En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Silver-Eye

Down among the strawberries,
Up among the plums,
Cheeping in the cherry-tree
When early autumn comes,
In our silver spectacles
And sober olive suits.
We're very, very innocent;
We wouldn't touch your fruits.

Well, maybe just a speckled one,
A windfall here and there.
But raid your precious strawberries?
Oh no, we wouldn't dare.
Behold our bland astonishment,
The charge is quite absurd!
It must have been a parrot
Or some other kind of bird.

It must have been a satin bird;
It must have been a crow.
It couldn't possibly be us;
We are so meek, you know,
With our silver spectacles.
The accusation's vile!
How can you deem us guilty
When we're whistling all the while?

Well, if you've caught us in the act
There's no more to be said.
The plums are blue and succulent,
The strawberries are red.
And who'd refuse a dainty dish
When early autumn comes?
Oh, write a rhyme about us, man,
And pay for all your plums.

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Season of Mists

I thank you for your view of a view of autumn, Keats
who never saw your own autumn with its actual pitfalls.
Yours was the autumn of childhood, of hope, or romance, of belief,
my mother's autumn though not that of her hardworking family,
yours was never my father's autumn, season of mists,
and yours is not mine. My autumn
for all I would like to subscribe to your lavish play,
is like yours only in single ways each year,
perhaps there are swallows making a din,
or plums and apples falling wasp-eaten, unharvestable.
There is no sickle in my vocabulary or shed,
my autumn is based more on dread of the winter
and having had so little time each summer
to tidy or attend to the garden. Last year
early snow fell on flower baskets ditched from the street
and remained both snow and baskets until the spring
leaving me two seasons behind, without strategy
for a fast approaching repeat autumn, little wonder
and no chance to make anything faintly rhyme,
such is our modern poetry and life

poem by Sally Evans
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Fruit Tree

Twilight, soon it will be dark, sparrows are flying back, god knows
where they have been. A flock meet in my plum tree, there is livid
arguing, who is going sit where. My tree doesn’t bear crops, yet
it is a fruit tree, my neighbour says so. I’m a plum tree too grew
up tall and stylish women flocked around me, I married five times
... and not a bloody plum. Grey trunk, limp leaves and when dusk
comes no one sits on my twigs; I have to invent stories of plums
I never had. Fine plums, juicy plums all of them females that never
matured and left me alone to fend for myself in time of solitude.
Night, and in my heart there a is longing for the unfeasible.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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What If

What if I couldn’t see?
I wouldn’t know how to be.

What if I couldn’t walk?
I wouldn’t be able to go to the park.

What if I couldn’t smell?
I wouldn’t know early monsoon shower smell.

What if I couldn’t feel?
I wouldn’t even know how to heal.

What if I couldn’t taste?
All the gourmet food would go to waste.

What if I couldn’t touch?
I wouldn’t know love as such.

What if I couldn’t cry?
I wouldn’t be able to let go of grief even if I try.

What if I couldn’t smile?
I wouldn’t be able to feel light even for a while.

I can do all of these things
Lord, it’s a blessing.

, These are the gifts
We realize when we are unfit.

I have really no clue
How the less privileged do.
I guess with courage and acceptance
They go on with grace.

poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Wild Peaches

1

When the world turns completely upside down
You say we'll emigrate to the Eastern Shore
Aboard a river-boat from Baltimore;
We'll live among wild peach trees, miles from town,
You'll wear a coonskin cap, and I a gown
Homespun, dyed butternut's dark gold colour.
Lost, like your lotus-eating ancestor,
We'll swim in milk and honey till we drown.

The winter will be short, the summer long,
The autumn amber-hued, sunny and hot,
Tasting of cider and of scuppernong;
All seasons sweet, but autumn best of all.
The squirrels in their silver fur will fall
Like falling leaves, like fruit, before your shot.

2

The autumn frosts will lie upon the grass
Like bloom on grapes of purple-brown and gold.
The misted early mornings will be cold;
The little puddles will be roofed with glass.
The sun, which burns from copper into brass,
Melts these at noon, and makes the boys unfold
Their knitted mufflers; full as they can hold
Fat pockets dribble chestnuts as they pass.

Peaches grow wild, and pigs can live in clover;
A barrel of salted herrings lasts a year;
The spring begins before the winter's over.
By February you may find the skins
Of garter snakes and water moccasins
Dwindled and harsh, dead-white and cloudy-clear.

3

When April pours the colours of a shell
Upon the hills, when every little creek
Is shot with silver from the Chesapeake
In shoals new-minted by the ocean swell,
When strawberries go begging, and the sleek
Blue plums lie open to the blackbird's beak,
We shall live well -- we shall live very well.

