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It is dangerous to eat cherries with the great, they throw the stones at your head.
Those that eat cherries with great persons shall have their eyes squirted out with the stones.
They who eat cherries with the great, are like to have the stones and stalks flung in their face.
Thoughts While Watching A Still Painting Of Pears And Cherries
upon a tray
are the still orange pears
below are the three cherries
and the wilting leaves
i like the way the pears'
way of seducing me into biting it
the cherries compete with
the enticement
the leaves wilt with envy
and here i am watching and not
even allowed to touch anything
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Is A Garden In Her Face
There is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies grow;
A heav'nly paradise is that place
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow.
There cherries grow which none may buy,
Till 'Cherry ripe' themselves do cry.
Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow;
Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy,
Till 'Cherry ripe' themselves do cry.
Her eyes like angels watch them still,
Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that attempt with eye or hand
Those sacred cherries to come nigh,
Till 'Cherry ripe' themselves do cry.
poem by Thomas Campion
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There is a Garden in Her Face
There is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies grow;
A heav'nly paradise is that place
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow.
There cherries grow which none may buy
Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.
Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds filled with snow;
Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy,
Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.
Her eyes like angels watch them still;
Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that attempt, with eye or hand
Those sacred cherries to come nigh
Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.
poem by Thomas Champion (1619)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Chocolate Cherries Is Much Safer?
she told me eating
chocolate cherries
is much safer
perhaps I prefer
getting drunk drinking
in alcohol sour cherries
drinking the second
the third one would
love to share
artists might define
this drinking
as frustration eating
how quickly spirit
frustration times
slip away passing
Dedicated to Miroslava Odalovic.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cherry-Ripe
THERE is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies blow;
A heavenly paradise is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow:
There cherries grow which none may buy
Till 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.
Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow;
Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy
Till 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.
Her eyes like angels watch them still;
Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that attempt with eye or hand
Those sacred cherries to come nigh,
Till 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.
poem by Thomas Campion
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If Life Is A Bowl Of Cherries (Fun Poem 45)
If life a bowl of cherries
why do I always end up with the pips?
Why is it on a bright and sunny day
does it always rain on me?
Why is it when I go to climb a ladder
the one I get has no rungs?
I once had a car
that I used to like to drive,
others liked to drive it too
and they nicked it three times.
We have all heard
of the dive dropping birds,
well they use my car
to do their practicing on.
My world is so upside down
that I never know if
I’m coming or going,
nor where I’ve been.
So the next time you pass
a bowl of cherries
could you please leave a couple for me?
The pips are rather hard
and the stick in my teeth.
14 November 2007
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Life Is Just A Bowl Of Cherries
People are queer, theyre always crowing, scrambling and rushing about;
Why dont they stop someday, address themselves this way?
Why are we here? where are we going? its time that we found out.
Were not here to stay; were on a short holiday.
Life is just a bowl of cherries.
Dont take it serious; its too mysterious.
You work, you save, you worry so,
But you cant take your dough when you go, go, go.
So keep repeating its the berries,
The strongest oak must fall,
The sweet things in life, to you were just loaned
So how can you lose what youve never owned?
Life is just a bowl of cherries,
So live and laugh at it all.
Life is just a bowl of cherries.
Dont take it serious; its too mysterious.
At eight each morning I have got a date,
To take my plunge round the empire state.
Youll admit its not the berries,
In a building thats so tall;
Theres a guy in the show, the girls love to kiss;
Get thousands a week just for crooning like this:
Life is just a bowl of . . . aw, nuts!
So live and laugh at it all!
song performed by by Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Don't Forget who is your Father
God is Great
He created you and me so ladies and gentleman
he is the only person to praise and pray
Cause some of us we pray Alan people you pray him
who is him God is the one who created us
so guys help me to Thank him every time i'm sick i call him cause
he is the hiller the killer of diseases in the world
Help me to sing.
How great is our God sing with me how great is our God
all we sing is how great is our God age to age praise his
Great great great great great
great great great great great great great
great great great great great great great
great great great great great great great great great great great
GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD..
Thank you Help me pliz.
poem by Ruvimbo Daisy Matsika
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Cherry-Time
Cherries of the night are riper
Than the cherries pluckt at noon
Gather to your fairy piper
When he pipes his magic tune:
Merry, merry,
Take a cherry;
Mine are sounder,
Mine are rounder,
Mine are sweeter
For the eater
Under the moon.
And you’ll be fairies soon.
In the cherry pluckt at night,
With the dew of summer swelling,
There’s a juice of pure delight,
Cool, dark, sweet, divinely smelling.
Merry, merry,
Take a cherry;
Mine are sounder,
Mine are rounder,
Mine are sweeter
For the eater
In the moonlight.
And you’ll be fairies quite.
When I sound the fairy call,
Gather here in silent meeting,
Chin to knee on the orchard wall,
Cooled with dew and cherries eating.
