Size Of Fruit
The size of apples is an amount,
Feeding with frenzy is a habit;
The lusts and frenzies along the life
Must be huge and significant.
This fruit inside my heart is ripe,
And the strong bones mature
To make fruits and more shrubs.
This body is heartened by your zeal
And someone is somewhere in heaven
Tasting and never cooking.
poem by Naveed Akram
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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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Love You Always Expect Love That Is Sweet And Enduring
we were once in love
i will not deny that
we make love almost every moment we look at each other
in the beach
in the camarin
in the house of your mother in the house of your friend
we like making love and we were content with what love is
for the time being
in the flesh,
we mature like some ripe fruits and we have no other option
like the fruit we fall
to the grounds of questioning ourselves
will this love be real even without the flesh
of the fruit?
will this love be true even without the leaves
of the trees?
will this love endure even when the tree is cut
because it will bear no fruit any longer?
i promise you love and i put the word there
forever,
but i never told you that there will be no pain
we compensate
we shall also be both broken......the sweetness shall not last longer,
but it is not the end yet, the sweetness shall linger in the memories
of our youth
when we wilt we shall be ready with our new seeds,
the rain shall make
the seeds grow again
time showers it with longings
and we shall now watch the flowers and the fruits
from a certain distance...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On Promising Fruitfulness of a Tree
A comely sight indeed it is to see
A world of blossoms on an apple-tree:
Yet far more comely would this tree appear,
If all its dainty blooms young apples were.
But how much more might one upon it see,
If all would hang there till they ripe should be.
But most of all in beauty 'twould abound,
If then none worm-eaten should there be found.
But we, alas! do commonly behold
Blooms fall apace, if mornings be but cold.
They too, which hang till they young apples are,
By blasting winds and vermin take despair,
Store that do hang, while almost ripe, we see
By blust'ring winds are shaken from the tree,
So that of many, only some there be,
That grow till they come to maturity.
Comparison.
This tree a perfect emblem is of those
Which God doth plant, which in his garden grows,
Its blasted blooms are motions unto good,
Which chill affections do nip in the bud.
Those little apples which yet blasted are,
Show some good purposes, no good fruits bear.
Those spoiled by vermin are to let us see,
How good attempts by bad thoughts ruin'd be.
Those which the wind blows down, while they are green,
Show good works have by trials spoiled been.
Those that abide, while ripe upon the tree,
Show, in a good man, some ripe fruit will be.
Behold then how abortive some fruits are,
Which at the first most promising appear.
The frost, the wind, the worm, with time doth show,
There flows, from much appearance, works but few.
poem by John Bunyan
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Fruits Of The Tree
What fruits we have!
Glittering with evil,
To shed innocent blood,
Shining with greed,
And we end in comfort that lasts only a moment
What fruits we bare!
Lost in ambition and passion
That we preach prosperity and success
As if they last an eternity
Swelling with pride that lasts a stint
Fruits of the tree
That the master has planted.
They can choose to ripen, or to stay raw!
They can choose to rot, or to stay ripe!
But, every fruit stands the test of time.
In the end, Ripe with truth and love,
Victory is imminent.
Rotten with deception and hatred,
Destruction waits:
The fruits from the tree of life
poem by Timothy muggaga
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Albert's Dry Bones
My ship reached your lush and comforting shore,
But my flesh had no more left than dry bones.
And these bones could remember no more
The warm breezes that now gave unheard moans.
But GOD can make these dry bones live,
As Ezekiel saw in Babylon one airy day.
And my dry bones seek for GOD to give
A body divine in which they desire to stay,
And roam the mountains that cool the air,
Collecting fruit so lavish and so ripe.
With clear eyes to enjoy a view lovely and fair,
I inhabit a world of freshness and beauty of every type.
So dry bones no more, by Omnipotence’s grace,
Nature’s bliss I now see well face to face.
