Yesterday's horror poem didn't seem to go over too well. My poet group liked it fine but my regular fans may have been taken a little aback. (A few Sebold comments were made and that was very much in mind; if you're going to write "horror," you may as well may it horrible.) Wait 'til you see the Sestina, which I am sure will be assigned, a metered poem that I consider a waste of time in this challenge but it does exercise certain meter muscles. Today is another Fill The Blank (which curdles the blood of some of the participants) but I have come up with an apple. (Really, truly... thank you for reading.)
The Last Apple
The last apple
Was left on the tree.
“For the apple gods,” Elmer said.
Every tree picked bare,
But for one apple;
The last apple
Given back to the earth
In thanks for all her bounty.
Prayers filled with hope
That next year’s yield
Will be as grand and abundant,
Healthy and hearty.
Wearily as I climb down the ladder
Stretching my back, hands on hips,
I gaze at the last apple
On this, the last tree,
In the last moment of the last long day
Of apple picking;
A day filled with singing and
Cheerful greetings,
Silence and broad long shouts,
Camaraderie amongst man
And apples.
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