Wednesday, August 13, 2008

These Peaches

These immature peaches
are like poetry pieces
that are underworked,
and not yet ripe.

Their size is small
but that’s not it
it is on the inside
that they lack substance
anticipated hues and textures.

Patience is key.
After all, the tree is still
relatively young . . . just another year
or two, and they’ll be so sweet savored by the tongue
nourishing the mind
replenishing the soul.

Oh but their smell
and the way they roll
around on the table
makes them poetry

or peaches
I haven’t decided which.

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8 Comments:

Blogger beckyboop said...

This poem reminds me of my son until the last verse.

Hugs,
Becky

1:25 PM  
Blogger Sir James E. Watkins said...

You know, believe it or not I was thinking of you both right before I wrote this. But to tell you the truth, you've been on my mind everyday. And the last line, I don't really know if I like it.

I sat down to write you letter. (Yeah the real kind, paper and everything, but I wrote a few lines and, well, just thought too much.

I'll finish it soon though.

My love to you and to Devin.

12:39 PM  
Blogger fineartist said...

I love this poem, while I was at Becky's this past month her father in law brought us a bunch of fresh peaches, our mom made us a cobbler with them, and it was G O O D.

I like the ending, it made me think of the power of our own minds over things, and how we decide, not someone else.

love you James,
Lori

6:42 PM  
Blogger Sir James E. Watkins said...

And I you.

10:23 AM  
Blogger Sir James E. Watkins said...

oh. peach cobbler is my FAV.... SCRUMPTIAS

10:25 AM  
Blogger Rain said...

Nice. I love poems about fruit.
William Carlos Williams wrote one about plums.

8:26 PM  
Blogger Sir James E. Watkins said...

Yes. Yes he did. And I adore it.

"cold plums" as I remember it.

12:17 PM  
Blogger Sir James E. Watkins said...

Yes. Yes he did. And I adore it.

"cold plums" as I remember it.

12:17 PM  

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