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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Related quotes
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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You should go to a pear tree for pears, not to an elm.
quote by Publilius Syrus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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 Cat and The Apple Tree
A house in the garden
Un-robed compound
Dried leaves stretched out
Under an apple tree
Ripen apples fell down
And on the tree like bulbs
Being rotten lied on the floor
Making a quite picture
Leaves fall one by one
Letting to be naked
Surrounding nature gets ready
To warm up the winter
Through a side opened window
An old cat was sitting on the sill
Saying something to ins and outs
On one cannot understand
Postman comes and puts into the box
On one comes to open it
A rain with a rough wind last night
Ruined the apple tree
poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
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Reservation For One
This is my tree, my tree, my tree,
My one lone tree, pear tree,
It grows, overflows, it grows it’s fruit,
Alone, only for me.
If I could go to a far-away place,
With just me and my tree, pear tree,
I’d pack my bags, my bags I’d pack,
I’d pick up my bags and flee.
There’s nothing at all, no nothing,
At all, that films me more with glee,
Than those globes, those globes,
Of precious fruit in my tree, pear tree.
I sit beneath, beneath I sit,
Its laden canopy, I polish it’s leafs then,
Set a table of fruits,
Of wine, and bread and brie.
This tree, my tree, could feed the world,
Find me a wife and camaraderie,
It’s powers, it’s powers are vast but I
Can’t pass on its secret sadly.
I’d tell the world, the world I’d tell,
If they weren’t all so hungry, you see.
But my fruit, my fruits, my laboured.
Fruits, I grew only for me, for me,
No none are as hungry as me.
poem by Suzanne Louise Bishop
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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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Tree by the Road
A naked tree
stands apart.
Cars pass
with freeway speed
bending thin branches
in their own furious wind.
Slowing
I see black leaves
on nearly empty limbs…
No, not leaves,
but dark pears,
or glass balls left to fall
from a forgotten Christmas tree
abandoned, alone, without cheer,
when, roaring, an eighteen wheeler
spews misty twisters.
Then leaves, ornaments, and pears
all rise in a singular mass
of flashing black wings
cawing into the
grey winter
air.
poem by Steven Federle
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tailing Tale
in the garden of the east
i saw the pink fairy fly
sparkling trails i saw her leave
as i've seen in picture books
fascinated by this wonder
i followed through the woods
as though guiding me in a dream
it gently slowly led me on
through the garden of the east
into woods and fields
by the brooks and the streams
i just kept on going
wondrous were those sights
of lovely flowers and heady scents
'twas a fairy tale garden indeed
an' i thought it all a fantasy
humming bees and butterflies
led me to that tree
where i saw my fairy perched
on a tiny flower
on that magic pear tree
hung two magic pears
it was not for me i knew
it could have been for you
the air was a sharp delight
the wind was crisp and light
the colors of the evening
had drawn together there
in that magic moment
as me and the fairy stared
the air went suddenly still
and the pears went out of view
it was nothing but a twinkle
like the glitter on a diamond
a beauty to behold
but never to be held
fairy tales have meaning
its always been so
still, for all my searching
i don't find none in here
Ripened
Ripened!
But on a wrong tree done.
This hybrid thinks it to be pure,
And naturally sweet.
But the tree adopted it,
From despair.
And convince the nut...
It was a fruited pear.
And when the apples growing,
On the tree became aware...
They were taught to respect the nut!
Although they knew,
Never a pear would be there.
Yet,
Ripened to be spared,
From playful impatient squirrels.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The heart of a tree
With branches reaching out as if for a embrace
The tree may bow to nature with grace.
He stands alone when the wind blows strong.
The leaves may fall, but the tree stands tall.
There are some things that the eyes can't see.
Like the heart of a tree.
In winter's cold chill, You can see the tree stand still.
Leaves are gone but the tree stands strong.
Until winter turns into spring and the birds begin to sing.
The leaves may fall, but the tree stands tall.
There are some things that the eyes can't see.
Like the heart of a tree.
Through storms and the wind. Bowing with a graceful bend,
Until the sun shines again, still standing at the end,
The tree is like a true friend.
The leaves may fall, but the tree stands tall.
There are some things that the eye can't see,
Like the heart of a tree.