BIBLE REF. – Phil.3: 9-13 and also Psa.34: 20
poem by Albert Price
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Love - Mad And Mature
Mad love leads to terrorism
Mature love gets to Gandhism
Mad love makes one wicked
Mature love makes life sublime
Mad love kindles body
Mature love ennobles the soul
Mad love binds the spirit
Mature love releases the bond
Mad loves brings pain
Mature love provides pleasure
Mad love breeds acrimony
Mature love brings harmony
Mad love hinders progress
Mature love helps success
Discard mad love, develop mature love
Make life pleasant and world a happy house!
poem by Subbaraman N V
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A Tree's Fruit
Good fruit or bad fruit, a tree can only bear one,
This parable was taught by God's one and only Son.
First mentioned by John as a warning for the Pharisees to heed,
But being blind to The Truth, most of them would not believe.
Your life is the tree and your deeds are the fruit,
This is a simple analogy that it hard to dispute.
But the Pharisees who knew the Word and lived in the land,
Were rebuked by John the Baptist, as they didn't understand.
Christians need to produce fruit for the Lord and nothing less,
And all the fruit that we produce should be fruits of righteousness.
Our old nature will produce fruit that comes from the past,
Not only is this fruit bad, but it's the kind that won't last.
Not only is bearing good fruit The Lord's heart desire,
But trees that continue to bear bad fruit may be cast in the fire.
Within your own heart is where the good or bad fruit is stored,
And by your fruits men will know you, is made clear by The Lord.
The fruit of righteousness is a tree of life, was once said,
However, a tree that bears bad fruit may be eternally dead.
What fruit you produce is strictly your choice my dear friend,
And by this choice you will either be blessed or condemned.
( 03/2002)
Who I am
Grandma Kasan, has the Bali citrus fruit tree
Their fruits was very luxuriant
Unfortunately with-him, Day And Night
after she made the Palm Fruit Charcoal
Always the road observed the her loves citrus fruit
because of being not again child
and the grandchild in her big house
when the night, I pass away
was carried by Old brother
under the citrus tree
that already ripe
around the little path
close my house
get its with my hand
when the grandmother fell asleep
and then I could eat citroes
when at the afternoon I ask her
to have her fruits not permitted
such was juvenile delinquency
when I older we to like children
that wanted to win ourself
the developing process of life
that always
repetitions
Who I am
when the others
gone
left me
alone
in the quiet home
poem by Prasetya Utama
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Blackberry Picking
I have fond memories of going blackberrying
On Sundays, with my Dad, when I was a child.
Situated on the very outskirts of our little town,
The lane was long and winding, lonely and wild.
We worked our way along the prickly hedgerows,
Plucking perfect fruit from amongst the brambles,
But the berries, which were over ripe or under ripe,
Were left behind by us, during our country rambles.
We picked plenty of plump, juicy berries,
And popped them all in to our plastic pot.
Dad seemed to know the very best time to go,
So we always returned home with quite a lot.
Along the way, we spotted spiders in their webs;
Of spiders, I have always been a little scared.
So any fruit which was located round about,
Was more than welcome to stay right there!
The blackberries were taken home to Mum,
Who mixed them up with apples, inside a pie.
I always felt a small sense of pride, as we ate
Those blackberries, picked by my Dad and I.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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I Am A Piece Of Broken Man
do you see me? what do you really see?
do you see this piece of broken man?
his spine bowed to the earth
because it has a huge burden on his back
his face with rugged lines, his jaw somehow dislocated,
the bones of his body unsymmetrical,
his flesh rotting, his skin unable to hold some parts of his
broken body, his nose does not smell the sweet perfume
of the good life, his tongue attuned to the bitterness of his past,
his lips crack with the present catastrophies,
it has not defined the kiss of life,
he cannot look up now to the bright skies
and marvel upon the wonders of creation,
the nature of green and red
the scent of peach and apples and roses
the taste of honey,
look at him, look at me, this piece of a broken man,
i am not your imagination
i am you. you must look at me again, stare at me.
