First Pears
written by: Paul Thwaites
First pears were picked,
Lain on the table,
Green and brown in fatigues,
Camouflaged,
And brought in to ripen.
Sun and the rain had swelled them,
From small nubs among fallen petals,
Ballooned like blown glass,
Full-blown to tears,
Emerald and bronze.
They came to the hand with a twist,
Sweet cupped,
Something taken from the sky.
Only a handful of pears,
Laid out on a kitchen table,
Brought in to ripen like a prayers ~
Grainy with sugar,
And Good to eat.
Daily I come to turn them,
Test softness yielding to the thumb,
Like us, they come to a point,
Between resilience and surrender,
When time makes the heart grown softer,
And more sweet.
I am a writer living in Yorkshire, England, recently retired from the teaching profession. I have always written and love poetry and have a large backlog of work. I have, through my own neglect had little published. I had four poems in a recent anthology: "Viral Verses," put together to raise funds for the NHS and am currently working with a sculptor writing poems to complement his work. I have a few collections on the go: "Norse Gods," "Box of Ochre," "Water Dancing with the Moon."
Latest posts by Paul Thwaites (see all)
- Come Sit - December 7, 2025
- Scatter My Ash - September 18, 2025
- First Pears - May 29, 2025