The months between the cherries and the peaches
Are brimming cornucopias which spill
Fruits red and purple, sombre-bloomed and black;
Then, down rich fields and frosty river beaches
We'll trample bright persimmons, while you kill
Bronze partridge, speckled quail, and canvasback.

4

Down to the Puritan marrow of my bones
There's something in this richness that I hate.
I love the look, austere, immaculate,
Of landscapes drawn in pearly monotones.
There's something in my very blood that owns
Bare hills, cold silver on a sky of slate,
A thread of water, churned to milky spate
Streaming through slanted pastures fenced with stones.

I love those skies, thin blue or snowy gray,
Those fields sparse-planted, rendering meagre sheaves;
That spring, briefer than apple-blossom's breath,
Summer, so much too beautiful to stay,
Swift autumn, like a bonfire of leaves,
And sleepy winter, like the sleep of death.

poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
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Java Plums

those java plums
are sweet
and round and glossy
and by all means
attractive to the
palate

i am very thirsty
and you leave it on my
table and you
expect me to be just like them all
eat the plums without you

i have forgiven you
i am not eating them

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Summer Wine

I walked town on silver spurs that jingled too
A song that I had only sang to just a few
Ahe saw my silver spurs and set let pass the time and
I will give to you summer wine
Ohh-oh-oh summer wine
Strawberries cherries and angels kiss in spring
My summer wine is realy made from all this things
Take off your silver spurs and help me pass the time
And I will give to you summer wine
Ohh-oh-oh summer wine
My eyes grew heavy and my lips they could not spek
I tried to get up but I couldnt find my feet
She reassutred me with an unfamilliar line
And thene she gives to me more summer wine
Ohh-oh-oh summer wine
Strawberries cherries and angels kiss in spring
My summer wine is realy made from all this things
Take off your silver spurs and help me pass the time
And I will give to you summer wine
When I woke up the sun was shining in my eyes
My silver spurs were gone my head felt twice it size
And left me cravin for more summer wine
Ohh-oh-oh summer wine
Strawberries cherries and angels kiss in spring
My summer wine is realy made from all this things
Take off your silver spurs and help me pass the time
And I will give to you summer wine

song performed by by Scooter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Now Is Past

_Now_ is past--the happy _now_
When we together roved
Beneath the wildwood's oak-tree bough
And Nature said we loved.
Winter's blast
The _now_ since then has crept between,
And left us both apart.
Winters that withered all the green
Have froze the beating heart.
Now is past.

_Now_ is past since last we met
Beneath the hazel bough;
Before the evening sun was set
Her shadow stretched below.
Autumn's blast
Has stained and blighted every bough;
Wild strawberries like her lips
Have left the mosses green below,
Her bloom's upon the hips.
Now is past.

_Now_ is past, is changed agen,
The woods and fields are painted new.
Wild strawberries which both gathered then,
None know now where they grew.
The skys oercast.
Wood strawberries faded from wood sides,
Green leaves have all turned yellow;
No Adelaide walks the wood rides,
True love has no bed-fellow.
Now is past.

poem by John Clare
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Strawberries

There were never strawberries
like the ones we had
that sultry afternoon
sitting on the step
of the open french window
facing each other
your knees held in mine
the blue plates in our laps
the strawberries glistening
in the hot sunlight
we dipped them in sugar
looking at each other
not hurrying the feast
for one to come
the empty plates
laid on the stone together
with the two forks crossed
and I bent towards you
sweet in that air
in my arms
abandoned like a child
from your eager mouth
the taste of strawberries
in my memory
lean back again
let me love you

let the sun beat
on our forgetfulness
one hour of all
the heat intense
and summer lightning
on the Kilpatrick hills

let the storm wash the plates

poem by Edwin Morgan
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The Sugar-Plum Tree

Have you ever heard of the Sugar-Plum Tree?
'T is a marvel of great renown!
It blooms on the shore of the Lollipop sea
In the garden of Shut-Eye Town;
The fruit that it bears is so wondrously sweet
(As those who have tasted it say)
That good little children have only to eat
Of that fruit to be happy next day.
When you 've got to the tree, you would have a hard time
To capture the fruit which I sing;
The tree is so tall that no person could climb
To the boughs where the sugar-plums swing!
But up in that tree sits a chocolate cat,
And a gingerbread dog prowls below---
And this is the way you contrive to get at
Those sugar-plums tempting you so:
You say but the word to that gingerbread dog
And he barks with such terrible zest
That the chocolate cat is at once all agog,
As her swelling proportions attest.
And the chocolate cat goes cavorting around
From this leafy limb unto that,
And the sugar-plums tumble, of course, to the ground---
Hurrah for that chocolate cat!
There are marshmallows, gumdrops, and peppermint canes,
With stripings of scarlet or gold,
And you carry away of the treasure that rains
As much as your apron can hold!
So come, little child, cuddle closer to me
In your dainty white nightcap and gown,
And I 'll rock you away to that Sugar-Plum Tree
In the garden of Shut-Eye Town.

