This is a perfectly ripe brown turkey fig. It is begging me to eat it. This fig is supremely sweet and succulent and will burst into a million subtle sensations inside my mouth. [scarf, oink, oink]
This is a fig. A brown turkey fig that is warm and ripe and sweet and succulent. They are fabulous eaten right off the tree which is why should grow one. On July 11 one ripened and I yanked it off the branch had my first fig of 2001. It was wonderful. In fact it was so good it inspired me to write a poem about it - and I am not a poet. I do not even READ poems. The only poets that I know is Dr. Seuss (who's work I admire) and the one who doesn't use capital letters (notice that I didn't use them in my poem either). And I haven't wrote a poem since high school. I was simply inspired by the sensuousness of my very first fresh fig of the summer.
This is only the second poem that I've written. I have not improved as a poet since my first, the Luffa Vine poem, except that this one is longer. I should be writing Plant Profiles but the figs just made me feel poetry-ie. - Jack
the fabulous fresh fig
has made me a pig
a summertime treat
so succulent and sweet
that is eaten so neatly
and devoured completely
'cause no pits will be found
nor core to bite 'round
so gorge just like pigs
on fabulous fresh figs
but remember to share
with birds who are scared
of snakes in the trees
eating all birds they see
and you also must share
with wasps so beware
and even with bear
but that would be rare
they're easy to grow
there's little to know
cut a twig from the neighbor's
and with minimal labor
stick the twig in the ground
and water it down
it will soon make roots
growing green shoots
then wait a few years
after which you will cheer
as you eat fresh fig fruit
grown from your own shoot
you'll know what i mean
as you wipe your mouth clean