The old Tree's secrets
How many lovers sat together under the old tree?
If only the tree could speak.
The stories would be of weary travelers
finding a place of peace, and dreams in their sleep.
Stolen moments of lovers, perhaps a sweet caress.
A young man with a ring, a young girl said yes.
Tree I only imagine, I enjoy the guess.
Gentle breezes that lifted the leaves
to let them gently fall to earth.
Misting rain to meet the tree's thirst,
Perhaps two trees inter-twined are
Two lovers that were curst.
poem by Judy Arline Puckett
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The Giving Tree
Once there was a tree....
and she loved a little boy.
And everyday the boy would come
and he would gather her leaves
and make them into crowns
and play king of the forest.
He would climb up her trunk
and swing from her branches
and eat apples.
And they would play hide-and-go-seek.
And when he was tired,
he would sleep in her shade.
And the boy loved the tree....
very much.
And the tree was happy.
But time went by.
And the boy grew older.
And the tree was often alone.
Then one day the boy came to the tree
and the tree said, 'Come, Boy, come and
climb up my trunk and swing from my
branches and eat apples and play in my
shade and be happy.'
'I am too big to climb and play' said
the boy.
'I want to buy things and have fun.
I want some money?'
'I'm sorry,' said the tree, 'but I
have no money.
I have only leaves and apples.
Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in
the city. Then you will have money and
you will be happy.'
And so the boy climbed up the
tree and gathered her apples
and carried them away.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time....
and the tree was sad.
And then one day the boy came back
and the tree shook with joy
and she said, 'Come, Boy, climb up my trunk
and swing from my branches and be happy.'
'I am too busy to climb trees,' said the boy.
'I want a house to keep me warm,' he said.
'I want a wife and I want children,
and so I need a house.
Can you give me a house ?'
' I have no house,' said the tree.
'The forest is my house,
but you may cut off
my branches and build a
house. Then you will be happy.'
And so the boy cut off her branches
and carried them away
to build his house.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time.
And when he came back,
the tree was so happy
she could hardly speak.
'Come, Boy,' she whispered,
'come and play.'
'I am too old and sad to play,'
said the boy.
'I want a boat that will
take me far away from here.
Can you give me a boat?'
'Cut down my trunk
and make a boat,' said the tree.
'Then you can sail away...
and be happy.'
And so the boy cut down her trunk
and made a boat and sailed away.
And the tree was happy
... but not really.
And after a long time
the boy came back again.
'I am sorry, Boy,'
said the tree,' but I have nothing
left to give you -
My apples are gone.'
'My teeth are too weak
for apples,' said the boy.
'My branches are gone,'
said the tree. ' You
cannot swing on them - '
'I am too old to swing
on branches,' said the boy.
'My trunk is gone, ' said the tree.
'You cannot climb - '
'I am too tired to climb' said the boy.
'I am sorry,' sighed the tree.
'I wish that I could give you something....
but I have nothing left.
I am just an old stump.
I am sorry....'
'I don't need very much now,' said the boy.
'just a quiet place to sit and rest.
I am very tired.'
'Well,' said the tree, straightening
herself up as much as she could,
'well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting
Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.'
And the boy did.
And the tree was happy.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Mother Tree
In all my life I will never see,
something quite as unique as a tree.
The variety of juicy fruit that you may bear,
like the delicous orange, apple, or my favorite the pear.
From as soft as a peach,
to as hard as a nut.
From the multiple colors of and apple,
To the single shade of a cocoonut.
The mother tree always stands sturdy, alone, and divine.
A tree is meant to protect it's riches,
like the gold of a pharoahs tomb.
With it's branches reaching high into the sky to protect its treasure,
like children out of a mothers womb.
A tree to me is like an unspoken being,
quiet but very bold.
It always seems to stand tall,
whether its rain, drought, storms, or the bitter cold.
In all my life shall never see,
something as caring as a mother tree.
poem by Nyles Peele
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Late Spring
The moon drained white by day
lifts from the hill
where the old pear-tree fallen in storm
springs up in blossom still.
Women believe in the moon:
this branch I hold
is not more white and still than she
whose flower is ages old,
and so I carry home
flowers from the pear
that makes such obstinate tokens still
for fruit it cannot bear.
poem by Judith Wright
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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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Ode To The Cherry Blossom
I have grown up with this tree,
as my father had grown with it,
and his father before him.
