Java Plums
those java plums
are sweet
and round and glossy
and by all means
attractive to the
palate
i am very thirsty
and you leave it on my
table and you
expect me to be just like them all
eat the plums without you
i have forgiven you
i am not eating them
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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when he wakes up
his thoughts are heavy
like ripe plums,
java he remembers,
big waves, and
volcanic eruptions,
humanity running away
to save what is it
that values themselves
to the right to live
java plums, violet, darker
than that, miserable,
covered by magma,
heights and disbelief
it happened in one
wink, and then one buries
all to forget, like a book
one goes to the next
chapter: this one is about
discovery, happiness.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Chocolate Love
You are the sweetness
In the choclolate I eat,
I find thoughts about you
melting away like the chocolate
The taste lingering in my mind,
To chew like the cud like
The cows in my shed,
I savour to the thoughts
Of your my love to you,
You beat of all queens,
Chocolate of all chocolate,
Cakes of all cakes,
Plums of all the plums,
When will I really taste
Your lips, caress you
Fondle your parts so secretly
Kept chaste by you
And have the bliss
Of eating a swiss chocolate.
poem by Ravikiran Arakkal
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0265 This is just to say
William,
that I'm glad that you
enjoyed the plums
which I was saving
for breakfast
I'm saving the note
you tacked on the
icebox door
for the divorce
I'm suing for
to show how selfish
you are
and later I'll publish it
to show just how offhand
a poet can be
revenge is
best enjoyed
at leisure
sweet and delicious
as cold plums
poem by Michael Shepherd
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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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The Sugar-Plums
No, no, pretty sugar-plums! stay where you are!
Though my grandmother sent you to me from so far;
You look very nice, you would taste very sweet,
And I love you right well, yet not one will I eat.
For the poor slaves have labour'd, far down in the south,
To make you so sweet and so nice for my mouth;
But I want no slaves toiling for me in the sun,
Driven on with the whip, till the long day is done.
Perhaps some poor slave child, that hoed up the ground,
Round the cane in whose rich juice your sweetness was found,
Was flogg'd, till his mother cried sadly to see,
And I'm sure I want nobody beaten for me.
So grandma, I thank you for being so kind,
But your present, to-day, is not much to my mind;
Though I love you so dearly, I choose not to eat
Even what you have sent me by slavery made sweet.
Thus said little Fanny, and skipp'd off to play,
Leaving all her nice sugar-plums just where they lay,
As merry as if they had gone in her mouth,
And she had not cared for the slaves of the south.
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Silver-Eye
Down among the strawberries,
Up among the plums,
Cheeping in the cherry-tree
When early autumn comes,
In our silver spectacles
And sober olive suits.
We're very, very innocent;
We wouldn't touch your fruits.
Well, maybe just a speckled one,
A windfall here and there.
But raid your precious strawberries?
Oh no, we wouldn't dare.
Behold our bland astonishment,
The charge is quite absurd!
It must have been a parrot
Or some other kind of bird.
It must have been a satin bird;
It must have been a crow.
It couldn't possibly be us;
We are so meek, you know,
With our silver spectacles.
The accusation's vile!
How can you deem us guilty
When we're whistling all the while?
Well, if you've caught us in the act
There's no more to be said.
The plums are blue and succulent,
The strawberries are red.
And who'd refuse a dainty dish
When early autumn comes?
Oh, write a rhyme about us, man,
And pay for all your plums.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Eve
Eve, with her basket, was
Deep in the bells and grass,
Wading in bells and grass
Up to her knees,
Picking a dish of sweet
Berries and plums to eat,
Down in the bell and grass
Under the trees.
Mute as a mouse in a
Corner the cobra lay,
Circled round a bough of the
Cinnamon tall. . . .
Now to get even and
Humble proud heaven and
Now was the moment or
Never at all.
'Eva!' Each syllable
Light as a flower fell,
'Eva!' he whispered the
Wondering maid,
Soft as a bubble sung
Out of a linnet's lung,
Soft and most silverly
'Eva!' he said.
