Pickle Belt
The fruit rolled by all day.
They prayed the cogs would creep;
They thought about Saturday pay,
And Sunday sleep.
Whatever he smelled was good:
The fruit and flesh smells mixed.
There beside him she stood,--
And he, perplexed;
He, in his shrunken britches,
Eyes rimmed with pickle dust,
Prickling with all the itches
Of sixteen-year-old lust.
poem by Theodore Roethke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Fundamental of Liar Chapter XIX: Fruits
grow the fruit till it's big enough
grow the fruit till the color turns red
grow the fruit till it smells good
grow the fruit to be cooked
don't be tricked of what is edible
a beautiful fruit can be sour
a big fruit can be raw
a delicious fruit can be poison
a cooked fruit can be forbidden
be careful of what is edible
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Britches
(words & music by wayne - edwards)
Beware of a gal in britches
Yo-di-o-di-o
Never trust no gal in britches
No-di-o-di-o
If you had a sense of this here horse
You would have known it by now of course
Who wears the britches is the boss
Thats a gal, thats a gal in britches
Dont mess with a gal in britches
Yo-di-o-di-o
No feminine gal wears britches
No-di-o-di-o
Shell beg you to come to the country dance
You ride twenty miles for the big romance
She shows up in her brothers pants
Whatd you expect from a girl in britches
Yo-di-o-di-o-i-ay, its none of my misfortune
Yo-di-o-di-o-di-ay, just thought youd like to know
Dont marry no gal in britches
Yo-di-o-di-o
Youll never know which is whichs
No-di-o-di-o
Shell put a halter through your nose
Have you cooking and washing clothes
While she goes chasing them buffaloes
Bet your boots, thats a gal in britches.
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
From The Same Tree
From the same tree
there is the good fruit
there is the bad fruit....
From the same tree
the good fruit goes to the market
the bad fruit...to the soil.
From the same tree
is the reason for the lonely farmer
to wake up each morning
to see how the fruits grow well...
and is the reason for the lonely farmer
for not winning the heart of his beloved
who prefer the city life
From the same tree
there is the good fruit
there is the bad fruit.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sundays with John
sunday morning dripping down
and thick with syrup sin
smeared with butter lustily
and slippery smile-ing
sideways forking pancakes as
you derby-read results
fries and toast like humor wry
with eyes which wetly waltz
over mouths that soft and warm
and not unlike this stack
lift sweet and map-ly, griddle-born
to pillow-lips and smack!
scrambled or like sunday morn
o'er easy eggy-wegs
strawberry and mixed fruit jam
you spread and I my legs
over-alls and under you
a glass of creamy white
you stir into your coffee
bid adieu, saturday night.
poem by Kathryn Sweet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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)
416
the things that we do
are simply done
is there a need of putting
a name on the plate that you have washed?
is there a need for the tree that bore the fruit
to put the name of the owner
and the grower of the fruit that falls
on the ground
that you pick and pickle?
the giver, the real giver does not have a name
he simply gives because when he does not
he gets hurt and dies.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Child Had No Trust
The child was given a fruit
But the child did not eat
The child was given a shelter
But the child did not sleep
The child was given love
But the child did not take
The child was shown a path
But the child did not go
The child was promised a future
But the child did not believe
The fruit could be poisoned
The shelter could be a tomb
The sleep could be a nightmare
The love could be abused
The path could be an abyss
And the future smelled of the past
The child had no trust
Can anyone make the child believe
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Her Fruit
A deep sleep fell on Adam and out of him came Eve,
'Bone from my bone and flesh from my flesh';
Oh woman my lover! You were taken out me.
Subtle and Crafty came around to deceive them,
'You will become as gods after eating this fruit';
And in pain and toll the woman brought forth children.
Of the seat of your face to make ends meet,
And of yout toil in the land to provide for yourselves;
'For the woman gave me her fruit and i ate it',
And there came sin to bond us in this world.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Tempting Is The Devil's Fruit
Tempting is the devil's fruit,
Our faith does he assail.
If our own strength were all we had,
Then we should surely fail.
It calls out to our very souls,
Enticing us to sin.
Alluring smells from far-off lands,
Draw us from where we've been.
The Word of God the devil's fruit,
Tried in vain to replace.
But we have all the strength we need,
In our good Lord's sweet grace
poem by Aidan Clevinger
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I came thus far.
I prayed to the God;
I got enough blossoms.
It was the spring.
I prayed to the God;
I got a good bearing.
It was the summer.
I prayed to the God;
I got a bumper harvest.
It was the autumn.
I prayed to the God;
I got a sound sleep.
It was the winter.
By time I came thus far.
By faith I stood thus far.
26.09.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Saturday Night Sunday Morning
I knew you'd come back
We always do
Like thieves
Returning to the scene of the crime
But did they tell you
Everything has changed
Just everything
Oh, everything has changed
Just everything
It's not Saturday Night Sunday Morning
There was something else I meant to say
It's not Saturday Night Sunday Morning
There was so much more I meant to say to you
You know they still like to talk about you
But they don't want anything too real
So most of the conversation revolves around
Things that happened 20 years ago at least
They must have told you
Everything has changed everything
Oh, everything must change everything
It's not Saturday Night Sunday Morning
There was something else I meant to say
It's not Saturday Night Sunday Morning
There was so much more I meant to say to you
It's not Saturday Night Sunday Morning
There was something else I meant to say
It's not Saturday Night Sunday Morning
There was so much more I meant to say to you
oh oh oh oh
oh oh oh oh
oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
oh oh oh oh
oh oh oh oh
oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Triumph Of The Flesh
I have passed from the regions of dreams and of vision
And the flesh is the flesh and the rose is the rose;
And we see but the absolute joy of the present
In the Sunlight of beauty.
