Wednesday, February 26, 2020

Weekly Scribblings #8: Red Fruit Rendition

Still Life with Ewer and Fruit by Milne Ramsey, Pinterest

"Fine fruit is the flower of commodities. It is the most perfect union of the useful and the beautiful that the earth knows. Trees full of soft foliage; blossoms fresh with spring bounty; and, finally, fruit, rich, bloom-dusted, melting, and luscious."  Andrew Jackson Downing

Hello everyone and welcome to another round of Weekly Scribblings! Many Poets have written about fruit over the years whether it's apples, oranges or figs. And why not? Where would Poetry be without fruit? It would be like Milton's 'Paradise Lost.' But not just any fruit — delicious, mouth-watering red fruit! Here are a few examples:

Strawberries      Loganberries         Pomegranate          Red Peppers         Blood Orange
Tomatoes           Red Grapes              Cherries                 Cranberries           Raspberries
 Apples                 Watermelon          Victoria Plums       Agarita berry        Grapefruit

Your challenge today is to write while inspired by red fruit. Fruit as a metaphor, analogy, a persisting idiom, as a symbol or even as eroticism. Feel free to interpret this challenge in any manner that suits your tastes, preferences, interests, or desires. 

We at Poets and Storytellers United accept both poems and prose prose pieces (i.e. stories, essays, articles) You may contribute more than one entry. Also, if you opt to write prose then please keep it to 369 words or fewer. The Prompt will remain open until next Wednesday!

Goblin Market
by Christina Rossetti

Evening by evening
Among the brookside rushes,
Laura bow’d her head to hear,
Lizzie veil’d her blushes:
Crouching close together
In the cooling weather,
With clasping arms and cautioning lips,
With tingling cheeks and finger tips.
“Lie close,” Laura said,
Pricking up her golden head:
“We must not look at goblin men,
We must not buy their fruits:
Who knows upon what soil they fed
Their hungry thirsty roots?”
“Come buy,” call the goblins
Hobbling down the glen...

by Thomas Campion

There is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies blow;
A heavenly paradise is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow:
There cherries grow which none may buy
Till “Cherry-ripe” themselves do cry.

Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds filled with snow;
Yet them no peer nor prince can buy
Till “Cherry-ripe” themselves do cry.

Her eyes like angels watch them still;
Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that attempt with eye or hand
Those sacred cherries to come nigh,
Till “Cherry-ripe” themselves do cry.

Good luck composing your masterpieces. I look forward to reading what you come up with. Please do visit others and remember to comment on their work. Also, enjoy this musical inspiration by Coldplay. Have fun!🍎