After Apple Picking
My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still.
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples; I am drowsing off.
I cannot shake the shimmer from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the water-trough,
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and reappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
And I keep hearing from the cellar-bin
That rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking; I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall,
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised, or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it's like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.
poem by Robert Frost
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
After rice harvest
the golden field
so apt the colour
that heralds its value
to the world
as the rice ripens
it pulls down the stalk
that has nurtured it
supporting it the way
warm mom carries child
round her bossom
it waves in the wind
as if to confirm
its value to the world
an entire gold field
an apt colour
just wonder god purposely
puts in the right colour
into his better creations
all over you hear the birds
chip in their bits
to herald in the harvest season
hurried chirps all eager
to peck the beads
from the stalks
as the trucks come
for the harvested piles
swarms of them await
to pick up the yellow beads
on the brown soil
chirp, chirp, chirp
they go onto the ground
the over eager ones falling
heads over heels
the braver ones trailing the trucks
inspired by
After Apple Picking
My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still.
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples; I am drowsing off.
I cannot shake the shimmer from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the water-trough,
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and reappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
And I keep hearing from the cellar-bin
That rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking; I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall,
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised, or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it's like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
After Poetry-reading (with apologies to Robert Frost)
My library door’s still open
with its invitations and its promises
and empty shelves waiting to be filled
and on the table two or three new books
yet unread; but I’m done with poetry-reading now.
I’m sleepy; I’m full of poetry;
smell of poetry; taste of poetry;
close to, you can hear me buzz..
I can’t get the sound of other poets
out of my head.
Sometimes it’s envy; sometimes
just annoyance, like the sound
of the man next door with his buzz-saw;
and I can’t help hearing, too,
the sound of postboy bringing yet more books
by other poets; the presses rumbling
with yet more poetry books to come..
some, I fear, they’ll ask me to ‘review’..
yes, I’ve had too much of what
I helped to start – that great harvest
of ‘American Poetry’ ten thousand thousand
graduates of college courses;
chapbooks, self-print, little mags, by the barrel-load
and so many bad apples to each barrel;
fruiting like sour crabs
on the dead wood of faculty appointments;
how much wood can this woodchuck chuck,
amidst the woods and two paths’ luck?
jeez, I’m sleepy; feel a long sleep coming on;
the book I’m holding slides from my hands,
its pages turn without my turning them;
like you, my fingers, mind… frost-bitten.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Apple Seed
Spring is here
love it so dear.
Being an apple seed,
and doing my good deed.
Keeping the doctor away,
for many years this tree will stay.
Just waiting for picking time
and watching workers as they climb.
Seed to apple so sweet
working so hard what a feat.
Apple cider to apple pie,
selling apples for people to buy.
Being an apple seed
and doing my good deed.
Being picked off this tree
from this place I will flee.
wrote 4-30-07
The Crossed Apple
I’ve come to give you fruit from out my orchard,
Of wide report.
I have trees there that bear me many apples.
Of every sort:
Clear, streaked; red and russet; green and golden;
Sour and sweet.
This apple’s from a tree yet unbeholden,
Where two kinds meet, -
So that this side is red without a dapple,
And this side’s hue
Is clear and snowy. It’s a lovely apple.
It is for you.
Within are five black pips as big as peas,
As you will find,
Potent to breed you five great apple trees
Of varying kind:
To breed you wood for fire, leaves for shade,
Apples for sauce.
Oh, this is a good apple for a maid,
It is a cross,
Fine on the finer, so the flesh is tight,
And grained like silk.
Sweet Burning gave the red side, and the white
Is Meadow Milk.
Eat it, and you will taste more than the fruit:
The blossom, too,
The sun, the air, the darkness at the root,
The rain, the dew,
The earth we came to, and the time we flee,
The fire and the breast.
I claim the white part, maiden, that’s for me.
You take the rest.
poem by Louise Bogan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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.
Unharvested
A scent of ripeness from over a wall.
And come to leave the routine road
And look for what had made me stall,
There sure enough was an apple tree
That had eased itself of its summer load,
And of all but its trivial foliage free,
Now breathed as light as a lady's fan.
For there had been an apple fall
As complete as the apple had given man.
The ground was one circle of solid red.
