My poem: drupe

[stonepicnicking_okapi]

This weeks' prompt was: color. This is called an In Memorium stanza.

drupe by okapi

of orange-yellows, reds which leach
in blush upon the most sun-kissed
of rounded flesh, in velvet mist
enveloped, casting fog on each

and every curvature whose breach
reveals a more uniform gold
of corpus, sweet perfumes unfold,
attracting wasps and buyers, speech

is needless, scent alone can preach
its Good News, bushel baskets filled
to rolling, dark hearts hedged and grilled
by dark nettles which overreach

on pitting, nectar colors teach
the artist how to mix the rich,
the once-child to remember, stitch
a patch of farmer’s market peach

Comments

[stonepicnicking_okapi]

Thank you! When I was a very small child, I accompanied my grandparents to the Farmer's Market (which was much less glamorous than they are now) and the peach famers would always have baskets and baskets of them and one little plate with one cut open to show the inside. I remember the heat and the smell and that plate and the like. I never buy peaches now but I remember those.