give me your hand, so i can be warm again,
so my blood starts to run again, it is you, and you alone,
who can make me rise.
i am no other man. I am you.
help me. help yourself.
this is the real picture of the man
in the mirror of your eyes
in that secret chambers of your heart.
help yourself. help me.
we shall rise.we are one.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The fruits on the table
I love the papayas
Spread on the table
Reddish orange papayas
Plump and Smooth to my
Hands
And some purple grapes
Sweet pulp
Luscious to my
Lips
Some rambutans
Hairy fruits in red
Tickling to my
Fingers
Pungent durian
Tasting like
Heaven to
My mind
They are all spread on
The table
And I would caress smooth
Reddish papayas with
My bare hands
Put a grape in my mouth
And my tongue
Does the savoring of
Juicy rambutans
My lips close in
To a juicy roundness
As I breathe on some
Red hairs
Of this magical luscious fruit
The durian is opened
And the taste of heaven
Comes to my mind
With eyes closed as
Though I own all the passions
Of this world
When we were young and
Crazy about ourselves
I laid her on the table
And spread herself there
She was all those kinds of
Fruits to me and I was the
Hands, the mouth, the lips,
The tongue
The stomach that swallowed her all
Every bit that was juicy
Every freshness every plumpness
She was all fruits to me
She was all nature giving in, all over
To the passions of this fruit lover.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Black Bruises IV
I can gorge the vile blackness,
the eviscerated acquiescence
like a dog-eats-dog carnival
I can endure the struggle
tasting blotted inks,
tasting cheap champagnes,
tasting one's molting skin,
tasting a chance to begin,
tasting cold greasy dishes,
tasting stark carnal sin,
tasting tar and nicotine,
tasting saline misery,
but am I the only one tasting
these black bruised savors?
poem by Norman Santos
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Habit
Habit
I'm not going back the fact of bring in place with temptation all around, that shakes my body thee expressions on my face I don't won't to touch and taste but I do it anyway.
Can I say,
conviction took place on my inside and I'm feeling a little weak and I close my eyes to take sneak peek wants again at my habit. That stands in front it's like kryptonite crippling me, my heart and soul saying no, my flash saying yes! ! ! ! ! I need some help to get out of this mess my habit.
It became a test I was about to fell I was under it's spell to become slave to what I see, that habit that be calling me.
poem by Clarence Williams
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The survival instincts
Flowers take colours to invite insects.
Ripe fruits take colours to draw animals.
As buds they are green to hide behind leaves
Lest they be eaten before they mature.
Survival instinct is unique to life.
24.01.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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My heart is heavy with fruits of love
My heart is heavy with fruits of love
Like clusters of ripe pomegranate fruit bearing down
The canopy branches of the tree
But I can never give you one from above
It is waxed and sweetened by the full sun as jewels crown
The fruits of my love do not belong to me; they are not free
Yet in the evening, at dusk twilight, I dare entreat you to hide low
When bats chase moths encircling wandering in lights glow
Under the crimson dusk skies’ pall
A fruit from the tree may slip and fall
And when in the gray hour it drops as lust’s prey
Would you take it? Hence no one will ever know or say
Copy rights 2010
All rights reserved
The Valediction Of The Body For The Soul
I am the body, and you are the soul. I let you in. You are my guest.
Inside my body, you feel what i feel.You know what i know.
What you like i too must like.
What you disgust I too must disgust.
We have become one. Ideally, we go. I go where you go.
I let you stand on my feet
I let you touch the persons and things that you love
Through my Hands.
I am the body and you are the Soul. Inside me
You are my guest. They say that you are more important.
Holier. More wise. Filled with Understanding,
As I let you stay, I have become of lesser importance
To those who worship you, through me.
I am the body, and I have become secondary
to Your importance. But you are just my guest. I have let you in.
