That first sacrament’s
cratered snow was already
turning brown
while they marvelled
at its tartness, the luster
& tight fit of its skin,
its curved descent to orifice.
Then oh the aftertaste —
like wood, like clay.
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[...] that poem by trying to pack too many ideas into it. It started off as a simple one-stanza poem like yesterday’s…” Once I’d admitted that, there was no way I could leave it alone. It was time to [...]
[...] Here at Via Negativa this month, I blogged about a more typical, destructive approach to timbering on a neighbor’s land — high-grading. On a more positive note, I also shared a photo and short poem about wild apples. [...]
[...] in the past. This time, I just needed an illustration for a poem I wanted to post called “Wild Apple.” It was overcast and the light was poor, so I was surprised this hurried shot turned out as [...]
This is the weblog of Dave Bonta, a poet, editor, and shutterbug from the eastern edge of western Pennsylvania. For background on the site, see the About page. For more about me, see my Google profile.
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"On the whole I concentrated on things and people that I found charming and splendid; my notes are also full of poems and observations on trees and plants, birds and insects."
— Sei Shonagon, 994 A.D.
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great photo! i’m partial to wild fruit.
Thanks! I only stepped out to take it because I thought I needed an illustration for the poem. I’m glad I did.
Perfect.
The last line is so unexpected and arresting: I keep poking at it with my tongue, so to speak.
And its curved descent to orifice is one of those perfect lines.
Thanks, you guys.
I do love apples. I eat at least a half-dozen a day this time of year. So it’s kind of surprising I don’t write about them more often.