Merry, merry,
Take a cherry;
Mine are sounder,
Mine are rounder,
Mine are sweeter.
For the eater
When the dews fall.
And you’ll be fairies all.
poem by Robert Graves
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cherry-Time
Cherries of the night are riper
Than the cherries pluckt at noon
Gather to your fairy piper
When he pipes his magic tune:
Merry, merry,
Take a cherry;
Mine are sounder,
Mine are rounder,
Mine are sweeter
For the eater
Under the moon.
And you’ll be fairies soon.
In the cherry pluckt at night,
With the dew of summer swelling,
There’s a juice of pure delight,
Cool, dark, sweet, divinely smelling.
Merry, merry,
Take a cherry;
Mine are sounder,
Mine are rounder,
Mine are sweeter
For the eater
In the moonlight.
And you’ll be fairies quite.
When I sound the fairy call,
Gather here in silent meeting,
Chin to knee on the orchard wall,
Cooled with dew and cherries eating.
Merry, merry,
Take a cherry;
Mine are sounder,
Mine are rounder,
Mine are sweeter.
For the eater
When the dews fall.
And you’ll be fairies all.
poem by Robert Graves
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Just Cut the Grass
I just cut the grass, and
the cat is checking out my work.
She’s critical, but helps out,
grazing contentedly on
sprigs of errant chaff
that I missed in my hurry
to finish. Clouds are gathering
on this cold, Holy Saturday.
Now I tarry in my webbed chair,
to sip a cold bottle of beer,
and wonder how green
the world has grown.
Knock-out roses pop
(their vermillion tips shout
in the more common green of fern and ivy)
and red cherries fill the green cherry-tree.
Soon from shattered shells
new birds will rise
as mockingbirds fly
to fill shrill beaks
with cherries.
poem by Steven Federle
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Two Children
Give me your hand, oh little one!
Like children be we two;
Yet I am old, my day is done
That barely breaks for you.
A baby-basket hard you hold,
With in it cherries four:
You cherish them as men do gold,
And count them o'er.
And then you stumble in your walk;
The cherries scattered lie.
You pick them up with foolish talk
And foolish glad am I,
When you wipe one quite clean of dust
And give it unto me;
So in the baby-basket just
Are three.
All this is simple, I confess,
A moment piled with peace;
Yet loving men have died for less,
And will till time shall cease. . . .
A silken hand in crinkled one--
O Little Innocence!
O blessed moment in the son
E'er I go hence!
poem by Robert William Service
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Life is just a bowl of cherries, dont take it serious, its mysterious. Life is just a bowl of cherries, so live and laugh and laugh at love, love a laugh, laugh and love.
Something Practical For Valentine
There sits, atop a cherry tree
a bird that badly needs to pee.
He's eaten cherries to his fill
and now is bloated, feeling ill.
Bird guts turn cherries into wine
for critics here, on Valentine.
And if the critics have the gout
the wine will drive the acid out.
I think that I shall never see
another fancy cherry tree.
Nor any bird, a cherry thief
who, bloated, aches for quick relief.
But the idea of cherry wine
gut-brewed just for my Valentine
is reminiscent of the gout
today is it, and I could shout!
I'm off now to the local shop
to get her present, a new mop.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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The Tree
Ready with leaves and with buds stood the tree.
"Shall I take them?" the frost said, now puffing with glee.
"Oh my, no, let them stand,
Till flowers are at hand!"
All trembling from tree-top to root came the plea.
Flowers unfolding the birds gladly sung.
"Shall I take them?" the wind said and merrily swung.
"Oh my, no, let them stand,
Till cherries are at hand!"
Protested the tree, while it quivering hung.
The cherries came forth 'neath the sun's glowing eye.
"Shall I take them?" a rosy young girl's eager cry.
"Oh my, yes, you can take,
I've kept them for your sake!"
Low bending its branches, the tree brought them nigh.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Ivy (Novelinee)
Seen by druids as have magical properties
as dark green woody vines upward it grows
it covers walls and climbs up upon trees
and to where it is growing no one knows,
its fruit are poisonous small smooth berries
and it protects walls from some weathering
make children ill if they eat them like cherries,
but this plant makes some great green covering
usually looks delightful during spring.
poem by Gert Strydom
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To A Blue Flower
I would be dismal with all the fine pearls of the crown of a king;
But I can talk plainly to you, you little blue flower of the Spring!
Here in the heart of September the world that I walk in is full
Of the hot happy sound of the shearing, the rude heavy scent of the wool.
Soon would I tire of all riches or honours or power that they fling;
But you are my own, of my own folk, you little blue flower of the Spring!
I was around by the cherries to-day; all the cherries are pale:
The world is a woman in velvet: the air is the colour of ale.
I would be dismal with all the fine pearls of the crown of a king;
But I can give love-talk to you, you little blue flower of the Spring!
poem by John Shaw Neilson
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