The Blush Of Apples
Those eleven apples
A seasons festoon
Green slowly defeated
And blush triumphant
So apples ripen
An aide existential
Innocent they'll fall
Picked or blown
The natural way
As things go
The Autumn conclusion
Sung in unison
poem by Michael Oliver
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Busheled Together
See those apples hanging ripe,
All yet to fall...
From that one tree.
Even though they appear,
To look the same...
If one should examine closer,
Each would have a unique and distinct...
Quality.
Although on that one tree,
One may declare...
Them to have similar identities.
Upon tasting from those apples picked,
One will come to a core...
With seeds inside of it.
And delicious is a sweetness,
When the juice is licked.
But when busheled together from that one tree,
Some may have blemishes.
While others upon inspection may be blemish free.
And all of them have been witnessed,
To be the product of the same tree.
See those apples hanging ripe,
All yet to fall...
From that one tree.
Even though they appear,
To look the same...
If one should examine closer,
Each would have a unique and distinct...
Quality.
And when busheled together,
They are all apples.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Little Red Apples
Out of Mother Nature
Came little red Apples'
That were grown
In the Garden of time
But God don't like
Little red Apples'
From which the Devil does dine
Women love to eat little red Apples'
In the Summer time
Men desire little red Apples'
Any old time
Winter, Summer, especially
When the Sun is high
In a clear blue Sky
The Devil does love
Little red Apples'
Man does love
Little red Apples'
Women love
Little red Apples'
poem by Allan James Saywell
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Country Scrumping
Your country cousin took you
Across a field to a vast orchard
Where low hung branches
Made the green apples within
Reach of your young boy’s hands.
Don’t eat too many of them
Or you’ll get gut ache, she said.
Your eyes had never seen so
Many apples, row after row
In long lines down the field and
Fields beyond. You picked an apple
And bit into it. They make cider
From these, she said, picking off
An apple too and biting with relish.
Your younger sister looked nervously
On wondering if she too should pick.
Go on, your cousin said, pick and eat.
Your sister reached up and pulled
And a few apples fell to the ground
With soft sounds of thump on the
Short grass. She picked up one and
Brushed it off on her dress. Have to
Run if the farmer comes, your cousin
Said, and don’t tell of this or we’ll be
For it. For what? Your sister asked.
Your cousin looked around and replied,
A good telling off or a good tanned ass.
You stood all three of you eating, beneath
The apple trees, in the short green grass.
poem by Terry Collett
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Apples And Oranges
Got a flip-top pack of cigarettes in her pocket
Feeling good at the top
Shopping in sharp shoes
Walking in the sunshine town feeling very cool
But the butchers and the bakers in the supermarket stores
Getting everything she wants from the supermarket stores
Apples and oranges
Apples and oranges
Cornering neatly she trips up sweetly
To meet the people
She's on time again
And then
I catch her by the eye then I stop and have to think
What a funny thing to do 'cause I'm feeling very pink
Apples and oranges
Apples and oranges
I love she
She loves me
See you
See you
Thought you might like to know
I'm the lorry driver man
She's on the run
Down by the river side
feeding ducks in the afternoon tide
(quack quack)
Apples and oranges
Apples and oranges
Apples and oranges
song performed by by Pink Floyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beautiful Old Age
It ought to be lovely to be old
to be full of the peace that comes of experience
and wrinkled ripe fulfilment.
The wrinkled smile of completeness that follows a life
lived undaunted and unsoured with accepted lies
they would ripen like apples, and be scented like pippins
in their old age.
Soothing, old people should be, like apples
when one is tired of love.
Fragrant like yellowing leaves, and dim with the soft
stillness and satisfaction of autumn.
And a girl should say:
It must be wonderful to live and grow old.
Look at my mother, how rich and still she is! -
And a young man should think: By Jove
my father has faced all weathers, but it's been a life!
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Apples & Oranges
Got a flip-top pack of cigarettes in her pocket
Feeling good at the top
Shopping in sharp shoes
Walking in the sunshine town feeling very cool
But the butchers and the bakers in the supermarket stores
Getting everything she wants from the supermarket stores
Apples and oranges
Apples and oranges
Cornering neatly she trips up sweetly
To meet the people
Shes on time again
And then
I catch her by the eye then I stop and have to think
What a funny thing to do cause Im feeling very pink
Apples and oranges
Apples and oranges
I love she
She loves me
See you
See you
Thought you might to know
Im the lorry driver man
Shes on the run
Down by the river side
Feeding ducks by the afternoon tide
(quack quack)
Apples and oranges
Apples and oranges
Apples and oranges
song performed by by Pink Floyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ballad of Another Ophelia
Oh the green glimmer of apples in the orchard,
Lamps in a wash of rain!
Oh the wet walk of my brown hen through the stackyard,
Oh tears on the window pane!
Nothing now will ripen the bright green apples,
Full of disappointment and of rain,
Brackish they will taste, of tears, when the yellow dapples
Of autumn tell the withered tale again.
