In our short walks we passed the kitchen where food was prepared for the nurses and doctors. There we got glimpses of melons and grapes and all kinds of fruits, beautiful white bread and nice meats, and the hungry feeling would be increased tenfold.

quote by Nellie Bly
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Color Of Lust

electric blue
body of a man
muscular and
strong and firm
and silent

he is the backdrop
of the principal figure
of a leaf
whose tip is melting
butter
dripping
like a dropp of
red melon juice
cut
slit from a deep
wound.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Florida Night

Win' a-blowin' gentle so de san' lay low,
San' a little heavy f'om de rain,
All de pa'ms a-wavin' an' a-weavin' slow,
Sighin' lak a sinnah-soul in pain.
Alligator grinnin' by de ol' lagoon,
Mockin'-bird a-singin' to be big full moon.
'Skeeter go a-skimmin' to his fightin' chune
(Lizy Ann's a-waitin' in de lane!).

Moccasin a-sleepin' in de cyprus swamp;
Need n't wake de gent'man, not fu' me.
Mule, you need n't wake him w'en you switch an' stomp,
Fightin' off a 'skeeter er a flea.
Florida is lovely, she's de fines' lan'
Evah seed de sunlight f'om de Mastah's han',
'Ceptin' fu' de varmints an' huh fleas an' san'
An' de nights w'en Lizy Ann ain' free.

Moon 's a-kinder shaddered on de melon patch;
No one ain't a-watchin' ez I go.

[...] Read more

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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I've Been Working So Hard

I've been working so hard you just wouldn't believe,
And I'm tired!
There's so little time and so much to achieve,
And I'm tired!
I've been lying here holding the grass in its place,
Pressing a leaf with the side of my face,
Tasting the apples to see if they're sweet,
Counting the toes on a centipede's feet.
I've been memorizing the shape of that cloud,
Warning the robins to not chirp so loud,
Shooing the butterflies off the tomatoes,
Keeping an eye out for floods and tornadoes.
I've been supervising the work of the ants
And thinking of pruning the cantaloupe plants,
Calling the fish to swim into my nets,
And I've taken twelve thousand and forty-one breaths,
And I'm TIRED!

poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Savor Truth

Part readily the skin
and readily the pulp

and readily the tongues
wild apples bore,

eviscerate the cores
and watermelon spit

the pits they
cannot swallow.

Do this before
you let the tongues

wild lemons bore
find no cores

and you will
savor truth

[...] Read more

poem by Donal Mahoney
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Rough Beast

Don't tell a camel about need and want.

Look at the big lips
pursed
in perpetual kiss,
the dangerous lashes
of a born coquette.

The camel is an animal
grateful for less.

It keeps to itself
the hidden spring choked with grass,
the sharpest thorn
on the sweetest stalk.

When a voice was heard crying in the wilderness,

when God spoke
from the burning bush,

[...] Read more

poem by Jean Monahan
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The Wrong Choice...

you must think that he
had been feeding the wrong wolf

for now he behaves
like a pig escaping from its pen
running without any definite
direction
hitting the ground with his chin
destroying the melons
of his master

who finally decides that tomorrow
it shall be butchered for good

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Head is a Sun

the sun is a melon
bright enough to
light up the world

the head is a sun
large enough to
spawn a universe

the day we reach
its optimal shine
we could see universes
jump and dance
sun, moon, stars
out of fingers
- all in a space
of half sq metre

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Perhaps to Basho the twins are boring

He himself does not want
To be imitated

Too boring like
A melon cut into half
Mirroring each other

Aren’t these twins
Boring?

Or Basho was just envious
He may be a poet of his age

But his poems never bore
Him a son

Or a mirror of his own face.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Santa Claus in the Bush

It chanced out back at the Christmas time,
When the wheat was ripe and tall,
A stranger rode to the farmer's gate --
A sturdy man and a small.
"Rin doon, rin doon, my little son Jack,
And bid the stranger stay;
And we'll hae a crack for Auld Lang Syne,
For the morn is Christmas Day."

"Nay noo, nay noo," said the dour guidwife,
"But ye should let him be;
He's maybe only a drover chap
Frae the land o' the Darling Pea.

