Freshly Pipped

A family gathering, a Sunday debate
A spread of keen citruses, bright and ornate

Your hunger awaiting the green light from dad
As he seasons and juices his fresh catch of scad

Sitting adjacent, parents and sons
In happy approach, each canonical nones

Grace and a table indicative of
Pride from a father, a labour of love

Who mentions quite playfully,  points with a knife
How the fruits of their loins will be needed in life

To keep the seeds handy, to burst into colour
Peeling the pith, squeezing juice from another

They'll each have a table, and gathering glow
And a orchard of offsprings, a life to bestow
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The Marquis Daughter

(At first glance the prompt looked like someone painting the town red so I kind of stuck with that theme!)

What was it, father, what was it you said?
"When you're older I'm hoping you'll paint the town red."
No-one knew for a dead cert that he'd been the one
to start all the riots and burgundy 'fun'.

Marquis of Waterford to all his friends
All loyally knowing he was round the bend!
Upstanding and well dressed, a royal delight, with a
ruby raw tendency he would benight

He'd gather his cronies and gladly construct
partaking  in mania, flout, then destruct 
A reprobate, hooligan, inviting duels
living off red while he's nobody's fool

Out in long scarlet coats, silk stockings too
these red gutter-bullies awaiting for you!
Painting all doors and the low window frames
leaving their trade marks in streaky acclaim

Around Melton Mowbray in garish vermilion
charging exploits of  placebo civilians
A spread and a spree, an offer to mauley
hands looking like silk leaves but stabbing like holly.

The Mad Marquis tainted by some other brush?
Reputed a title with turpentine crush
Could this man be elusive - a myth or a fact?
A fitting identity of Spring Heeled Jack

I guess under one colour, tainted the same,
we'll reach equal madness and shady disdain, but.....
What was it, father, what was it you said?
I wonder who was first to paint the town red?

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