The Cantaloupe
One cantaloupe is ripe and lush,
Another's green, another's mush.
I'd buy a lot more cantaloupe
If I possessed a fluoroscope.
poem by Ogden Nash
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Related quotes
Celebrate the Melon
Juicy and delicious they are
Just made for a summer treat
As they squirt inside your mouth
They’re so wonderful and sweet
Picnics aren’t complete
Until a watermelon is cut
Slices of the scrumptious fruit
Drags you from a daily rut
Party’s have a veggie plate
And nestled right within
Are melons all chunked up
Not to have them is a sin
And also is the cantaloupe
So perfect for a summer fare
Orange as a ripe pumpkin
Smoothing out unwanted cares
So let us celebrate the melon
Whether red or orange or green
Juicy and so sweet
A scrumptious summer dream!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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A New Version Of My Life
life comes in my room
fresh from the rain
stripteasing me
so how can i not possibly embrace it
and forget
death?
oh, life is too forgiving
fleshy and sweet as cantaloupe and
supple as fresh
strawberry
how can i not take this irresistible
bite?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Kiwi
Fruit without a stone, its shiny
pulp is clear green. Inside, tiny
black microdot seeds. Skin
the color of khakiImagine
a shaggy brown-green pelt
that feels like felt.
It's oval, full-rounded, kind
of egg-shaped. The rind
comes off in strips
when peeled with the lips.
If ripe, full of juice,
melon-sweet, yet tart as goose-
berry almost. A translucent ring
of seed dots looks something
like a coin-slice of banana. Grown
in the tropics, some stone
fruits, overlarge, are queerly
formed. A slablike pit nearly
fills the mango. I
scrape the fibrous pulp off with my
teeth. That slick round ball
in avocado (fruit without juice) we call
alligator pear:
Plant this seedpit with care
on three toothpicks over a glass
of water. It can come to pass
in time, that you'll see
an entire avocado tree.
Some fruits have stones, some seeds.
Papaya's loaded with slimy black beads.
Some seem seedlesslike quince
(that makes your tastebuds wince.)
Persimmon will
be sour, astringent 'until
dead ripe,' they say. Behind
pomegranate's leathery rind,
is a sackful of moist rubies. Pear,
cantaloupe, grapefruit, guava keep their
seeds hidden, as do raspberry, strawberry,
pineapple. Plum, peach and cherry
we know as fruits with big
seedstones. And fig?
Its graininess is seed. Hard to believe
is prickly durian. It's custard
sweetand smells nasty.
But there's no fruit as tasty,
as odd, or as funny
none
as fresh-off-the-vine New Zea-
land kiwi.
poem by May Swenson
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I've Been Working So Hard
I've been working so hard you just wouldn't believe,
And I'm tired!
There's so little time and so much to achieve,
And I'm tired!
I've been lying here holding the grass in its place,
Pressing a leaf with the side of my face,
Tasting the apples to see if they're sweet,
Counting the toes on a centipede's feet.
I've been memorizing the shape of that cloud,
Warning the robins to not chirp so loud,
Shooing the butterflies off the tomatoes,
Keeping an eye out for floods and tornadoes.
I've been supervising the work of the ants
And thinking of pruning the cantaloupe plants,
Calling the fish to swim into my nets,
And I've taken twelve thousand and forty-one breaths,
And I'm TIRED!
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Green Bananas
Does anyone eat green bananas?
then why have them in the stores?
By the time you think of eating one ripe!
they're full of fruit flies, in the hundreds or maybe more!
My husband loves green bananas
he says, cause they're solid and much more flavorful.
I think they taste kind of green and bitter
with every green and bitter mouthful!
I wonder if monkeys eat them green?
Or do they also wait until they're ripe?
Just peeling them when they're green
leaves those long stringy things of white!
I've taken to freezing mine now
in plastic bags, for my daily protien shakes!
Now I don't have to worry about the ones that turn black!
From the green ones that I wouldn't take!
poem by Linda Winchell
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Lush Green Dew - Duncan Wyllie & Ernestine Northover
The lush green dew that rises.
The mist that covers the lawn.
Droplets of water declare.
Dancers that rise in the morn
swirling. The patterns escape
dreamily into the air.
Oceans of clouds hanging, drape,
having not one single care.
Sun rising o’er the garden,
filling each dewdropp with light.
No heart could ever harden
to this beauty in our sight,
of lush green dew that rises.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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How Green
How green is your valley
How lush is your path to your garden of love
Is it overshadowed by the cross of persecution
How green is your memory
Is it poverty and ruin choked with weeds of despair
Is it blossoms of peace and pleasures
Beyond which there is none to compare
How green is your table
Is it filled with delights of wicked consumption
Is it dangled on meat from the hook in your lair
From that insidious malicious sinister dare
Money
How green
How green
How green
How green is your tomorrow
How green is your eternity
How green
Or is it black and white
poem by Gary Revel
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Chick Flicks, Just Won't, Get It.
