickly pear by the paw
When you pick a pear
Try to use the claw
But you don't need to use the claw
When you pick a pear of the big pawpaw
Have I given you a clue ?
The bare necessities of life will come to you
They'll come to you!
So just try and relax, yeah cool it
Fall apart in my backyard
'Cause let me tell you something little britches
If you act like that bee acts, uh uh
You're working too hard
And don't spend your time lookin' around
For something you want that can't be found
When you find out you can live without it
And go along not thinkin' about it
I'll tell you something true
The bare necessities of life will come to you
Look for the bare necessities
The simple bare necessities
Forget about your worries and your strife
I mean the bare necessities
That's why a bear can rest at ease
With just the bare necessities of life
The bare necessities of life will come to you
song performed by by Bowling For Soup
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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John Lee Supertaster
Flans: When I was 39 years old, I heard a story. I found out that there [are] people walking among us who have superpowers. These people are called Supertasters. To a Supertaster, bitter fruits taste far more bitter, and sweets far more sweet. Then, just a few months ago, I had the chance to meet a real, live Supertaster named John Lee.
And this is his true story:
Nothing tastes the same (nothing tastes the same)
To a Supertaster (Supertaster)
When he tastes a pear (tastes a pear)
It's like a hundred pears (it's like a million pears)
He's got superpowers (superpowers)
He is a Supertaster (Supertaster)
Every flavor explodes (explodes and explodes)
Explodes and explodes
John Lee Supertaster
Tastes more than we do
Everything has a flavor
Some flavors are too much
Can't shut his mouth (can't shut his mouth)
'Cause he's a Supertaster (Supertaster)
Though he looks like a man (talks like a man)
He is a Supertaster (Supertaster)
Can't drink coffee or beer (coffee or beer)
'Cause he's a Supertaster (Supertaster)
Loves ice cream and pie (ice cream and pie)
He is a Supertaster
John Lee Supertaster
Tastes more than we know
Everything has a flavor
Some flavors must go
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Kairos - For Spicer Who 'told me not
one will not win readers by cursing
the darkness
that's already in the canon
too many ears are hurt from such an age
lost its ability to hear beyond crash
nor sit still long enough to see
what sun may rise
even that belief, 'sunrise'
is failing
stars are falling
raging ones
gaze only at themselves
bereft of capacities to
gaze for
or even
toward
an other
one cannot reify thunder
selves ARE
redundantly so
so many pages torn out
a pear tree forgets only itself as
an audacity
limbs recall themselves
appear to reach
one cannot see them
reaching
they may be silent but
we cannot know that toward
later sweetness they yearn
then seed a still dirt around
content to lie down
the idea of 'pear tree' reduces
to all sparks
yet
no illusion of darkness
hastens the pear
But O it tastes
**
'Kairos is the passing moment in which something happens as the time unfolds...it is a small window of becoming and opportunity. One of the origins of the word comes from shepherds watching the stars. As the night progresses and the stars turn in the sky, they appear to rise and then fall against the horizon. The moment when a star has reached its apogee and appears to change direction from ascending to descending is its kairos.' -Corrigall, J, Payne, H, Wilkinson,
H (eds) , About A Body,2006: pg.201
poem by Warren Falcon
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Villeggiature
My window, framed in pear-tree bloom,
White-curtained shone, and softly lighted:
So, by the pear-tree, to my room
Your ghost last night climbed uninvited.
Your solid self, long leagues away,
Deep in dull books, had hardly missed me;
And yet you found this Romeo's way,
And through the blossom climbed and kissed me.
I watched the still and dewy lawn,
The pear-tree boughs hung white above you;
I listened to you till the dawn,
And half forgot I did not love you.
Od, dear! what pretty things you said,
What pearls of song you threaded for me!
I did not-till your ghost had fled-
Remember how you always bore me!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Oven Bird
There is a singer eveyone has heard,
Loud, a mid-summer and a mid-wood bird,
Who makes the solid tree trunks sound again.
He says that leaves are old and that for flowers
Mid-summer is to spring as one to ten.
He says the early petal-fall is past,
When pear and cherry bloom went down in showers
On sunny days a moment overcast;
And comes that other fall we name the fall.
He says the highway dust is over all.
The bird would cease and be as other birds
But that he knows in singing not to sing.
The question that he frames in all but words
Is what to make of a diminished thing.
poem by Robert Frost
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