All round the yard it is cluck, my brown hen,
Cluck, and the rain-wet wings,
Cluck, my marigold bird, and again
Cluck for your yellow darlings.
For the grey rat found the gold thirteen
Huddled away in the dark,
Flutter for a moment, oh the beast is quick and keen,
Extinct one yellow-fluffy spark.
Once I had a lover bright like running water,
Once his face was laughing like the sky;
Open like the sky looking down in all its laughter
On the buttercups, and the buttercups was I.
What, then, is there hidden in the skirts of all the blossom?
What is peeping from your wings, oh mother hen?
’Tis the sun who asks the question, in a lovely haste for wisdom;
What a lovely haste for wisdom is in men!
Yea, but it is cruel when undressed is all the blossom,
And her shift is lying white upon the floor,
That a grey one, like a shadow, like a rat, a thief, a rain-storm,
Creeps upon her then and gathers in his store.
Oh the grey garner that is full of half-grown apples,
Oh the golden sparkles laid extinct!
And oh, behind the cloud-sheaves, like yellow autumn dapples,
Did you see the wicked sun that winked!
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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The Apple Tree Greed
he has an apple a green apple
he is the only person in this room
with a green apple
suppose suppose NOW
he has MORE of those at home
WHY he has a GREEN APPLE tree
In his backyard no WAIT
He has a vineyard behind his chapeau
And he makes green apple wine
And he sells it to the BOONES FARM people
And they make BOONES FARM green apple wine
And the whole city is soon sick
The children ralf and barf and ralf again
There is no more end to the men
Drinking all the green apple wine
To make this ONE person rich
He never offered me any of his wine
Eyes never drink of alcoholic beverage
Eye have juices and tea and a soda please
I'm just full of good intentions
Picking green apples in my mind and eating way too many
Having a green apple with mye lunch of poetical decay
WAIT he left and YES he took the green apple core with him
Not leaving me a bite not wanting me to taste the pleasure
of his mite. Why eye understand him greedy is his name
the green apple hoarder has so many apples now his wine cellar is so full and his larders aer so rich he does save the stems and seeds to plant again in ground so rich and he chews on this green apple while he watches MTV in selfish hedonistacal revenge while eye have no green apple stuck between my teeth OH bliss oh strang decay my teeth at least aer happier today he took the core away he left me all alone im appleless today im happier to say no song is being sung of little apples of the green variety been hung oh see the tree how big its grown the apples have been lost too long and they fall in misery from branches of decay to rot to rot to rot upon the vineyard floor there is no apple wine no more the green variety is gone they drink it only read and red is the color of the wine in cups so full of color there in plates so heaped of agony with applesauces vailiantly piled higher then the sky.
poem by Parme Hice
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Apples of Hesperides
Glinting golden through the trees,
Apples of Hesperides!
Through the moon-pierced warp of night
Shoot pale shafts of yellow light,
Swaying to the kissing breeze
Swings the treasure, golden-gleaming,
Apples of Hesperides!
Far and lofty yet they glimmer,
Apples of Hesperides!
Blinded by their radiant shimmer,
Pushing forward just for these;
Dew-besprinkled, bramble-marred,
Poor duped mortal, travel-scarred,
Always thinking soon to seize
And possess the golden-glistening
Apples of Hesperides!
Orbed, and glittering, and pendent,
Apples of Hesperides!
Not one missing, still transcendent,
Clustering like a swarm of bees.
Yielding to no man's desire,
Glowing with a saffron fire,
Splendid, unassailed, the golden
Apples of Hesperides!
poem by Amy Lowell
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These Apples
I am an open book to your heart,
I am the mirror that you look at daily;
Come and touch this sweet apples of mine.
I am the mirror of your love and,
My sweet apples are nicely prepared for you only;
Come and taste these apples.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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From A Suggested But Wrong Tree
They've been reaching to grab apples,
From a suggested but wrong tree.
They chose to accept,
Their own offerings not as competitive.
And...
Their own apples just as sweet.
And far more delicious to nourish and eat.
They have been conditioned to ignore,
The brightness of their own colors...
Many others said they adored.
Letting those apples dropp and rot.
Only to discover too late,
The weakness of their branches...
That could have sustained them to enhance.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Summer
Winter is cold-hearted
Spring is yea and nay,
Autumn is a weather-cock
Blown every way:
Summer days for me
When every leaf is on its tree;
When Robin's not a beggar,
And Jenny Wren's a bride,
And larks hang singing, singing, singing,
Over the wheat-fields wide,
And anchored lilies ride,
And the pendulum spider
Swings from side to side,
And blue-black beetles transact business,
And gnats fly in a host,
And furry caterpillars hasten
That no time be lost,
And moths grow fat and thrive,
And ladybirds arrive.
Before green apples blush,
Before green nuts embrown,
Why, one day in the country
Is worth a month in town;
Is worth a day and a year
Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion
That days drone elsewhere.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Symbol
The winter apples have been picked, the garden turned.
Rain and wind have picked the maple leaves and gone.
The last of them now bank the house or have been burned.
None are left upon the trees or on the lawn.