You would probably have to put hot coals under my feet...
To drag my butt, into the sneak peek, of a chick flick.
I am a romantic, but spare me the gushing muck...
No such mush for me, not that mush, would I wish to see.
Not even if the admittance-were free...
Let me be, let me be.
Action is where I'm at....
Not viewing a film about a talking, baby, dog, or cat.
Comedy will move my feet...
That type of film, will be my treat.
Romantic mush...
Won't make me gush.
Only action...
Will get my feet like, attraction.
poem by Michael Gale
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Memory Love
She languishes there among my memories
making fleeting and unexpected appearances;
cupid's arrows still flying true
to my heart stone;
before I can look to see
she is gone again,
mixing in perfectly among other opaque
things which live too inside my mind.
She would lay sometimes in full view
on her Cleopatra Sofa
almost it seemed
reachable
but no;
my extended mental hand
would reach
grasping only air
and she is gone again-
I'm sure after feasting
on that perfect cantaloupe
of my adoring glances.
She remains most times perfectly still
for all memory is perfectly still
and that is its curse-she never ages
in my mind over the many years since
I saw her last;
while I have.
The tragic irony here is
I have moved on and she remains
living there pristine
in that Memory World which I provide,
my gift to her.
Perhaps actually seeing her
would ruin things for she and I.
So I will keep her in her perfect world;
it is the least I can do
for my Old Perfect Love
and hope too, that I
inhabit a similar place
in her mind.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Road Trip in Spring
Rolling Green Pastoral land
For as far as the eye
Can see
The lush verdant Oak and Elm
Outshine the other tree's
Rounded bush-lined lanes of
Concrete
As above we look to the aside Dale
Up-down-over and around
Glimpses of many a country trail
And traveling down Ranger Hill
From up above so very high
Brings more lush green beauty
That sparkles pure brillance
Into one's eyes
Oh what a grand canvas 'tis this
Our higher power has created for we
Many colors and sights of early Spring
For all of His beloved children to see
poem by Theodora Onken
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Your Own Disater
Just think of this and me,
as just a few of the many things,
to lie around and clutter up your shelves
I wish you wern't worht the wait
cos theres somthing id like to say to you
and i dont think that you knwo what you've been missing
and i dont think that you knwow hat you've been missing
and i dare you to forget
the marks oyu left across my neck
from those nights when we were both at our best
and now i could make this obvious
and you, you could deny me
all in one breath you could shug mr off your shoulders
cos i dont think that you know what oyuve been missing
and i dont hitnk that you knwo what you've been missing
cos i dont think that you,
i said i dont think that you know
cos i dont think that you know what youve been missing
hey lush, have fun
its the weekend
hey lush have fun
hey lush, have fun
its the weekend
hey lush have fun
(no i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
its the weekend
(no i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
(no i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
its the weekend
(forget me, its that simple)
(no i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
(forget me, its that simple)
(no i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
its the weekend
(forget me, its that simple)
(no i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
(forget me, its that simple)
(oh i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
its the weekend
(forget me, its that simple)
(no i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
(forget me, its that simple)
(oh i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
its the weekend
(forget me, its that simple)
(no i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
(forget me, its that simple)
forget me its that simple
forget me its that simple
forget me, its that simple
forget me, its that simple
no i dont think that you know what youve been missing)
forget me, its that simple
forget me, its that simple
forget me, its that simple
forget me, its that simple
just forget me , its that simple
song performed by by Taking Back Sunday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The May Flower Tree
I was walking lone there,
Where we once had been.
I sought the house we lived in,
In the lush lush green.
Perhaps inmates out, I thought,
As none I could see.
She has been haunting ever,
Where's May Flower Tree?
Looked around and discovered,
Ah! she lost her grace!
Hugged her with my eager hands,
Alone at that place.
Touched her old bark earnestly,
Felt the touch of past.
Childhood cried in deep deep pain,
Days crept in we passed.
Suddenly the tree turned green,
The Sun shone brightly.
I saw the May Flower Tree,
An emblem of Infancy!
poem by Nilakshi Das
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Policeman G.
To Policeman G. the Inspector said:
"When you pass the 'shops' you must turn your head;
If you took a wager, that would be a sin;
So you'll earn no stripes if you run them in."
Mush-a-ring-tiy-ah,
Fol-de-diddle-doh!
To the House Committee, the Inspector said:
"'Tis a terrible thing how the gamblers spread,
For they bet on the steeple, and they bet on the Cup,
And the magistrates won't lock them up."
Mush-a-ring-tiy-ah,
Fol-de-diddle-doh!
But Policeman G., as he walks his beat,
Where ghe gamblers are -- up and down the street --
Says he: "What's the use to be talkin' rot --
If they'd make me a sergeant, I could cop the lot!"
With my ring-tiy-ah,
Fol-de-diddle-doh!
"But, begad if you start to suppress the 'shop',
Then the divil only knows where you're going to stop;
For the rich and the poor, they would raise a din,
If at Randwick I ran fifty thousand in."
