Thoughts To An Orange

A poem of the senses.

Marble ripening of the orange daffodil fruit

Fills my quivering nose with tangy wonder

Sweet little beads of juice

Drip into my smiling, keen mouth

Like the nectar of morning dew

From a looking glass sky

Still and quiet,

With no clouds or distant thunder.

My fingertips scrape at the remaining raw rind

Soft and sure, sighing like

Happy murmurings of leaves

As I recall my withered leather shoes,

Caked with youthful tomboy appeal,

Tramping through crumbling, warm red dirt,

My footfalls sounding like a giant’s steps,

Echoing throughout the glistening grove of oranges

A sultry sanctum on this humid July day.

I smell green leaves and sunshine, a 

Sweetness that can dissolve woes, that

Can take pain and blossom in into peace

A glowing linger that never slows, these

Tentative suns, each waiting �" suspended

Beneath a surreal sky till noon

Until the cool moon fades into a silent blur and the

Sun’s florid juices

Stray into the air

Calling their bucolic chants to me and to the

Red-winged blackbirds that soar

Over my large blue child eyes.

Pieces of the rind are still sticking

Under my carefully pared nails

Bittersweet crumbles of swallowed reflections

Reside without surrender to my travails,

This fervent tango of metal file and placid rind

As I try half-heartedly

To clean them, I know

Defeat is senseless to an steadfast piece of ripe Georgia sun.

I glance out the window and see that it is noon,

And reach for another orange.

Reviews

[...]

. ah! ... surreal and yet real like surreal and real never where ... brilliant imagery ... your words cruise through so many existential realms ... and with such grace and eloquence ... this is amazingly fine writing ... a treat for the senses ...