Picture that orchard sprite,
Eve, with her body white,
Supple and smooth to her
Slim finger tips.
Wondering, listening,
Listening, wondering,
Eve with a berry
Half-way to her lips.
Oh had our simple Eve
Seen through the make-believe!
Had she but known the
Pretender he was!
Out of the boughs he came,
Whispering still her name,
Tumbling in twenty rings
Into the grass.
Here was the strangest pair
In the world anywhere,
Eve in the bells and grass
Kneeling, and he
Telling the story low. . . .
Singing birds saw them go
Down the dark path to
The Blasphemous Tree.
O what a clatter when
Titmouse and Jenny Wren
Saw him successful and
Taking his leave!
How the birds rated him,
How they all hated him!
How they all pitied
Poor motherless Eve!
Picture her crying
Outside in the lane,
Eve, with no dish of sweet
Berries and plums to eat,
Haunting the gate of the
Orchard in vain. . . .
Picture the lewd delight
Under the hill to-night -
'Eva!' the toast goes round,
'Eva!' again.
poem by Ralph Hodgson
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The Sugar-Plum Tree
Have you ever heard of the Sugar-Plum Tree?
'T is a marvel of great renown!
It blooms on the shore of the Lollipop sea
In the garden of Shut-Eye Town;
The fruit that it bears is so wondrously sweet
(As those who have tasted it say)
That good little children have only to eat
Of that fruit to be happy next day.
When you 've got to the tree, you would have a hard time
To capture the fruit which I sing;
The tree is so tall that no person could climb
To the boughs where the sugar-plums swing!
But up in that tree sits a chocolate cat,
And a gingerbread dog prowls below---
And this is the way you contrive to get at
Those sugar-plums tempting you so:
You say but the word to that gingerbread dog
And he barks with such terrible zest
That the chocolate cat is at once all agog,
As her swelling proportions attest.
And the chocolate cat goes cavorting around
From this leafy limb unto that,
And the sugar-plums tumble, of course, to the ground---
Hurrah for that chocolate cat!
There are marshmallows, gumdrops, and peppermint canes,
With stripings of scarlet or gold,
And you carry away of the treasure that rains
As much as your apron can hold!
So come, little child, cuddle closer to me
In your dainty white nightcap and gown,
And I 'll rock you away to that Sugar-Plum Tree
In the garden of Shut-Eye Town.
poem by Eugene Field
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Is this just to say
'Shall I be gone long?
Forever and a day.
Where will I go?
Ask my song.'
The sweet cold plums
in the ice-box
were no compensation
for the note attached there
by the adulterer.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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This Is Just To Say
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
poem by William Carlos Williams (1934)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Java Blues
Rick danko
I walked into a diner
And the blonde behind the counter
She asked if she could help in any way
Hell, I knew by her smile
Her number I could dial
If I was in the need of company
But as I bought some java
Instead she brought me a cup of chicory
I got those java blues
Coffees got me
Java blues
Oh coffee, coffee, coffee
Java blues
Coffees got me
Java blues
Oh coffee
You know that Ill stay high
Ill drink coffee till I die
Dont pour me water just fill up my cup
You know it takes a lot just to keep me up
Cost may be more than you care to pay
What good is money compared to fightin pain
Dont try to cheat
Its impossible to beat
The only pick me up thats here to stay
I got those java blues
Coffees got me
Java blues
Oh coffee, coffee, coffee
Java blues
Oh coffee, oh coffee
Java blues
Coffees got me
You know that Ill stay high
Ill drink coffee till I die
The taste of java is like a cocaine rush
Nobodys gonna stop me from drinkin too much
Down in bolivia the people are insane
They want as much for coffee as they do for cocaine
Dont try to cheat
Its impossible to beat
The only pick me up thats here to stay
I got those java blues
Coffees got me
Java blues
Oh coffee, coffee, coffee
Java blues
The coffees got me now..
Java blues
Oh coffee, coffee
You know that Ill stay high
Ill drink coffee till I die
I got the java blues
Oh coffee, coffee
Java blues
Oh coffee, coffee, coffee
Java blues
Oh the coffees got me
Java blues
Oh coffee, oh coffee
Java blues!
