Does this imply that the best poetry is seasonal? Should poetry be eaten at its ripest? Is it cultural -- some like fruit hard with a bit of crunch. Others, sweet. With fruit, it is sometimes difficult to select the ripest by visuals alone. It is only in the dissecting (knife or teeth to flesh).
I'm anticipating peaches and stone fruit of all kind. Prune plums have made their first appearance. Patience for these as I roast another pan of pears and observe the shape of the poem before me.
Lately on the plate a piece of fruit
ReplyDeletewould look so lovely
and tearing into it with knife
would seem as vicious as a kind
word spoken into a can
So spring must be here soon
to cure us of the madness--
one or more birds in the soaring
morning, set with a slant of blue