May something go always unharvested!
May much stay out of our stated plan,
Apples or something forgotten and left,
So smelling their sweetness would be no theft.
poem by Robert Frost
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Unripe Apples don't fall
Take time to prepare
and develop your idea
Norture it with care
This is my call
Unripe Apples don't fall
Unless you shake the tree
Standing tall
A bitter fruits taste
Only goes to waste
Like a rotten Apple
Down to the core
Try to dedicate
Think Straight
Proceed with emotions
Before your new introduction
An Apple has five seeds
Clear out all the weeds
This is my call
Unripe Apples don't fall
Unless you shake the tree
Standing tall
Copyright 2005 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dedicated to ppl who dont sleep
Sleep, sleep, sleep
It’s magnificent and nice,
With dreams beyond wonder,
Sleep! sleep! sleep!
Sleep, sleep, sleep
Eyes tightly closed,
A little smile on you r cheeks,
Feeling the ambiance
Of the pure and precious sleep,
Sleep! sleep! sleep!
Sleep, sleep, sleep
Forgetting insane things of the mixed world outside
Relax my dear, feel the gentle breeze,
Do not worry about tomorrow, do not weep,
Wake up fresh in the morning with a recuperate mind,
Fresh and blessed with a wonderful sleep,
SLEEP, SLEEP, SLEEP!
poem by Tejaswini Iyer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Our Tree
When spring comes round, our apple tree
Is very full of flowers,
And when a bird sits on a branch
The petals fall in showers.
When summer comes, our apple tree
Is very full of green,
And everywhere you look in it
There is a leafy screen.
When autumn comes, our apple tree
Is full of things to eat.
The apples hang from every branch
To tumble at our feet.
When winter comes, our apple tree
Is full of snow and ice
And rabbits come to visit it...
We think our tree is nice.
poem by Marchette Chute
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sleep Comes Down
it's raining in my head
but no tears come down
and i'm dreaming of you
until sleep comes around
sleep comes down sleep comes down
sleep comes down sleep comes down
the orchestra's playing
it's so very loud
and i'm biting my nails
until sleep comes around
sleep comes down sleep comes down
sleep comes down sleep comes down
the clouds are all running
but no tears come down
and i'm thinking of you
until sleep comes around
sleep comes down sleep comes down
sleep comes down sleep comes down
song performed by by Flaming Lips
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Sleep No Man Desires
There is a sleep no man desires
There is something about that sleep
That sends fear down the hearts of men
That world unknown yet revered by fear
That surrounds a man when he goes to sleep
It is the sleep of the tired women
It is the sleep of the defeated elands
It is the sleep that makes the hyenas laugh
It is the sleep that feeds the vultures
It is the sleep that no man loves
But is the eventual sleep for all that breaths
It is the sleep of paradise
A paradise so desired for good deeds on earth
Yet it is the sleep that hounds the aged and the poor
A sleep that embraces the dying
A sleep that knows no class
It is the silent sleep on angels' chariots
Take a pillow and courage to slip into it
Courage, be brave and face that sleep
That sleep that frightens the mighty
That sleep that is wild on eart
That sleep that has no path
That is hated and more than loathed
A sleep that captured great men of history
It is the sleep of the GONE.
poem by Major Elazia
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Orchard-Pit
The Orchard-Pit
Piled deep below the screening apple-branch
They lie with bitter apples in their hands:
And some are only ancient bones that blanch,
And some had ships that last year's wind did launch,
And some were yesterday the lords of lands.
In the soft dell, among the apple-trees,
High up above the hidden pit she stands,
And there for ever sings, who gave to these,
That lie below, her magic hour of ease,
And those her apples holden in their hands.
This in my dreams is shown me; and her hair
Crosses my lips and draws my burning breath;
Her song spreads golden wings upon the air,
Life's eyes are gleaming from her forehead fair,
And from her breasts the ravishing eyes of Death.
Men say to me that sleep hath many dreams,
Yet I knew never but this dream alone:
There, from a dried-up channel, once the stream's,
The glen slopes up; even such in sleep it seems
As to my waking sight the place well known.
