The Orange Poem

[Frogz694]

The Orange Poem

Oh Indiana, what a ripe banana,
Gets ready for his job.
All dressed up, with a coffee cup,
On the way greeting Suzy and Bob.

Look at Jerry, that grumpy old cherry,
Sitting in his lawn on the grass.
“Those little seeds sure grow up like weeds,
Time does just come and pass.”

In the chapel works Old Mr. Apple
Who preaches night and day,
To Mrs. Plum, who's nice ol' mum,
Had last week passed away.

Mrs. Lemon, Mr. Lime, knew they had left little time,
So they traveled across the sea.
They lived in a ville, up until Lime fell ill,
From his grave stood a citrus tree.

That arrogant Coconut, walkin' 'round with a strut,
Everyone knows he's a jerk.
He kept his chin high, up 'till he died,
Turning smug smile into smirk.

It's hard on Helen, a stay-at-home melon,
To raise the sprouts on her own.
When they left, she believed, that she'd be relieved,
But instead she just felt all alone.

Patty Peach, who loved to teach,
Was both blind and stern.
Though with sight or not, she hadn't forgot,
Seeing her students learn.

When Tangerine turned seventeen
He got a brand new car.
He ran a red, he crashed, he's dead,
All because of a trip to the bar.

Cute little Grape, with his toothy gape,
Was polite as he could be,
He'd never fight, was very bright,
But got shot in the military.

Chile the Pepper, was treated a leper,
Just 'cause he didn't fit in.
Determined he rose, though a hard path he chose,
What counts is what is within.

Martin Mango, dances the tango,
Tonight is the last he will live.
He puts on a show, and plays in the snow,
Giving one last “all you can give”.

And Grouchy Grapefruit? Like he'd give a toot,
Is there even a place in his heart?
Well, “No there ain't!”, won't fool a Saint
In Heaven, when he will depart.

As Orange sits amazed.
“Living for the moment...
Or losing life in a heartbeat.”

[Jennybells]

You already know my comments, but I'll repeat the last one. I'm very proud of you, honey 

[Frogz694]

Jen! YAY! I thought I knew who you were! I have another one...

The Play is War

Folks, tonight is one you will never forget,
The actors are professionals, the very best!
Now, sit down, relax, and enjoy the show…

Here we have the play of war,
Sounding gunfire tonight’s score,
Young men the actors, guns the props,
Now sit and watch as each one drops.

You’re mesmerized, the world a stage,
As armies fight, the pent up rage,
Unleashed upon the rival nation,
“You ready men? Battle stations!”

Amidst the chaos, the runner runs,
Through piles of bodies, and sounds of guns,
To base, to tell them who’s ahead,
Along the way, he gets shot dead.

At seeing this, the audience gasps,
As the actor, dying, rasps,
“We-we’ve taken the hill… we’re almost… there”
Before his death, he says one last prayer.

As the violence ensues,
The crowd begins to change its views
From eagerness, to desperation,
They fully grasp the situation.

“If this keeps up, we might not win”
But the play had yet to begin,
So they stayed, for the actors did not yet bow,
They had bought their tickets; they couldn’t leave now.

The play went on, until the end,
Whence enemies and allies blend,
The treaties signed declared both sides equal
Only guaranteed a sequel.

[Jennybells]

Ooh, I liked this one more  

(Of course I play favourites. That's what makes me such a good teacher)

It flowed rather nicely, and seemed a bit comical. It was very cute. Good job, honey

[Frogz694]

You liked it? Meh, a mother's bias is stronger than anything else in the world. At least I know it's not bad, per say, although it's not amazing either.

[DawnofAshes]

Both poems are actually really touching. Good job Frogz. Keep it up.

[Frogz694]

Thanks, I'm working on two now. My teacher said she like the play one better. Meh.

In order not to double post, I am going to put my next poem in this post:

Gift of the Gods

Gift of the Gods, brown leather bound
Oaken lid sealed, tightly tethered down
Blue clouds of Heaven, caverns of Hell
Where angels reside, where demons do dwell
This masterful piece, a heavenly etching
The Box sits, waiting, her eyes slowly catching
The gold leaf, design, the scenery carved
Panoramic pleasure, her eyes felt starved
So when no-one was watching, she crept to the Box
Gingerly touched it, then opened the locks
She heard it growling before it had formed
Smelling the sulfurous stench of those scorned
The wind brushed her cheek, then out they burst
Voracious, audacious, beings, the worst
Great winged beasts, infected with hate
Their purpose destruction, their passion was great
With one last effort, towards the Box she grasped
Fear stole her breathe, lock to lid almost clasped
The last of her life, poured forth from her hands
But the demons had already ravaged the lands
The last thing she saw through Death’s blurry, gray scope
Was the Gift of the Gods, a sliver of Hope.

[Jennybells]

aww, I really liked it. It's the best one you've posted, by far. Keep it up honey We're very proud of you.

[DawnofAshes]

*Showers Frogz694 with Pride and Joy and a Seething Amount of Suckup* There ya go pal!. 

[Frogz694]

Yay! That's amazing, guys. I really enjoy the compliments.

[DawnofAshes]

You're welcome Frogz. I try to write poetry but my thoughts just don't want to jump on the page. So kudos to you.

[Frogz694]

I just get really high an idea in my head and then wing it.

[DawnofAshes]

Bah, ideas smhideas. All you need is some good trips and mindscrews inspiration like the creeks near my house. I wouldn't doubt Shakespeare and them getting inspiration from nature.