poem by Eugene Field
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Pirouetting Autumn

The tree blushed - a rude blast of air
Betrayed a shapely bough.
My saddened heart aware
That Nature's clock was chiming,
I froze upon the twelfth
Clanging tone, caught alone,
Staring at a creaking door -
Left ajar for dancing, coloured Autumn,
Pirouetting in her leaves,
While agitated summer creatures
Backed away resignedly,
Sighing in protracted breves.
I turned; gave company;
We stood together, watching
Summer slowly blow away.

Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009

A utumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Dinkey Bird

In an ocean, 'way out yonder,
(As all sapient people know)
Is the land of Wonder-Wander,
Whither children love to go;
It's their playing, romping, swinging,
That give great joy to me
While the Dinkey-Bird goes singing
In the amfalula tree!
There the gum-drops grow like cherries,
And taffy's thick as peas--
Caramels you pick like berries
When, and where, and how you please;
Big red sugar-plums are clinging
To the cliffs beside that sea
Where the Dinkey-Bird is singing
In the amfalula tree!
So when children shout and scamper
And make merry all the day,
When there's naught to put a damper
To the ardor of their play;
When I hear their laughter ringing,
Then I'm sure as sure can be
That the Dinkey-Bird is singing
In the amfalula tree!
For the Dinkey-Bird's bravuras
And staccatos are so sweet--
His roulades, appoggiaturas,
And robustos so complete,
That the youth of every nation--
Be they near or far away--
Have especial delectation
In that gladsome roundelay.
Their eyes grow bright and brighter,
Their lungs begin to crow,
Their hearts get light and lighter,
And their cheeks are all aglow;
For an echo cometh bringing
The news to all and me,
That the Dinkey-Bird is singing
In the amfalula tree.
I'm sure you like to go there
To see your feathered friend--
And so many goodies grow there
You would like to comprehend!
Speed, little dreams, your winging
To that land across the sea
Where the Dinkey-Bird is singing
In the amfalula tree!

poem by Eugene Field
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A Diet Of Many Fruits Or One?

not a single poem do I ask you to read
neither to plant nor burn fruit seed
here are apples oranges peaches plums
kiwifruit passionfruit purple grapes
here blackberries blueberries raspberries
strawberries cranberries gooseberries
eat fruit raw or spiced served in pies
pastry casing sweet savoury crumbles

here honeydew rockmelon watermelon
nature’s free gifts enough to sink a galleon
but first you must toil plant many seeds
diverse cultures tastes all agriculture feeds
yes vitamins minerals all are in bananas
but God’s gift is multiplicity many choices

poem by Terence George Craddock
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3

when he wakes up
his thoughts are heavy
like ripe plums,

java he remembers,
big waves, and
volcanic eruptions,
humanity running away
to save what is it
that values themselves
to the right to live

java plums, violet, darker
than that, miserable,
covered by magma,
heights and disbelief
it happened in one
wink, and then one buries
all to forget, like a book
one goes to the next
chapter: this one is about
discovery, happiness.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Wouldn't It Be Wonderful

Wouldn't it be wonderful...
If reality provided each one of us with escapes.
To celebrate those moments.
And we were free to place orders,
For our favorite tastes.
Topped with fresh whipped cream.
Delighting each bite of the walnuts crushed.
And those sweet strawberries dipped in chocolate,
Slowly satiating and prolonging this as we ate.
Without haste or hint of a rush.