Green and tall as ever it grew in spring the grass
Grows not too tall, will not be cut again this year.
Geraniums in bloom behind the windowglass
Are safe. Fall has fallen yet winter is not yet here.
How warm the late November sun although how wan.
The white house stands a symbol of fulfillment there,
Housing one old woman, a cat, and one old man
After abundance but before the earth is bare.
poem by Robert Francis
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Watching Mother
Your mother is peeling apples
for the apple pie
and you stand watching her
and say can I have some peelings?
Sure she says
it’s probably the best part anyway
and you notice she has tears in her eyes
and wonder if the old man
has had a go at her again
like that time over the camera
and her saying jokingly
you look like some tourist
in upstate New York
and he thumped her one
and her lip bled
and you stood watching
keeping your mouth shut
but wanting to go at him
but you being too small
stood still
and as she peels the apples
you watch her hands
go over the apples
with a skill of years of experience
and you watch as the tears
run down the side of her nose
and fall like raindrops
on to her busy hands
and you focus like some artist
at the way that they land.
poem by Terry Collett
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Straight-mouth Stomp
Oh come sit down an give me your word
That Ill be a man someday an Ill hurt
These tremblin (? ) around me
This boy that I am
Its up here for thinkin
And down there for dancin
Not the other way around
Apples in the summertime
Peaches in the fall
I cant keep the girl I got
I cant keep none at all
Nobody knows how I can swing that sway
How I can creep from the narrow
To the broader way
But Ill do no more talkin
Im goin to town
With my true loves breath upon my neck
And my hands on velvet ground
Apples in the summertime
Peaches in the fall
I cant keep the girl I got
I cant keep none at all (2x)
song performed by by 16 Horsepower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Review
the tree was loaded with apples
in the garden of Eden
and Eve was so Hungry
for apples she always dreamed of apples
even if Adam is just beside her
that jejune
she is the first jejemon,
and on that day when God was not watching
when the Snake was merely behaving like a Snake
she touches an apple
her dream
and he ate one and Adam so likes it
she takes a bite...
nothing new really, just a pass and review
of their story that we believe without any question at all
the moral lesson: reflect on ourselves, we are the consistent
gullible readers
we are never original on this.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Boys And The Apple-Tree
As William and Thomas were walking one day,
They came by a fine orchard's side:
They would rather eat apples than spell, read, or play,
And Thomas to William then cried:
'O brother, look yonder! what clusters hang there!
I'll try and climb over the wall:
I must have an apple; I will have a pear;
Although it should cost me a fall!'
Said William to Thomas, 'To steal is a sin,
Mamma has oft told this to thee:
I never have stolen, nor will I begin,
So the apples may hang on the tree. '
'You are a good boy, as you ever have been,'
Said Thomas, 'let's walk on, my lad:
We'll call on our schoolfellow, Benjamin Green,
Who to see us I know will be glad.
poem by Ann Taylor
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Dont Ya Tell Henry
Dont ya tell henry,
Apples got your fly.
I went down to the river on a saturday morn,
A-lookin around just to see whos born.
I found a little chicken down on his knees,
I went up and yelled to him,
Please, please, please!
He said, dont ya tell henry,
Dont ya tell henry,
Dont ya tell henry,
Apples got your fly.
I went down to the corner at a-half past ten,
Is lookin around, I wouldnt say when.
I looked down low, I looked above,
And who did I see but the one I love.
She said, dont ya tell henry,
Dont ya tell henry,
Dont ya tell henry,
Apples got your fly.
Now, I went down to the beanery at half past twelve,
A-lookin around just to see myself.
I spotted a horse and a donkey, too,
I looked for a cow and I saw me a few.
They said, dont ya tell henry,
Dont ya tell henry,
Dont ya tell henry,
Apples got your fly.
Now, I went down to the pumphouse the other night,
A-lookin around, it was outa sight.
I looked high and low for that big ol tree,
I did go upstairs but I didnt see nobody but me.
I said, dont ya tell henry,
Dont ya tell henry,
Dont ya tell henry,
Apples got your fly.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Apples
I love apples,
Apples have crunch,
Lovely red apples,
Red, pink color, punch.
I love apple pies,
Family ties,
I love apple juice,
I call it zapple juice,
Without the fizz,
Or sugary twist,
Healthy fibre, Apple is.
Muscular and Thick
I don't see how you can eat that meat.
Ripe and dripping moisture licked.
And oozing a rich nectar...
To satisfy your inviting tongue.
Orchards exploding with muscular and thick,
Apples of Macintosh.
Tempting one to pick.
When that season comes around again...
And bushels of them,
Become so hard to lift...
In woven baskets carried.
Muscular and thick these apples,
Held by such strong limbs.
What's the matter, baby?
Why is your mouth opened like that?
'It didn't dawn on me you were writing about apples.
I forget sometimes how you like to interpret things.
You make my eating this apple so...'
Interesting?
'Yes.
That's exactly the word I was looking for! '
You're sweating like it's the 'dog' days of August!
Are you feeling okay?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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