On Being An Apple


Unfolds the ancient process
The nurturing soil conceals
A cautious shoot emerges
Left alone becomes a sapling
And at last in time a tree

Season brings forth season
The obedient tree is blessed
With blossom and then fruit
The fresh born apple swells
Untouched by interfering man

Winking reds and greens draw the eye
Delicate scents stir the nostril
Awaken tempting memories
Sharp crunch and bursting sweetness
Mouth opens, longs for ravishment

Plucked, polished, devoured
In anticipated mutual fulfilment
If unpicked another fate awaits
To drop unheeded to the ground
Left bruised to decay and slowly rot

About Ben Naga

The Spirit that graces me with its passing has no name and stems not from thoughts and words, though it gathers them up as it flows, but from feeling.

Posted on January 2, 2012, in Poetry, Writing and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 12 Comments.

  1. Bravo! You should enter a chapbook competition.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. This is wonderful. I love being taken on the journey of growth and purpose.
    “If unpicked another fate awaits” – this for me, is the crux of the poem.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Thus is the fate of apples, Ben, and, in metaphor, to all life. Birth, growth, fruit, consumption, death, soil, seed, birth. . . Great poem.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Wonderful use of the connotations that apples have received through the years. It makes the poem open to all possible interpretations and allegories!

    Liked by 1 person

  5. A lovely narrative on existence. Inspiring. I enjoyed this thought immensely

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Lovely tale of birth to death of a fruit tree. Could be applied to most living things… with some variations on the way. Nicely done, Ben. I love the descriptions you use here, both literal and metaphoric.

    Liked by 1 person

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