Mush-a-ring-tiy-ah,
Fol-de-diddle-doh!
"Though ye must not box -- nor shpit -- nor bet,
I'll find my way out to Randwick yet;
For I'm shtandin' a pound -- and it's no disgrace --
On Paddy Nolan's horse -- for the Steeplechase!"
Mush-a-ring-tiy-ah,
Fol-de-diddle-doh!
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Blueberries
Blueberries as big as the end of your thumb,
Real sky-blue, and heavy, and ready to drum
In the cavernous pail of the first one to come!
And all ripe together, not some of them green
And some of them ripe! You ought to have seen!
poem by Robert Frost
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Looking Back At The Greens
i too look back at those green things
from the point of view of my
green thumb
a vegetable garden without an aphid on a leaf
a row of roses, lush green leaves
and red blooms
some petals falling due to the
wind
a line of green mint trees along the path
leading to the highway
sounds of motors threatening what green there is
i come back and settle on this patch
of green meadows
and grass and gray shade
my own shadow cast
on the huge gabi leaf.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pity for a crop...
In the lush green wheat fields
the beauty remains hidden until its ripe
From green to gold, erect to oldm cut to sold and head to told;
I'd be the last caliph of this smallest large field
water be the food for your beauty be seen
and soil be the shoes to your feet
you know; when beauty is at its peak
it's harvested, to be made someone else's beauty
and that beauty becomes someone else's charm
and charm in sight leads to the achievement
and achievement is the price that shuns the beauty
and dying beauty is like sinking sun, lamenting light, agonized ailment, distant distance and soul-less smile...
I always feared to scrutinize what i am doing now...
I'm stuck between letting you die of age or making a good harvest! ! !
13-08-2009
poem by Usman Hanif
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Makarora
Rocky peaks of Makarora in the summer wear their snow
And down the lush green grassy valley the clear mountain river flow
Songbirds piping in the beechwoods songthrush, bellbird and
redpoll
This a place of peace and beauty Makarora has a soul.
These great mountains look no different than to when the first man came
They have a wild rugged beauty for want of a better name
To the coming generations these high peaks will look the same
Man will not build houses on them man such wildness could not tame.
Summer's come to Makarora and along with her brought her green
Beauty to compare with any with the finest I have seen
This place would inspire an artist peaks in summer white
with snow
Beechwoods and through lush green valley sparkling mountain river flow.
Those high peaks of makarora will not change as years go by
Out there on those rugged mountains bones of Maori hunter lie
Still these mountains keep their secrets monarchs of the higher ground
Overlooking Makarora and the woodlands all around
Snow clad peaks of Makarora reaching upwards towards the sky
I am just a passing stranger and I'll be bidding you goodbye
But I will take with me the memories of beauty I have seen
today
Woodlands in a lush green valley by those mountains far away
poem by Francis Duggan
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Your Own Disaster
Just think of this and me
as just a few of many things
to lie around
to clutter up your shelves
And I wish you weren't worth the wait
because there's some thing's
I'd like to say to you...
I don't think that
you know what
you've been missing
Cuz I don't think that
you know what
you've been missing
I dare you to forget
those marks you left
across my neck
from those nights when we were both
found at our best
I could make this obvious,
and in one breath
you could shrug me off
your shoulders...
I don't think that
you know what
you've been missing
Cuz I don't think that
you know what
you've been missing
Hey, lush, have fun
It's the weekend
Hey, lush, have fun
Hey, lush, have fun
It's the weekend
Hey, lush, have fun
I don't think that
you know what
you've been missing
I don't think that
you know what
you've been missing
Just forget me
it's that simple
Just forget me
it's that simple
song performed by by Taking Back Sunday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fruit Of The Tree
And there is this moment
of thousand petaled moments
brilliantly veiled obsidian sights
ageless of ether
impermeable aethers
breaching space splayed
petals' rude sand grain swayed
let us bite the pomegranate's pollinate
savour lush fruit blushing ripe pregnant night
let it lend us to stealing
gleefully squealing
lavishly laughing
ultraviolet's limelight
let us bite the pomegranate's pollinate
savour lush fruit blushing ripe pregnant night
let us sift unforgiving
bending the barring
sow resplendence
breathe musk sweet dusk bright
But there is this moment
of precious petaled moments
delicious viscous
audacious auspicious
so let us bathe in abandon
sublimest defiance
and fashion our fortunes
with dawning delights
Randy Resh 2012
Veux Magazine,2012
poem by Randy Resh
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My Plant is in a Cage
Some of my friends say,
I have green fingers.
I just plant the seed and pray,
and watch, as time lingers.
Grow they do, green and lush
Don't tell no one hush, hush.
cause in Holland we grow 'Mary Jane'
In U.S.A. and Canada it's not quit the same.
The green sage is all the rage,
So I put my green plant in a cage
Locked up tight, 'Motion Detector' on! .
In the morning, no plant will be gone!
poem by David Darbyshire
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