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Apple Picking Time

I sat beneath the apple tree
with sketching pad upon my knee,
took colored pencils, pad in hand
to draw the beauty I might see.

Blunt pencil points I'd soon restored;
both eyes fixed on the laden tree,
I found the perfect subject worthy
of that day's pleasant drawing spree.

From drooping limbs smiled ripened fruit,
but on my pad just one crude sphere
became the globe that shone in red
and filled my mind and heart with cheer.

When done, I plucked my crisp reward,
the apple that had served as sitter,
turned it—before my crunching bite—
and then I saw the wormy critter—

a wormhole—and the alien head
peering from the tempting apple’s rind
contracting—stretching—contracting . . .
that worm bored deep into my mind

and I felt it’s setae’s tickle,
and I giggled, giggled, giggled,
imagining those tickling feet
of the worm that wriggled—wriggled.

Again, it’s apple picking time;
deep in my throat I feel the tickle
of all those tiny bristle feet
that make me giggle, giggle, giggle.

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Direction): 
How was my language use?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content


a person that ate bugs. [Purely for the shock factor]. However, one day someone asked him to eat a worm. he slurped it down and then shortly thereafter; started having the weirdest look on his face. He exclaimed;" I can feel it crawling around down there" and shortly, regurgitated said worm. We laughed at him so hard that we had tears in our eyes. Anyway, loved your little story. ~ Gee.

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Yeah, there are some weirdos around when we were kids. I knew one who would collect caterpillars off a cabbage patch, and when he had a good handful in his coffee can he would reach in and squish them. They never turned into butterflies--just mush. Thanks for your gracious comment, sir. Jerry

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author comment

Hi Jerry, lovely and funny poem. The rhyme seems perfect and the content very enjoyable. Made me giggle, giggle, giggle...
My Mom used to joke, what is worse than finding a worm in an apple? Not finding one! You swallowed it.
I've just finished cooking green
Thanks for making us laugh, Gracy

"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

I hate to think how many caterpillars I may have swallowed. On our Wisconsin farm we never sprayed the apple trees for bugs and such. Thank you for reading and giggling, Gracy. Arizona is too hot for growing apples, but my son in Connecticut grows them--for the bears, it seems. Thanks, dear. You are a genuine treasure and pleasure.

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