I am filled with carnivorous lust: like a tiger
I crouch and I feed on my beautiful prey:
There is nought in the monstrous world of Astarte
So fair as thy body.
Let me lie, let me die on thy snow-coloured bosom,
I would eat of thy flesh as of delicate fruit,
I am drunk of its smell, and the scent of thy tresses
Is as flame that devours.
Thou art demon and God, thou art hell, thou art Heaven,
Thou art love that is lust, thou art lust that is love,
And I see but the heavenly grace of thy body,
A picture--a poem.
poem by George Moore
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Big Britches
Too big for those big britches...
At the seam they're seen to rip.
No sewing them will masquerade,
The thickness of your hips.
You're too big for those big britches.
Do you care with me to switch?
I'd like to try them on to see,
IF on me they will fit.
I've had my eye on those big britches,
Ever since I was a kid.
I know just how to wear them and stand tall.
I've had my eye on those big britches.
And all you did in them was sit.
Stretching them with a lazy way you crave.
Too big for those big britches...
At the seam they're seen to rip.
No sewing them will masquerade,
The thickness of your hips.
You're too big for those big britches.
Do you care with me to switch?
I'd like to try them on to see,
IF on me they will fit.
You're too big for those big britches.
And on me there's a better fit!
You're too big for those big britches.
And on me they will fit!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Healthy fruit - Guava!
While I entered into my kitchen,
The aroma of a nice fruit pierced my nose!
It gave an euphoria to my sense,
O' It is a smell of Guava!
Yellow in color,
Ripened in nature,
It invited me to eat
and taste;
I took the fruit in my hand,
I took the knife too kept aside,
I cut the fruit gently with care,
into pieces of four;
I tasted the fruit, Guava,
It was yummy yummy,
Very tasty and yummy,
Healthy fruit - Guava!
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Twig Alighted
A twig alighted on a fence and dozed;
So do I sleep.
The fruit fell and what have I to do with my trunk,
What with my branch?
The fruit fell, the flower is already forgotten,
The leaves survive.
One day the storm will rage, they will drop.
To the ground, dead.
Afterwards, the nights of dread go on,
No rest or sleep for me,
Alone I thrash about in the dark, smashing
My head against my wall.
And again spring blossoms,
And alone I hang from my trunk
A bare shoot, without bud or flower,
Without fruit or leaf.
poem by Hayyim Nahman Bialik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Long Bough
A bough sank down on a fence, and fell asleep –
so shall I sleep.
The fruit has fallen; and what do I care
for my root and stock?
The fruit has fallen, the flower is long forgotten,
only leaves remain.
One day a storm will rage and they will fall,
casualties, to earth.
Afterwards, terrible nights.
No respite, no sleep.
I wrestle alone in darkness, batter
my head on the wall.
Spring will blossom again. Only I
hang on to my stem –
bald shoot with no bud and no flower
no fruit and no leaf.
poem by Hayyim Nahman Bialik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Strange Fruit
Southern trees bear a strange fruit
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees
Pastoral scene of the gallant south
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth
Scent of magnolia sweet and fresh
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.
Here is a fruit for the crow to pluck
For the rain to wither, for the wind to suck
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop
Here is a strange and bitter crop.
song performed by by Ub40
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
With The Quandongs
IF you happen to visit the Western Plains
When the summer is young and green,
You can see the green of the quandong leaves
With the quandong fruit between.
The fruit is the size of a plum, perhaps,
And red as your own blood's hue;
And it falls to the ground at the touch of the wind
Like a drop of crimson dew.
The wide plains lie with half-shut eyes
At peace in a golden swoon,
And the lizards drink their full of rest
Abask in the drowsy noon.
There is only the whir of a wing, perchance,
To startle the sleeping lands;
But the quandong trees, all green and red,
Are a-twinkle with little hands.
Oh, many a tress has turned to grey,
And many a song grown mute
Since Rita and Meg and Trixie and I
Went gathering quandong fruit.
And there we were on the plains alone
In the hush of a drowsy air —
Rita and Meg with roguish eyes
And Trixie with wayward hair.
A far mirage of mingled sun and dream
Was born of the noontide sleep,
And the rifled fruit of the quandongs lay
At our feet in a ruddy heap.
I know that the quandong's burning fruit
Still reddens the drowsy air;
That Trixie is grown and sometime wed,
And Rita is grave and fair.
I know that Meg of the roguish eyes,
Though ten long years be sped,
Still plucks the fruit of the quandong trees
When the quandong fruit is red.
I know — and I know to my loss, alas! —
That I stand where the winds blow cold,
And search, with others, another tree
For its scanty fruit of gold.
poem by Roderic Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Strange Fruit
(l. allan)
Southern trees bear a strange fruit
Blood on the leaves and blood at the roots
Black bodies swingin in the southern breeze
Strange fruit hangin from the poplar trees
Pastoral scene of the gallant south
The bulging eyes and twisted mouth
Scent of magnolias sweet and fresh
And the sudden smell of burning flesh
Here is the fruit
For the crows to pluck
For the rain to gather
For the wind to suck
For the sun to rot
For the tree to drop
Here is a strange and bitter crop
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Strange Fruit
Southern trees bear a strange fruit
Blood on the leaves, blood at the root
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar tree.
Pastoral scene of the gallant South
The bulging eyes, and the twisted mouth
Scent of magnolia, cool and fresh
And the smell of the burning flesh.
Here is the fruit for the crows to pluck
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck
For the sun to rot, for a tree to drop
Here is a strange and bitter crop.
So strange
So strange
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!