Maturing - Edited, sliced and diced

[paisley]

Maturing


I sit in my kitchen, stare
at the handful of hovering
fruit flies that glide
then cling to the sides of
my antique wooden bowl;
a gift for my thirtieth birthday-
as if by thirty a person understood
the meaning of the word antique.

Six almost-antique oranges
skin pooched and wrinkled,
remind me of my mother,
they lay in the shallow bowl
tightly huddled in a circle
as if they're shunning
the two fresh, freckled apples,
still stemmed with green foliage
not green enough to be tarts
and not red enough to be delicious,
they tentatively support
the stem of a rogue banana
its sticker slightly skewed,
no longer adhering as it should.

The two grapefruit,
thick skinned yellow globes
with sunny auras, navels visible,
lie beneath the quickly ripening
muddled banana.

And when the breeze ruffles the curtain
sending the fruit flies gyrating,
and the scent of the banana
suddenly airborne
signaling it's ready to be eaten,
I decide there's no longer anything to wait for.




-----------------
Another morning comes.
I sit in my kitchen,
stare at the foreign landscape
of my backyard: over grown,
lush with summer's blood
sucking insects hovering
between pines and damp foliage.

Immigrating fruit flies glide
then cling to the sides of
my antique wooden bowl;
a gift for my thirtieth birthday-
as if by thirty a person understands
the meaning of the word antique.

Six almost-antique oranges
remind me of my mother,
skin pooched and wrinkled,
they lay in the shallow bowl
tightly huddled in a circle
as if they're shunning
the two fresh, freckled apples,
not green enough to be tarts
and not red enough to be delicious,
they tentatively support
the protruding stem of a lone banana,
its sticker no longer adhering
as it should, losing its grip
little by little over time.

But it's the two grapefruit
that catch my eye,
thick skinned yellow globes
with sunny auras, navels visible
beneath the quickly ripening
muddled banana.

A humid breeze ruffles the curtain
sending the fruit flies gyrating,
and the scent of the banana,
suddenly sent airborne,
signals it's ready to be eaten.

Morning will come again tomorrow,
and I'll be here,
eating the grapefruit.





X


Another morning comes.
I sit in my kitchen,
stare at the foreign landscape
of my backyard: over grown,
lush with summer's blood
sucking insects hovering
between pines and damp foliage.

Immigrating fruit flies glide
then cling to the sides of
my antique wooden bowl;
a gift for my thirtieth birthday-
as if by thirty a person understands
the meaning of the word antique.

Six almost-antique oranges
remind me of my mother,
skin pooched and wrinkled,
they lay in the shallow bowl
tightly huddled in a circle
as if they're shunning
the two freckled and shiny apples,
not green enough to be tarts
nor red enough to be delicious,
they tentatively support
the protruding stem of a lone banana,
its sticker no longer adhering
as it should, losing its grip
little by little, over time.

But it's the two grapefruit
that catch my eye,
thick skinned yellow globes
with sunny auras, navels visible
beneath the quickly ripening
muddled banana.

A humid breeze ruffles the curtain
sending the fruit flies gyrating,
and the scent of the banana,
suddenly sent airborne,
signals it's ready to be eaten.

Tomorrow morning will come,
I'll eat the grapefruit.






x

[coffeedodger]

I like some of the imagery in this poem and the way you use the notion of aging and prevaricating in relation to uneaten fruit slowly rotting away. I think it could be much more effective though if peeled of some of its excess skin. For exampe, I love ' skin pooched'. It's a strong image which you then unfortunately dilute by adding 'and wrinkled'. The use of words like 'they're' 'they' in the same stanza could be trimmed so that the flow isn't interrupted as could the description of the banana sticker. Having established its loosness, we don't really need to be told in a rather ponderous way that it is' losing its grip, little by little, over time'.

The first line is a bit lame and you could equally start with the second line. The ending is neat although I find it a little difficult to reconcile a dersire to eat the grapefruit
or indeed any of the fruit having seen fruit flies clinging to the bowl. Yuk!

All in all, there are some sweet tasting ideas here, the apples not green enough, not red enough, the fact that we put off doing things in life because the time is never 'ripe', until we become over-ripe and then it is too late. All good stuff, but I'd like to see less of the telling and more of the alluding.

[calico]

Hi there, there is some very good stuff in here, I think overall it could be more punchy - I found that the reading tailed off from "A humid breeze..." when it should have been picking up towards the end for the finale...maybe from "But it's the two grapefruit" could be condensed with the following stanza.
I like the concentration on the fruit bowl, "almost-antique oranges" shunning the apples is lovely. Why is your back yard foreign, I'm not quite sure where I am, it doesn't matter but I'm curious - and it is adding something to the subtext of the poem, a different adult world, detachment. I picked up on that foreigness at the beginning (emphasised with Immigrating flies) and then it was followed through with the study of the author's own changing perception and maturity, but wasn't quite defined to the end.
thanks,,

[paisley]

Thank coffeedodger and welcome.
I have used some of your ideas to edit. The banana's sticker represents his scruples as he is aging. Thanks for the input.
Calico, thanks, I have also edited from your input. I appreciate it. I don't want to say much more but I do hope that the feel/meaning of this is coming through.
thank you.

