Bright or Clear
An over-ripe fruit
Softens and rots to core
To expose its seeds.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Exodus
An overripe fruit
Softens and rots over time,
Exposing new seeds.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A New Beginning...
every sprouting seed
preaches hope
every new leaf says
i am an evidence
every fruit manifests
we are ready to serve
and when everything
is ripe and luscious and
ready
when no hand picks them
when there is no child
the inevitable happens
each fruit rots and falls
and gets foul and
conquered by molds
and moss and will finally
be gone
except the seed
who has the last say again
about hope and its
new beginning.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In the Fruit and Veg
Knocking you listen
to the sound
that a watermelon makes
to test if it is ripe
and I wipe the smile form my face,
trying to look sincere
and the whole of Fruit and Veg is filled
with shoppers, adoring ripe fruit and vegetables
crowding around some places with special offers
like a great vast congregation
gathered in the temple of a god
and tonight you will again
make your great fruit salad
with chopped and sliced mangoes,
papaw, sweet melon, some squeezed orange juice
and grapes
and maybe this afternoon
we will eat the watermelon
in the shade next to the swimming pool.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Wait!
Wait
until the fruit is fully ripe
so you can taste
its sweetness.
Wait
until the rain is over
so you can fly your kite
up so high.
Wait
until the flowers have withered
so you can take the seeds of the new blooms
for the next springtime.
Wait
until I say the words 'I love you'
so you can hold me
....closely.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Tree And The Branch
the tree looks
upon a branch
where a ripe
fruit is hanging
the tree says
it is mine
the branch say
i am holding it
the tree says
the branch too
belongs to it
angry about the
tree's greed
the branch lets go off
the ripe fruit
a hungry child
picks it up
and goes home
with a happy heart
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ripe Fruit
Through eyelet holes I watched the crowd
Rain of confetti fling;
Their joy is lush, their laughter loud,
For Carnival is King.
Behind his chariot I pace
To ean my petty pay;
They laugh to see my monster face:
"Ripe Fruit," I hear them say.
I do not laugh: my shoulders sag;
No heart have I for glee,
Because I hold aloft a hag
Who grins enough for me;
A hideous harridan who bears
In crapulous display,
Like two grub-eaten mouldy pears
Her bubbies on a tray.
Ripe Fruit! Oh, God! It's hell to think
How I have drifted down
Through vice and dice and dope and drink
To play the sordid clown;
That I who held the golden key
To operatic fame,
Should gnaw the crust of misery
And drain the dregs of shame.
What matter! I'll get soused to-night,
And happy I will be,
To sit within a tavern bright,
A trollop on my knee. . . .
So let the crazy pipers pipe,
And let the rapture ring:
Ripe fruit am I - yea, rotten ripe,
And Carnival is King.
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Rotting
rotting core of the hollow tree
it twists and creeks
an owl hoots never ending
an icy blast hits the fragile tree
it creeks within its core
the tree snaps in half a big thud when it hits the icy ground
never more to the tree
the icy grave it rots into the ground
forever more
poem by Jonathan Marshall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Point That You Are Driving At
of all inanimate
you say you want to be a fruit
a mango
luscious, sweet, and
ripe
i know, your point is that
you are ready,
ripe for everything, an end
for itself,
and of all animate,
you say you simply want to be this
mosquito
of the female variety, one that sings
one that tells you
that life sucks
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Miscast II
My heart is like a cleft pomegranate
Bleeding crimson seeds
And dripping them on the ground.
My heart gapes because it is ripe and over-full,
And its seeds are bursting from it.
But how is this other than a torment to me!
I, who am shut up, with broken crockery,
In a dark closet!
poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
As He Peels The Ripe Mango
as he peels the ripe fruit
a mango
taking the skin
and slowly sipping the
sweet sap from
the pulp and
leaving the
hard part
of the seed
so shall God peel the
masks of our faces
slowly shall He take
the sweet smiles
the substances
of our memories
and pasts
leaving the
core of our soul
He skins us He buries us
and so shall we, all of us without exception, begin
to regrow a new beginning.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My heart is heavy
My heart is heavy with many a song
Like ripe fruit bearing down the tree,
But I can never give you one --
My songs do not belong to me.
Yet in the evening, in the dusk
When moths go to and fro,
In the gray hour if the fruit has fallen,
Take it, no one will know.
poem by Sara Teasdale
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
Vote! | Copy! | In Romanian
That Something Which Went Wrong
there is a ripe papaya
too ripe for my hold and i climb it
too weak for my body
the tree swings to the other side
and then the papaya fruit falls to the
ground
crushed
something goes wrong somewhere
something that you are about to hold
and yet crushes to the ground
looks like a vomit &
you don't want to eat it
back
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Seeds with wings, between earth and sky
Seeds with wings, between earth and sky
Fluttering, flying;
Seeds of a lily with blood-red core
Breathing of myrrh and of giroflore:
Where winds drop them there must they lie,
Living or dying.
Some to the garden, some to the wall,
Fluttering, falling;
Some to the river, some to earth:
Those that reach the right soil get birth;
None of the rest have lived at all.—
Whose voice is calling:
'Here is soil for winged seeds that near,
Fluttering, fearing,
Where they shall root and burgeon and spread.
Lacking the heart-room the song lies dead:
Half is the song that reaches the ear,
Half is the hearing '?
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Clothing
Let them dry their clothes
As fresh as ripe fruit.
Wear them both even in deathblows,
Clothes are supreme as fruit and absolute.
Let the clothes bespeak the teeth
And read our sentence.
Why do cares become a wreath?
When do we read with abundance?
The attire is an abhorrence whenever
We try on new thoughts and then endeavour.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
For Those Who Grieve
no one
no one can really stop you
from eating the bark of the tree
the thick skin of the
fruit
no one can tell you what should have
been proper
or better
you like the skin and you throw away
the fruit that could have
satisfied your
thirst and hunger
the bark has poisoned you
the moon has warned you too well
the worm is wriggling
its frail and elongated
body
you have no ears
your sense of smell so badly damaged
and now you
are dying
no one tells you that life is as sweet
as the ripe fruit of the tree
that luscious flesh that flowing
juice
your gaze is sharp as a knife
stabbing even the
sun
and you are always right
what you have been searching
that can satisfy your hunger and thirst
is not found on the fruit
not even in the tree
it is in the poisonous bark
that useless skin
that silly coat
definitely it is not even here
where we are all grieving
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!