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Still life
painting fruit
the howl of it
like a bet on joy
Gedichte zum Thema: fruit
Gedichte zum Thema „fruit“ auf Poets.by.
Place setting
the place for a book against plate
spoons and forks
God and Caesar
who lays out fruit
for Father Christmas
and where but at the door to evening
reckoning with cold and wind
Windfall
This fallen fruit:
a small heart
full of sickness,
my sandwich’s god.
Peaches and Pears
i love the way fresh fruit fills the air with its sweetness,
makes the skin feel all sticky as it dribbles down your chin,
dances across your taste buds,
and slides oh so gently down your throat;
now every bite i take is stained by your words and
suddenly, maybe,
fruit isn't quite as sweet as i remember.
"Wait your turn!"
"Next time, I won't even tell you we bought any."
"Selfish."
"If you go first, you'll eat like a pig."
"It's all gone, it had to be you!"
"Greedy."
"How fat can you be?"
"Wow."
You've Ruined My Evening / You've Ruined My Life
i would be eight people and then the difficulties vanish
only as one i contain the complications
in a warm house roofed with the rib-cage of an elephant
i pass my grey mornings re-running the reels
and the images are the same but the emphasis shifts
the actors bow gently to me and i envy them
their repeated parts, their constant presence in that world
i would be eight people each inhabiting the other's dreams
walking through corridors of glass framed pages
telling each other the final lines of letters
picking fruit in one dream and storing it in another
only as one i contain the complications
and the images are the same, their constant presence in that
world
Street Cries
When dawn's first cymbals beat upon the sky,
Rousing the world to labour's various cry,
To tend the flock, to bind the mellowing grain,
From ardent toil to forge a little gain,
And fasting men go forth on hurrying feet,
BUY BREAD, BUY BREAD, rings down the eager street.
When the earth falters and the waters swoon
With the implacable radiance of noon,
And in dim shelters koils hush their notes,
And the faint, thirsting blood in languid throats
Craves liquid succour from the cruel heat,
BUY FRUIT, BUY FRUIT, steals down the panting street.
When twilight twinkling o'er the gay bazaars,
Unfurls a sudden canopy of stars,
When lutes are strung and fragrant torches lit
On white roof-terraces where lovers sit
"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.
Memory
Through tortured weeks of hospital surgery
The old fruit garden of my childhood days
Grew close about me. Through black storms of pain
Swayed joyous boughs of rosy apple-bloom;
White blossomed branches of an old plum-tree;
Old grape-vines clinging to a sunny wall;
Great bushes of red currants and raspberries.
Through hours of torturing thirst I found again
That old fruit garden--as if body and soul
Clutched at cool juicy fruits--remembering--
Devouring them through a parched mouth of the brain.
Tropical Girl to Her Garden
Withhold your breath !
Heavy in noon, and sleepy as slow death,
Garden of sweets and sours,
The cluster of my body hangs
Odorous with flowers :
Stamen serpent-fangs,
Sultry, in showers.
Withhold your hand !
My boughs are bent with gold, my face is fanned
With wings of bees that, thirsting, curve and kiss ;
Under green leaves, green tendrils coil and hiss ;
Sun spills on me, gloom bears me down too much ;
My heavy fruit will fall without a touch
From hanging long in sultriness like this.
Valentine
Too high, too high to pluck
My heart shall swing.
A fruit no bee shall suck,
No wasp shall sting.
If on some night of cold
It falls to ground
In apple-leaves of gold
I'll wrap it round.
And I shall seal it up
With spice and salt,
In a carven silver cup,
In a deep vault.
Before my eyes are blind
And my lips mute,
I must eat core and rind
Of that same fruit.
Meadow and Orchard
My heart is like a meadow,
Where clouds go over,
Dappling the mingled grass and clover
With mingled sun and shadow,
With light that will not stay
And shade that sails away.
Your heart is like an orchard,
That has the sun for ever in its leaves,
Where, on the grass beneath the trees,
There falls the shadow of the fruit
That ripen there for me.
The Golden Moment
Along the branches of the laden tree
The ripe fruit smiling hang. The afternoon
Is emptied of all things done and things to be.
Low in the sky the inconspicuous moon
Stares enviously upon the mellow earth,
That mocks her barren girth.
Ripe blackberries and long green trailing grass
Are motionless beneath the heavy light :
The happy birds and creeping things that pass
Go fitfully and stir as if in fright,
That they have broken on some mystery
In bramble or in tree.
This is no hour for beings that are maiden ;
The spring is virgin, lightly afraid and cold,
But now the whole round earth is ripe and laden
And stirs beneath her coverlet of gold