Hope & Healing Through Photography and Poetic Expression

Food

Figs: The Secret

The Fig
is
Erotic?

Oh please,
tell me
How

~

I’d not the
slightest
idea,

until here
until now;

~

Please pardon
my
blushing,

Don’t mean
to
offend

~

But I must
share
my discovery,

Since we’re
all such
good friends;

~

So
savor this
image,

And when
your joy
is complete;

~

Learn the
secret of
Figs

Through
a poetic prose
treat!

~~~

😉 RL

Figs

excerpted from the poem
By D. H. Lawrence

~~~

The proper way to eat a fig, in society,
Is to split it in four, holding it by the stump,
And open it, so that it is a glittering, rosy, moist, honied,
heavy-petalled four-petalled flower.
Then you throw away the skin
Which is just like a four-sepalled calyx,
After you have taken off the blossom with your lips.

But the vulgar way
Is just to put your mouth to the crack,
and take out the flesh in one bite.

Every fruit has its secret.

The fig is a very secretive fruit.
As you see it standing growing,
you feel at once it is symbolic:
And it seems male.
But when you come to know it better,
you agree with the Romans,
it is female.

The Italians vulgarly say, it stands for
the female part; the fig-fruit:
The fissure, the yoni,
The wonderful moist conductivity
towards the centre.

Involved,
Inturned,
The flowering all inward and womb-fibrilled;
And but one orifice.

The fig, the horse-shoe, the squash-blossom.
Symbols.

There was a flower that flowered inward, womb-ward;
Now there is a fruit like a ripe womb.

It was always a secret.
That’s how it should be,
the female
should always be
secret.

~~~

And for even more fascinating information about this sacred, and sultry fruit :

The Sultriest of Fruits: The Fig 


Miracle Of Blue

Like blue stars
clustered together

before a
glistening gold
sun;

Water droplets
cling
lightly to
smooth, powdery
skin.

They wait, anticipating your
craving 
for their
juice of indigo,
and 
bittersweet
flesh,

So they may
blissfully
grace the
buds of your
taste.

©Robyn Lee


Miracle Of Yellow

“So, when you hold the hemisphere
of a cut lemon above your plate, you spill
a universe of gold…”

~Pablo Neruda

Ode To a Lemon
by, Pablo Neruda

From blossoms
released
by the moonlight,
from an
aroma of exasperated
love,
steeped in fragrance,
yellowness
drifted from the lemon tree,
and from its plantarium
lemons descended to the earth.

Tender yield!
The coasts,
the markets glowed
with light, with
unrefined gold;
we opened
two halves
of a miracle,
congealed acid
trickled
from the hemispheres
of a star,
the most intense liqueur
of nature,
unique, vivid,
concentrated,
born of the cool, fresh
lemon,
of its fragrant house,
its acid, secret symmetry.

Knives
sliced a small
cathedral
in the lemon,
the concealed apse, opened,
revealed acid stained glass,
drops
oozed topaz,
altars,
cool architecture.

So, when you hold
the hemisphere
of a cut lemon
above your plate,
you spill
a universe of gold,
a
yellow goblet
of miracles,
a fragrant nipple
of the earth’s breast,
a ray of light that was made fruit,
the minute fire of a planet.