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A Ballad Of Refreshment

The lady stood at the station bar,
(Three currants in a bun)
And oh she was proud, as ladies are.
(And the bun was baked a week ago.)

For a weekly wage she was standing there,
(Three currants in a bun)
With a prominent bust and light gold hair.
(And the bun was baked a week ago.)

The express came in at half-past two,
(Three currants in a bun)
And there lighted a man in the navy blue.
(And the bun was baked a week ago.)

A stout sea-captain he was, I ween.
(Three currants in a bun)
Much travel had made him very keen.
(And the bun was baked a week ago.)

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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White Currants

Shall I give you white currants?
I do not know why, but I have a sudden fancy for this fruit.
At the moment, the idea of them cherishes my senses,
And they seem more desirable than flawless emeralds.
Since I am, in fact, empty-handed,
I might have chosen gems out of India,
But I choose white currants.
Is it because the raucous wind is hurtling round the house-corners?
I see it with curled lips and stripped fangs, gaunt and haunting energy,
Come to snout, and nibble, and kill the little crocus roots.
Shall we call it white currants?
You may consider it as a symbol if you pelase.
You may find them tart, or sweet, or merely agreeable in colour,
So long as you accept them,
And me.

poem by Amy Lowell
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The Fruit Shop

Cross-ribboned shoes; a muslin gown,
High-waisted, girdled with bright blue;
A straw poke bonnet which hid the frown
She pluckered her little brows into
As she picked her dainty passage through
The dusty street. 'Ah, Mademoiselle,
A dirty pathway, we need rain,
My poor fruits suffer, and the shell
Of this nut's too big for its kernel, lain
Here in the sun it has shrunk again.
The baker down at the corner says
We need a battle to shake the clouds;
But I am a man of peace, my ways
Don't look to the killing of men in crowds.
Poor fellows with guns and bayonets for shrouds!
Pray, Mademoiselle, come out of the sun.
Let me dust off that wicker chair. It's cool
In here, for the green leaves I have run
In a curtain over the door, make a pool
Of shade. You see the pears on that stool -

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poem by Amy Lowell
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The Cremona Violin

Part First

Frau Concert-Meister Altgelt shut the door.
A storm was rising, heavy gusts of wind
Swirled through the trees, and scattered leaves before
Her on the clean, flagged path. The sky behind
The distant town was black, and sharp defined
Against it shone the lines of roofs and towers,
Superimposed and flat like cardboard flowers.

A pasted city on a purple ground,
Picked out with luminous paint, it seemed. The cloud
Split on an edge of lightning, and a sound
Of rivers full and rushing boomed through bowed,
Tossed, hissing branches. Thunder rumbled loud
Beyond the town fast swallowing into gloom.
Frau Altgelt closed the windows of each room.

She bustled round to shake by constant moving
The strange, weird atmosphere. She stirred the fire,

[...] Read more

poem by Amy Lowell
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Currants On A Bush

Currants on a bush,
And figs upon a stem,
And cherries on a bending bough,
And Ned to gather them.

poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Water (pleiades)

Wet translucent liquid.
Waves that bring you under.
Warm lakes make you feel
wild. Swimming is a
will. Covers most of the
world. Currants are at
work every single day.

poem by Vega Destiny Star
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The First Day Of Your New Life (from Mount Sinai)

Along the path
Red currants of light

The sun through a veil
Sky so clear

Cloud like a hip
In your paper robe

A cup of gold
Near your left wrist

Wavy locks of hair
Smile on her flowery face

Every dawn
A sacred mirror of my life

(Music by Motohiko Hirami)

[...] Read more

poem by Nicolas Grenier
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Bazar

Man of the world, I pass
the carosals of gold and silver chain
glittering stones for crushing
earrings and finger rings
bracelets and wristlets
cartons of stuff, satins and silks
purple-violet carpets, hand-loomed
rolled and stacked
chattering budgies and milk-white turtles
shreiking peafowl, squealing piglets
dates, figs, currants, prunes,
heaps of spices, saffron and paprika
jars of incense and frankincense,
pistachios, pecans and almonds.

poem by Morgan Michaels
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Lotus Flower

I dream of you open like the pale Lotus flower
The petals of your nether lips moist with
dew drops of honey nectar
your inner flesh luscious and splayed
pink to red like a strawberry
I stare at your belly rising and falling
My eyes moving upward to the swell
Of soft round white mountains capped with dark currants
The odor of your honey melon
rising from the wings of your hips
reaches my flared nostrils
it is the sea and mist
a grotto of joyous communion
a soft lovely nest of lust
waiting for the lash of my tongue

poem by George Murdock
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Metaphysical View

Sitting between the knees,
I am being bathed by intense anxiety
and fear of harsh light.

A canopy of doubts
confronts the dignity versus anarchy
for a watchman
who will not dare open-

the vault of truth. A fatal
ire of imagination puts him
to dire need of salvation.

Was I moving from the wrong
side of history in my zodiac
to change the drooping eyelids?

Death opens my door for a shortwhile
and then walks away
after watching the transparencies.

[...] Read more

poem by Satish Verma
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