Wouldn't it be wonderful...
If reality provided each one of us with escapes.
To dance and hold hands on lush green hilltops.
And shocked by anyone who dared to speak of hate.
Wouldn't it be wonderful?
Wouldn't this be great?
Wouldn't it just be marvelous,
If we all debated...
On a date this could,
And would take place.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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0265 This is just to say

William,
that I'm glad that you
enjoyed the plums
which I was saving
for breakfast

I'm saving the note
you tacked on the
icebox door

for the divorce
I'm suing for
to show how selfish
you are

and later I'll publish it
to show just how offhand
a poet can be

revenge is
best enjoyed
at leisure
sweet and delicious
as cold plums

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Interlude

When I have baked white cakes
And grated green almonds to spread on them;
When I have picked the green crowns from the strawberries
And piled them, cone-pointed, in a blue and yellow platter;
When I have smoothed the seam of the linen I have been working;
What then?
To-morrow it will be the same:
Cakes and strawberries,
And needles in and out of cloth
If the sun is beautiful on bricks and pewter,
How much more beautiful is the moon,
Slanting down the gauffered branches of a plum-tree;
The moon
Wavering across a bed of tulips;
The moon,
Still,
Upon your face.
You shine, Beloved,
You and the moon.
But which is the reflection?
The clock is striking eleven.
I think, when we have shut and barred the door,
The night will be dark
Outside.

poem by Amy Lowell
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The Dessert

With the apples and the plums
Little Carolina comes,
At the time of the dessert she
Comes and drops her last new curtsy;
Graceful curtsy, practised o'er
In the nursery before.
What shall we compare her to?
The dessert itself will do.
Like preserves she's kept with care,
Like blanched almonds she is fair,
Soft as down on peach her hair,
And so soft, so smooth is each
Pretty cheek as that same peach,
Yet more like in hue to cherries;
Then her lips, the sweet strawberries,
Caroline herself shall try them
If they are not like when nigh them;
Her bright eyes are black as sloes,
But I think we've none of those
Common fruit here-and her chin
From a round point does begin,
Like the small end of a pear;
Whiter drapery she does wear
Than the frost on cake; and sweeter
Than the cake itself, and neater,
Though bedecked with emblems fine,
Is our little Caroline.

poem by Charles Lamb
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Earlier Poems : Autumn

With what a glory comes and goes the year!
The buds of spring, those beautiful harbingers
Of sunny skies and cloudless times, enjoy
Life's newness, and earth's garniture spread out;
And when the silver habit of the clouds
Comes down upon the autumn sun, and with
A sober gladness the old year takes up
His bright inheritance of golden fruits,
A pomp and pageant fill the splendid scene.

There is a beautiful spirit breathing now
Its mellow richness on the clustered trees,
And, from a beaker full of richest dyes,
Pouring new glory on the autumn woods,
And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds.
Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird,
Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales
The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer,
Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life
Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned,
And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved,
Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down
By the wayside a-weary. Through the trees
The golden robin moves. The purple finch,
That on wild cherry and red cedar feeds,
A winter bird, comes with its plaintive whistle,
And pecks by the witch-hazel, whilst aloud
From cottage roofs the warbling blue-bird sings,
And merrily, with oft-repeated stroke,
Sounds from the threshing-floor the busy flail.

O what a glory doth this world put on
For him who, with a fervent heart, goes forth
Under the bright and glorious sky, and looks
On duties well performed, and days well spent!
For him the wind, ay, and the yellow leaves,
Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings.
He shall so hear the solemn hymn that Death
Has lifted up for all, that he shall go
To his long resting-place without a tear.

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Chocolate Love

You are the sweetness
In the choclolate I eat,
I find thoughts about you
melting away like the chocolate
The taste lingering in my mind,
To chew like the cud like
The cows in my shed,
I savour to the thoughts
Of your my love to you,
You beat of all queens,
Chocolate of all chocolate,
Cakes of all cakes,
Plums of all the plums,
When will I really taste
Your lips, caress you
Fondle your parts so secretly
Kept chaste by you
And have the bliss
Of eating a swiss chocolate.

poem by Ravikiran Arakkal
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Instinct Blues

Well, the crickets get it
And the ants get it
I bet you the pigs get it
Yeah, even the plants get it
Come on now, and get with it
Yeah, I want you to get with it
Oh!
Yeah, I just want you to get with it
'cause everyone that's under your shoe
And every bird and bug in the jungle, too
And everything in the ocean blue
They just happen to know exactly what to do
So why don't you?
Yeah, why don't you?
The flies get it
And the frogs get it
And all them big jungle cats get it
And I bet your little dog gets it
Yeah, I want you to get with it
Yeah, come on, and get with it
Whoo!
Yeah, I want you to get with it
'Cause everyone that's under your shoe
And every bird and bee in the jungle, too
And everything in the ocean blue
They just happen to know exactly what to do
So why don't you? why don't you?
And all the chickens get it
And them singing canaries get it
Whoo!
Even strawberries get it
I want you to get with it
Yeah, I want you to get with it
Yeah!
I want you to get with it
'Cause everyone that's under your shoe
And every bird and bee in the jungle, too
And everything in the ocean blue
They just happen to know exactly what to do
So why don't you?

song performed by by White Stripes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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