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am putting real plums into an imaginary cake.
quote by Mary McCarthy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You can't evoke great spirits and eat plums at the same time.
quote by George William Russell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Harvard takes perfectly good plums as students, and turns them into prunes.
quote by Frank Lloyd Wright
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cutie Pie
CUTIE PIE
Cup cakes and cotton candy
Sugar plums and honey buns
Sweet potatoes and candy yams
taste so good,
on my tongue
The scent of sweet cinnamon sprinkles on an apple crumb pie
cuts through my senses
bringing tears to my eyes.
Just like when I image your face, sweet father of mine.
It creates a space in my heart
filled with the sweet cherished love you have for me.
I’ve never wanted to be nothing more than you sweet baby
so blessed that you’re all mine and I forever your little lady.
Let me forever be that apple in your eye
To have and to hold….wearing your love draped around me like a coat.
It will forever keep my heart safe and warm from the cold.
There’s nothing more precious than a daughters love for her daddy.
You’re the first to call me a cutie pie…which I never knew I was cute until you.
So whenever I look at my imagine in the mirror I get a sweet tooth.
When I look in the mirror I see you.
My brown cinnamon skin is like a pastry treat.
Cup cakes and cotton candy
Sugar plums and honey buns
Sweet potatoes and candy yams
taste so good,
to have them
I’d break a limb
The scent of sweet cinnamon sprinkles on an apple crumb pie.
cuts through my senses
bringing tears to my eyes.
Just like when I image your face, sweet father of mine.
It creates a space in my heart
filled with the sweet cherished love you have for me.
I’ve never wanted to be nothing more than you sweet baby
so blessed that you’re all mine and I forever your little lady.
Let me forever be that apple in your eye
I shall forever and always be your cutie pie.
poem by Shaniqua Hudson
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A Round Table
we have this round table
and we put all our hands
on it when we eat and
drink and just talk for
hours and hours and
listen. And we ask what
is happening: Karding
broke a leg and Delia
is looking for the money.
Always it is the money.
Always she is short of
the money. And there
were jewelries hanging
on her neck and arms
and fingers, and we all
ask at this round table:
what is happening?
Nothing, don't mind at
all, this is just a part of
the round table, some
wine glass that broke
and must be swept at
once. We keep away the
sound of a crying pig.
We eat pigs here at this
round table. Then we shifted
the talk about our dead
parents. We pray. We
remember we keep on
saying this. We finish eating
the pig. We drink a very
cold water. Our throats
are irritated and we step
out of the room wanting
to pull away our tongues.
when we come back the
round table is empty.
and we laugh about a
joke that we remember.
our childhood games
the river, and the boat
that father made for us.
we turn off the tv and we
begin to talk about the
beautiful flowers in mother's
old garden, the secret one.
we agree. we miss it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Old Bob.
Old Bob lived
in a cardboard box
under the stairs.
Don’t feed the mutt,
Granny said.
But you did, often,
with scraps from the table
or broken biscuits
from the battered tin
that Gran kept
on the lower shelf.
Bob was a short haired
fawn dog with eyes
like dark plump plums.
He’d snarl or growl
if anyone got too near
or touched his bowl,
except you; you he’d let
into his box and lick
your five year old face
and allow you to stroke
or hug or touch his tail.
He’d bark, snarl and growl
his dislike of humanity;
you, however, he seemed
to love, somehow.
poem by Terry Collett
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Orchid And Orange II
Here, south of the Yangzi, grows a red orangetree.
All winter long its leaves are green,
Not because of a warmer soil,
But because its' nature is used to the cold.
Though it might serve your honourable guests,
You leave it here, far below mountain and river.
Circumstance governs destiny.
Cause and effect are an infinite cycle.
You plant your peach-trees and your plums,
You forget the shade from this other tree.
poem by Zhang Jiuling
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The Plum Tree
Lies fell from your lips
like plums from an overladen plum tree.
Soon they littered the ground beneath us.
I could not help but stand on some.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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