Guest book and Reviews.

Apples Am I Eating

Apples am I eating , or -- A poem in which I give full vent to an insidious and raging vanity.

Note: this somewhat silly poem was triggered by the implications (and my brief foray) into naturalism. However, it might just as well celebrate digestion by design.

Red apples.
I am eating red apples!

R ed apples

Re da p p le s

                 Erd paples
               Apserd elp
Sa plede rpd   e!

Do you see me chew red apples?

M'mmm - Delicious!

Yes indeed, in apple crisp or fritter, apple sauce or pie,
I'll eat apples till I die!


Apples to my clavicles,
Apples to my cones,
Apples to the red stuff
Hidden in my bones.

Apples to my glutamis
Apples to my toes
Apples to the follicles
Flowing up my nose.

Apples to my right brain,
Apples to my lungs
Apples to the taste buds
Tipp’n on my tongue.

Zowie - so in time you see,
Apple butter becomes me.

And given that these apples
Are become I,

That which was blind
Now peers into sky,
Beholding the bend and red of a younger batch.

Indeed. I take apples from their deaf and dumb estate,
And make them orators.

Through me, apples relish symphonies.
Apples know their texture,
Apples know their taste
Apples, like some distant star
That fell from outer space
look back into the sky
to see an ancient kin.

Oh, Apples of the world unite,
Throw off your shackles and join the Kirk
You have nothing to lose but
your mind.

Oh, I am the great liberator of apples!


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