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Blue Butterflies Sep 2022
Slowly fall
The teardrops of the rain,
Slowly into the lake.
Slowly comes September,
As always,
Slowly clasping its hands around us.
Slowly the trees transform
Into ghosts,
Slowly the apples fall and rot,
And the pumpkins, slowly too,
Grow and mature.

Autumn comes slowly.
We feel it in the
Nights and in the wind
Growing colder and colder.
Slowly summer came and left.
And now,
We are left with what
We always had,
Not much:
Two warm hearts
Holding each other,
Two minds content
With time well spent,
Despite the changing times,
Despite September.
LC Apr 2022
sweet, full, red apples
plucked, crushed, pulverized to chill -
loved in scorching heat.
Escapril Day 5! The prompt was "crush." I used the definition "a drink made from the juice of pressed fruit" to create this poem. I hope you enjoy it!
Griffin Hehmeyer Mar 2022
Fresh out of the oven,
Steaming, hot and sweet
And I realized all a sudden
That’s something I want to eat

The apple pie just sitting there,
Forbidden, banned, taboo.
But to take just one sweet bite,
There’s nothing id rather do

Like a muse, it sang to me,
Like a siren far ashore
To taste the sweet forbidden apple,
There is nothing id want more

There was no one to tempt me
my actions were my own,
and so I cut a single slice
In the kitchen, all alone.

I knew that mom might catch me,
But I did not care,
Resisting that apple pie,
        Was not something I could bare.

After just a single bite,
I understood the fall of man.
Because the temptation of a lovely apple,
That’s something I can understand.
trying some biblical poems
Falling apples off trees.
Colonies of little ones here.
Apples, apples fall off my tree.
Laokos Mar 2021
i'll raise an electric fence around
the gods up there
in mountains and ivory towers
and they'll all wear shock collars

i'll spread peanut butter on bread
and send it to them through
the mail

i'll write them letters from the
lower world saying that 'time
really isn't a bother anymore
because apples rot in home
baked pies down here'

i'll reach through my own
tainted build up of corrosive
discharge and pull a petal
from the flower of life
to eat in front of
them with a coffee toothed smile

i'll throw weeds over
palisades into
groomed gardens

i'll **** on the flaming sword
spinning like i do
heavenly gates

i'll put AA batteries on
my ******* and force
feed the north star
until it bursts

i'll stain the glass in windows
extolling failures and shining
blunders under vaulted

i'll be nothing less than
the imperfect son of
an imperfect man and
an imperfect

all too human
after all
Chrissy Delaney Jan 2021
How do you pick the perfect apple on the tree without taking a bite?

At first, it seems impossible.

But when you look into her eyes,

And your heart begins to ache,

And you know you'd part the seas for her,

You've found the only apple worth picking.
Elizabeth Sep 2020
I did remember the feeling of apple picking season. I remembered the fall weather and what it was like to find the perfect one. The apples were of red and green, sometimes both, but colors that reminded me of warmth and the candle mother had lit just before dinner was served. It was cold that day but not cold enough for a sweater, just for apple cider and pumpkin donuts. The apple I picked was red, all red. I stood upon the ladder, feeling giant, I reigned over the trees and felt like howling over top of them. I remembered then, the applesauce grandmother would make. I would remember the first bite, the bitter taste of fresh apple, sour but sweet. Grandmothers home.
Green bluff:)
Lane O Aug 2020
Bushels of apples
Picked from the orchard this fall
Ripe, crimson, and sweet
Poetic T Aug 2020
Sticky pips coated,
    Groping this Apple

No biting only licking

     Teasing her with

My tongue..
Ann Pedone Jul 2020
I thought the moon
forever in the sky would always
be in the sky but then you
handed it to me gave it to me
on a silver platter it tasted
of sour pear and apple it filled
my mouth with
winter song and euca
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