Now I demand that you too must respect my flesh,
My bones, My blood. I bleed. You don't. I feel the pain
You don't. I now demand that you too My Soul
Must understand my simple needs. My need for warmth
and Desire.
I am the Body and You are the Soul. I demand respect
and understanding otherwise I may use my power
to Oust You. I still have the power to put an end
To this Body and it is you who must leave.
You must understand me. When I end the life of this Body
As I very well know I can, then you Leave.
I will be left. I may rot. I may turn to Dust. But I have done
what is within my Power.
Respect my little lusts. That is my compromise with You.
Have a little understanding to my confusions.
Bear with Me too. Be my Guest. Be the Good One.
My Soul, My friend, My companion.I am your Faithful Body.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Sensual Night With Sense
you lay with some memories
your eyes fix on the ceiling
where images
begin to dance
like some fairies
with silk hair
and gossamer wings
you tire
with fairy tales and fantasies
you begin
a more mature approach
with your longings
inside this
empty room
for the night
where your waiting
for her
has become another
failure
you close your eyes
and look inside them
you hug your own
body with your
own arms
you bury yourself
on soft blankets
and pillows
you submerge
in ecstasy
your heart
throbbing
like crazy
and then
a raindrop
begins
to fall from
inside your
pains
falling
on the mountain
of your groin
you dropp dead
eyes closed
the pain
disappears
like some clouds
blown away
by this new wind
of coping up
and learning
with sense
sensuality
in automation
a flood of emotions
rush
to oblivion
tomorrow you wake
up and face a new
day again
they say you are a mature
person living life
that way it should be lived
coping up
self-automated
no misery seeking company
just being alone,
strong, and not needing help
from anyone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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That you have abandoned all will and strife
That you have abandoned all will and strife
Discard any other activity which implies getting on with life
You do not want to break away forfeiting any bail
And you are punishing yourself, putting yourself in jail
put yourself in some kind of curfew under powerful bolt
put life and the world around in complete halt
Until yourself will give you what yourself has taken away from you.....
All in the name of this precarious love so divine and dear in your view
It melt you down as dawn stars are melt in blue
And all other suitors you disdain discarding so many
It raises doubt if you ever find true love with any
Your heart is always heavy for him with fruits of love
Like clusters of ripe pomegranate fruit bearing down
The canopy branches of the tree
But you never intend to give him one from above
It is waxed and sweetened by the full sun as jewels crown
The fruits of our love are subject to your status; they are not free
On the other side of the wall
He the fox is waiting for your fruit to fall
He knows this tree will shed its fruits
It always did, it ever will whenever ripe its shoots
Punctually by the season queue.
December, followed by May all season thru
And then on evening time, at dusk twilight, this fox dares to hide low
As bats chase moths encircling wandering in lights glow
Under summer night night with crimson skies’ pall
The emotional muscles ware out and a fruit from the tree may fall
And when in the gray hour it drops as lust’s prey
The fox feeds fiercely on its flesh, no one will ever know or say
As for me in all of this...
My work is done closed in uneasy halt
This heath, this strange calm and quiet scene
The memory of what has been
And never more will be
But it will ever live with me
Copy rights 2010
All rights reserved
Trinidad
I am from Trinidad and i am looking for a lover like you,
So come and share your love with me if you care;
For i can see true love i your eyes and,
I am ready to pluck the fruits of your lovely apples.
It is my life and it is my time,
It is your life and it is your time,
It is your love and it is my dream,
It is my life and it is your dream,
It is my bed and it is your body,
It is your bed and it is my body,
It is my nakedness and it is your lips,
It is your nakedness and it is my lips,
But life is like a mystery to me now! !
And, we have to be closer together enough.
I came, i saw, and i ate it!
You came, you saw, and you ate it!
But, my body will taste your body in the anem of love;
And, i still imagine when we can be lonely somewhere just for the two of us.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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