The cherry blossom tree where I was first exposed to the beauty of nature,
where my baby seat was set upon the picnic blanket in the grass,
and I could watch the petals fall and dance around me and my family.
and they would land in my seat,
and I would play with them.
The cherry blossom tree,
with its long branches,
where I first learned to climb,
and where I got my first broken bone,
after I slipped while pretending to be a monkey.
The cherry blossom tree,
where we had our first play date together.
We ran around and played two person tag,
and two person hide and seek,
and two person leap frog.
The cherry blossom tree,
where we had our first date,
where I picked a blossom and put it in your hair,
and called you my hime,
my princess.
The cherry blossom tree,
where we took shelter from the pouring rain,
and I gave you my jacket to put over your head,
and we ran home to take a bath in our clothes,
Because they couldn’t have gotten wetter anyway.
The cherry blossom tree,
under which we said our vows,
and got married,
and you cried,
and said you felt beautiful,
and I kissed you,
and said you looked beautiful,
and we ran through the blossom petals.
The cherry blossom tree,
where we took our two daughters,
and watched them pick flowers,
and give them to you.
The cherry blossom tree,
where our daughters took their loves,
and probably got caught in the rain,
just as we did.
The cherry blossom tree,
which we would watch from the near by bench,
watch children who were not ours play there,
watch couples who were not us date there.
The cherry blossom tree,
where I go to remember you,
where I sometimes cry for you,
where our daughters cry for you.
I grew up with that cherry blossom tree,
and now as I wait to rejoin you,
my love,
I watch others grow with it too.
poem by Evan Puglisi
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The Forest
Pear-tree.
By woodman’s edge I faint and fail;
By craftsman’s edge I tell the tale.
Chestnut-tree.
High in the wood, high o’er the hall,
Aloft I rise when low I fall.
Oak-tree.
Unmoved I stand what wind may blow.
Swift, swift before the wind I go.
poem by William Morris
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Lament Of A Bereaved Person
A russet pear-tree rises all alone,
But rich the growth of leaves upon it shown!
I walk alone, without one brother left,
And thus of natural aid am I bereft.
Plenty of people there are all around,
But none like my own father's sons are found.
Ye travellers, who forever hurry by,
Why on me turn the unsympathizing eye?
No brother lives with whom my cause to plead;--
Why not perform for me the helping deed?
A russet pear-tree rises all alone,
But rich with verdant foliage o'ergrown.
I walk alone, without one brother's care,
To whom I might, amid my straits repair.
Plenty of people there are all around,
But none like those of my own name are found.
Ye travellers, who forever hurry by,
Why on me turn the unsympathizing eye?
No brother lives with whom my cause to plead;--
Why not perform for me the helping deed?
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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Plum's Destiny
A little plum dropped from the tree
and struck a frog upon his knee.
The frog did hurt and cried a lot
the plum said Oops, I plum forgot.
Which wasn't altogether true
you see a plum is always blue
a frog however must be green
thus he can easily be seen.
So, folks, it truly stands to reason
that in the Fall, the ripening season
a bit of care would be advised
that way a frog is not surprised.
In any case, the knee did swell
the plum just stayed right where it fell,
so in an effort now to heal
the frog fell for the plum appeal.
He grabbed the plum and opened wide
the plum prepared for its last ride.
And said before it was too late
a plum is to be eaten, mate.
So, you can see that those that fall
from trees or buildings, big and tall
will usually just fail to see
the maker of their destiny.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Sweet and Ripe the Avocado
Ripeness is all. From which vantage
To view this curving orb
Tapered to a finely rounded waist?
Honey mustard, soy sauce
Combined and smeared on inner flesh
Yielding up its most exquisite taste.
The largest I have known
Are grown in Swaziland, each one a feast
An entree made of firm and fibrous fruit
Berries maturing on the tree
Fall hard and heavy to the hand
Potent pear of high and low repute
Avocado in my bowl
Provocative, the dark presence among
The oranges that brighten up the room
I wait for you to soften
A little more each day, becoming
Sweet and ripe and ready to consume.
poem by Frank Bana
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