"Wi' a drover's tales, and a drover's thirst
To swiggle the hail nicht through;
Or he's maybe a life assurance carle
To talk ye black and blue,"

"Guidwife, he's never a drover chap,

[...] Read more

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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The Smell of the Sea

the smell
of the sea
is overpowered by the
watermelon fragrance of newly mowed lawn

bobtails
hunting for unseen tit-bits
among shrubs -
an earthworm becomes a bone of contention

a butcherbird swoops -
swallowing the spoil

if only the bobtails had agreed to share...
there's enough for all of us to go around

poem by Suzette Crous
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Potpourri

Do you remember
Honey-melon moon
Dripping thick sweet light
Where Canal Street saunters off by herself among quiet trees?
And the faint decayed patchouli—
Fragrance of New Orleans
Like a dead tube rose
Upheld in the warm air…
Miraculously whole.

poem by Lola Ridge
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Oroquieta

hot summer
on a rattan chair
facing the
blue pool
under a coconut tree
sipping
coca-cola

the table is full
deep fried crabs
buco-pandan salad
steamed rice
red watermelon
sliced
into tiny mouthfuls

meeting old friends
embroidered memories

silence struts

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Laugh-making

under the shadow
on the green sunny meadow
by the rounded mossy stone
both ate ripe watermelon

he made her laugh
her bubbling laughter
made him love her
then they made love

under the blanket
he makes her laugh
she loves his manner
to make her laugh...

The golden gate
to love, my love,
is maybe...laughter
Make me laugh...

poem by ONElia AVElar
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The Ethereal Turnstiles

Resins over the four corners of the earth, and
Mexican hands picking watermelons- supposing this was
Always where they were meant to show up:
Busses leaving high schools and disappearing down familiar
Roads-
Running through the smoke of chalk and seashells, trying
To raise up some god just to pass the time until they can get
Home to the trailer park of their
Television:
With the sky as rich as a snow pea: as slender and fragile,
With the airplanes smoking through
The ethereal turnstiles.

poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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Deacon Taylor

I belonged to the church,
And to the party of prohibition;
And the villagers thought I died of eating watermelon.
In truth I had cirrhosis of the liver,
For every noon for thirty years,
I slipped behind the prescription partition
In Trainor's drug store
And poured a generous drink
From the bottle marked
"Spiritus frumenti."

poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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The bottle of ink

He found it's almost dried when he dipped his old G-nib pen.
He poured a tear dropp and shook the bottle well.
What's the use of these huge Oceans
If it's not worth for the purpose?
Yes! He has something to scribble.
Last night he found a rusty pliers in the trash bin
And he thought of extracting his painful decayed tooth.
Then he added one more line; Watermelons are more sweeter in drought than rainy days.

*Dedication to the brave pilot who rescued all the passengers in the Hudson River Plane Crash.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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My Dad (The Gardener)

My Dad has got green fingers,
He's always been that way;
He grew veg' in his younger days,
He grows them now he's grey.

Tomatoes are his forte,
No finer can be found;
He eats them by the dozen,
And sells them by the pound.

He grows a vast amount, and now
Two greenhouses he owns;
Tomato juice is in his blood,
And marrow in his bones.

His spuds are so delicious,
Their praises I must sing;
So fresh and full of flavour,
And fit for any king.

[...] Read more

poem by John Carter Brown
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All Around The World Or The Myth Of Fingerprints

Over the mountain
Down in the valley
Lives a former talk-show host
Everybody knows his name
He says theres no doubt about it
It was the myth of fingerprints
Ive seen them all and man
Theyre all the same
Well, the sun gets weary
And the sun goes down
Ever since the watermelon
And the lights come up
On the black pit town
Somebody says whats a better thing to do
Well, its not just me
And its not just you
This is all around the world
Out in the indian ocean somewhere
Theres a former army post
Abandoned now just like the war

[...] Read more

song performed by Paul Simon
Added by Lucian Velea
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129

Perhaps to Basho the twins are boring

He himself does not want
To be imitated

Too boring like
A melon cut into half
Mirroring each other

Aren’t these twins
Boring?

Or Basho was just envious
He may be a poet of his age

But his poems never bore
Him a son

Or a mirror of his own face.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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