[clarabow]

P/ I read this very quickly earlier, and having re-read I do think the edits have improved.
Some more edits to consider (delete) but impose or ignore as always


(Another morning comes.)
I sit in my kitchen,
stare at the foreign landscape
of my backyard: over grown,
lush with summer's blood
sucking insects hovering
between pines and damp foliage.

Immigrating fruit flies glide
then cling to the sides of
my antique wooden bowl;
a gift for my thirtieth birthday-
as if by thirty a person understands
the meaning of the word antique.

Six almost-antique oranges
remind me of my mother,
skin pooched and wrinkled,
lay in the shallow bowl - you might want to change as it sounds as if the skin pooched... is in the bowl

Six almost-antique oranges,
remind me of my mother's
skin, pooched and wrinkled,
they lie in the shallow bowl -

ightly huddled in a circle
as if they're shunning
the two fresh, freckled apples,
not green enough to be tarts
and not red enough to be delicious,
they tentatively support
the protruding stem of a lone banana,
its sticker no longer adhering
as it should, losing its grip
little by little over time.

But it's the two grapefruit
that catch my eye,
thick skinned yellow globes
with sunny auras, navels visible
beneath the quickly ripening
muddled banana.

The next part I think is the weakest part, especially the last 3 lines. No suggestions and it may be me.

A humid breeze ruffles the curtain
sending the fruit flies gyrating,
and the scent of the banana,
suddenly sent airborne,
signals it's ready to be eaten.

Morning will come again tomorrow,
and I'll be here,
eating the grapefruit.

[paisley]

Thank you Clarabow.

I have been thinking about this poem. When I began I had one message in mind and as I wrote and edited, it became something different. Again, the title throw it into a direction that may not have been correct. I am having such trouble with titles these days. It was supposed to be a depressive mood... same old same old.. the only action going on is in the fruit bowl which has the feel of a country club. But you are correct, I lost the momentum and have not point to make.

the title could have been something like:
An Ex-Pat and the Fruit Bowl Country Club

Thanks for you time.

[Elphin]

Paisley

The central idea in this is a good one - the bowl and the fruit as a metaphor for age - and you have some good images and interesting language. I think all of these get a little diluted by extraneous images of the garden and the flies.

Suggestion - get the scalpel out, cut it back to the central images, concentrate the language and then I think you will have a winner.

just my thoughts

elph

[paisley]

Than you Elphin,

I have just edited.
My scalpel is still dripping as I type.



x Paisley

[Nash]

Hello Paisley,

I like this latest revision, I think it's a definite improvement.

Just a couple of minor things. I would personally remove the word 'little' from L3, I think that this would give a better rythm and it would also give a nice assonance between 'hoovering' and 'fruit'. Also, I'm not sure I like the word 'antique' repeated three times in five lines.

Enjoyed the poem very much though, good title too.

[paisley]

Thank you Nash, I have removed "little" but sort of like the "antique" repeated. I appreciate your input. This one certainly went through a lot of edits. I am still not so happy with it but so be it, there are always things to learn.

X Paisley

[ray miller]

Hello paisley.Have you deliberately omitted "at" after stare?
If you were to use understood instead of understands that would place the 30th birthday more concretely in the past?
a semi-colon after "mother"?
I found this bit heavy going:

still stemmed with green foliage but
not green enough to be tarts
and not red enough to be delicious,
they tentatively support
the protruding stem of a rogue banana
skewing its sticker slightly,
it no longer adhering, as it should.

Here's a suggestion but feel free to tell me to piss off:

still stemmed with green foliage
but not green enough for tarts;
not red enough for delicious;
cautiously supporting
the stem of a rogue banana,
its sticker slightly skewed,
no longer adhering as it should.

Not sure about "muddled" banana.

I like the opening and closing verses best but you should lose those last 3 words.

[paisley]

Excellent ideas ray. Good direct advice. I love it.

[rushme]

enjoyed - the fresh concept & the picture - almost like a still life painting.

but i think you can edit this further & tighten it to advantage

'hoovering fruit flies' sounds odd - did you mean hovering?

i'm sorry for rewriting - it is the easy & lazy way out - but take what you will or discard:

I sit in the kitchen,
stare at fruit flies that cling
to my antique wooden bowl:
a gift for my thirtieth birthday.
At thirty I am expected
to understand the value
of the word antique.

Six oranges, skin pooched,
wrinkled, remind me of my mother.
Tightly huddled in a circle,
they lie in the shallow bowl,
shunning the two fresh, freckled,
apples, stemmed with green foliage.
Not green enough to be tarts;
not red enough to be delicious.
The stem of a rogue banana,
its sticker slightly skewed,
no longer adhers as it should.

Two grapefruits,
yellow, thick-skinned globes,
sunny auras, navels visible:
lie beneath the quickly ripening
muddled banana.

When the breeze ruffles the curtain
the fruit flies, suddenly airborne,
gyrate to the scent - the banana
signals: I'm ready to be eaten.
We decide: there's nothing to wait for.

[paisley]

rushme, thank you for your time and the advice to tighten. i am sure it is a good idea and possible. Please don't apologize and do what you feel you shouldn't do anyway. Now let's let this poem scroll off the board and fade.