A Pocketful of Poesy was and is again a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog! For 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and now for 2017 and going forward, you may expect to see 365 poems every year, 366 for leap years.

but aren't they all random?

Wednesday, June 05, 2024

On a pear. Ideally? One! Cut to hell and roasted eternally in honey and spit.

A pear is not symbolic.
Not specifically.
Not of any other thing.

Some men
you see
see only in the back of one woman,
all women to come, forever that’s all, and he
(singular)
might say “I have seen your back, woman!"

Or more to a point: "It’s all gone pear shaped,” is.
All.
Hard?
Unripe merely? Really?

This only applies to apples. To a pear, though?
Come on it. Calm up and rectify your moody rod,
home slice. Only if you are irremediably green
and
wooden at the symbol pitch! I am not!

I never was, wholly. Sure, it doesn’t mean
another
"thing," please. Any real
thing
IS itself: and nothing else. Can't signify.
Only in this world: only a human being
can. We ourselves invented signification,
and shall continue to each dim damn live
long day and twice nightly, and in no dream,
neither. Life has no purpose
but
what
you
yourself
embrace
to put into it. Meaning
is simpler: every thing we ourselves get

out of it, and keep
to aim by further. By? 

No. Nor sell neither, though 
by your butt hurt male gaze 
you seem to wink, it's only 
the twitch of the death nerve, 
bug. Sorry! No game over, 
please. 

There was no game on at any 
point. The key term is not 
at any point understood: "By
Rule." Here comes Ed, the old
and muscular referee to explain

you 
out. 

Trust Ed.
He sold a car once
to a fully functioning
corpse, I am sure.

I don’t understand your question.
There is no basis for pear symbolism
whatsoever. There cannot on Earth be. Pears
have had and continue to have as many shapes,
hues and ripenesses as apples, with which they are
quite closely-genetically kinned, and entitled to be

so classy in glass! Why not? Do you still? 

Do you ask the mean? 

Is that at all gratifying?

It should be.

My best.

O! Thanks for the tinny yet harmonic chime,
"Observer," if that is in fact your name. Fear
not! Each name you give yourself to be known
by is your real name, ever after to each who
keeps
you

by it.

NOW. Peace off, please. Some observer! Doesn’t
know what pears are based in! Honey! Would be
ideal to my taste, class and aspiration. It isn’t

genetic
in any point. Pleased to take

your kind inquiry

a bit further off

than asked for. Hope

it’s okay by your apple,

sailor mouth. 

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