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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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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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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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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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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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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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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You Found My Way
you cook so well
and i am so
anticipating about
the new menu
on the white
porcelain plate
beside the
silver spoon
and fork
and the corrugated
knife fit for
the medium rare
steak
more rice please
more lemonades
and lots of
lettuce for the
salad
a ripe mango
and alligator
pear
on a platter
lady, you found your
way into
my belly.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A ripe pear is more likely to fall in the shit than onto the clean ground.
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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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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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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Emily Dickinson's Birthday Present
Emily Dickinson's Birthday Present
Miss Dickinson, You are a pear
Prickly in my bed
You fight to hold the covers up
And hiss, 'We are not wed! '
Let me see at least one breast
And kiss its' purple grape
You stay my wrist with iron bands
And softly whisper, 'Rape! ';
This is not fair my prickly pear,
I want to see you nude!
You wrap the sheets and mummify
And tell me I am crude;
Have all your words and clever play
Been a scattering of seeds,
Oh I would plough your two locked legs,
Yet you won't do the deed.
With fiendish strength I guide your hand,
'Oh won't you hold my member? '
She pulls away and turns around,
'My birthday's in December.'
poem by David McLansky
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Sweet Pear
Sweet pear, sweet pear
Those who say they love you would never dare
Ill watch out for you
Ill always be there
In the hour of distress you need not fear
In all the world theres only one true love
And finding its hard enough
I bless whatevers in the sky above
For bringing you to me
But theres a void without your kiss
I wake on the precipice above the abyss
And though the touch of your lips these fears dismiss
Make no mistake there is an ache I have to live with
Was my grip too lose, my grip too strong
That made you want to run away
And now youre back where I pretend you belong
I wonder every night and day
How long
I swear this is my prayer
til were burned and scattered in the atmosphere
Or lost in the world across a crowded room
I am your stupid lover, your wretched groom
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In the steps of Rumi 81: Grace
You see the word ‘grace’.
It’s just a word. You don’t use it,
don’t really know how to
think of it; whether it’s real,
what it does, whether you’d notice it
somewhere.
That’s OK. So,
are you missing anything?
Make it quick, I’m busy…
Right. Think of appetite.
That feeling in the stomach
that it’s high time. Mm, maybe
something’s going on in the kitchen;
smells good.
Everything on the table looks
good enough to eat…
this pear: so perfectly ripe, the juice
running down your wrist yet
even more of it contained.
It’s almost too good to eat..
quick, stop the camera right there:
subliminally, one single frame: grace.
Animal appetite,
observed by human,
divinely created.
Remember it. Grace.
In some languages, the same
word for the gift of it, and
for thanks. Gracias, amigo..
Deo gratia.. that’s gifts
from God, not of God.
Or, thanks to God.
Does that matter, when it’s matter?
Possibly.
Beautiful, isn’t it?
Graceful.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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