My love I call her, and she loves me well:
But I love her as in the maelstrom's cup
The whirled stone loves the leaf inseparable
That clings to it round all the circling swell,
And that the same last eddy swallows up.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sleep, Sleep
Sleep, sleep lazy fool
You’ve fought to long
And now you’re free to tool
Don’t wake blind maiden
Sleep, sleep small child
There are terrors to come
You won’t sleep forever
Cause you’ll never be done
Sleep, sleep little blossom
Because that’s all you can do
Sleep, the sleep of dreamers
And wake again a new
poem by Eric Andrew James
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
If Still Your Orchards Bear
Brother, that breathe the August air
Ten thousand years from now,
And smell—if still your orchards bear
Tart apples on the bough—
The early windfall under the tree,
And see the red fruit shine,
I cannot think your thoughts will be
Much different from mine.
Should at that moment the full moon
Step forth upon the hill,
And memories hard to bear at noon,
By moonlight harder still,
Form in the shadow of the trees, —
Things that you could not spare
And live, or so you thought, yet these
All gone, and you still there,
A man no longer what he was,
Nor yet the thing he'd planned,
The chilly apple from the grass
Warmed by your living hand—
I think you will have need of tears;
I think they will not flow;
Supposing in ten thousand years
Men ache, as they do now.
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Gacela of the Dark Death
I want to sleep the dream of the apples,
to withdraw from the tumult of cemetries.
I want to sleep the dream of that child
who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas.
I don't want to hear again that the dead do not lose their blood,
that the putrid mouth goes on asking for water.
I don't want to learn of the tortures of the grass,
nor of the moon with a serpent's mouth
that labors before dawn.
I want to sleep awhile,
awhile, a minute, a century;
but all must know that I have not died;
that there is a stable of gold in my lips;
that I am the small friend of the West wing;
that I am the intense shadows of my tears.
Cover me at dawn with a veil,
because dawn will throw fistfuls of ants at me,
and wet with hard water my shoes
so that the pincers of the scorpion slide.
For I want to sleep the dream of the apples,
to learn a lament that will cleanse me to earth;
for I want to live with that dark child
who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas.
poem by Federico García Lorca
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Appletree
Appletree
I'm sittin' on my window sill and looking
through the pain you broke my heart
Oh mamma no you cannot teach me a different soul
I won't believe in your God of course I see this clouds
above but that's not God, that's not the Lord
and the smoke of my cigarette got into my eyes and now
I'm feel like I'm gonna cry
and all you guys laugh at me but I don't feel like
I am just a child, just a child
and I don't give a damm
yes I don't give a damm
I don't give a damm
and break my apple in two pieces or three
imagine the world is just an apple tree and live your life
and be careful 'cause harvest time is your death don't fall
and I don't give a damm
yes I don't give a damm
I don't give a damm
you're laughin' but you wanna cry your coolness hey,
is just a lie you're venerable too it's the price you
have to pay look in the mirror before you try to fly you have
no wings come on be reasonable guy don't try
and I don't give a damm
yes I don't give a damm
I don't give a damm
Break my apple in two pieces or three
imagine the world is just an apple tree and live your life
and be careful 'cause harvest time is your death don't fall
and I don't give a damm
yes I don't give a damm
I don't give a damm
your blood is runnin' through my head then my temples then my
bed drowsy eyes and big composure your cut throat spits a
clear red tincture full of love and full of greed I cannot
sleep I cannot sleep
and I don't give a damm
yes I don't give a damm
I don't give a damm
Break my apple in two pieces or three
imagine the world is
song performed by by Wonderwall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Sleep! Sleep! Sleep!
SLEEP
Sleep, sleep, sleep
It’s magnificent and nice,
With dreams beyond wonder,
Sleep! sleep! sleep!
Sleep, sleep, sleep
Eyes tightly closed,
A little smile on you r cheeks,
Feeling the warm sensations
Of the pure and precious sleep,
Sleep! sleep! sleep!
Sleep, sleep, sleep
Forgetting insane things of the mixed world outside
Relax my little one, feel the gentle breeze,
Do not worry about tomorrow, do not weep,
Wake up fresh in the morn with a recuperated mind,
Fresh and blessed with a wonderful sleep,
SLEEP, SLEEP, SLEEP!
JERINE JAMES (3RD JULY 07)
poem by Jerine James
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!