Poems about grapes



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1174601

"Grapes"

If we do not inhabit our verses,
What is the use of writing?

Eminescu, Rilke, Byron and Mandelstam
Succeeded.

Grapes squeezed in a timepress.

If we are not alive in our images
What remains of poets?

Dew and ink,
Labour, symmetries?

Blood is the only colour
That can't be erased from a book.

Adrian Popescu, from My Cup of Light
Translated by Lidia Vianu and Anne Stewart


grapes.

Author: irinia
+0-
Date: 05/03/2020


1145454

Fox and the grapes..

Saw fox
In fruit shop
Buying vintage grapes...


fox,  grapes.

Author: JP
+0-
Date: 08/02/2020

1102862

The Woman who sold Grapes

She is on the street in her little kiosk,
At the break of the dawn,
When many are still on a lucid dream.

Selling the most delicious of grapes
Sourced straight from the vineyards

Assembling the previous day's discards all in a tray
Discards For humans it maybe,
But
For her birds its a treat to relish.
Swooping
Down for it, day after day...

Mostly bought by the morning walkers,
Many in numbers are they
Old patrons, as they say.

Every day she sells her wares
Holding the loveliest of smile
That I have seen in years,
Knowing what she hides behind that, though.


Never misses a day nor business,
And back home she is before sundown.

Only to return the following day,
With a new stock, at the break of the dawn.


grapes,  sold,  woman.

Author: Sarita Aditya Verma
+0-
Date: 31/12/2019

1102134

The grapes of wrath

It is no crime
To say
€fuck it”
And
Move on
With my
Life

It took me years
To realize this but
Even now I take it
As a privilege and
Not a rite

Times like these
Always bring me
Back to this debate

And every time
I say no no no
I need to do it
Because I can do it
I gotta prove I can do it
Gotta show ‘em
Gotta teach ‘em
Gotta learn ‘em
About what
I
Can do

It's times like these
That make me look
Out the window at
The clouds and truly
Appreciate them

The trumpet blares
Out of the speakers
And I realize that I
Might be cut out for
This world after all


grapes,  wrath.

Author: Overwhelmed
+0-
Date: 31/12/2019


1099445

Strange grapes

What is this nectar,
Swish, swish,
No headache.


grapes,  strange.

Author: Earth Man
+0-
Date: 28/12/2019

1061684

The Harvest of Grapes is Safe, It is protected by Dragons

The clustered, green orbs, glow with juice and lighted sun,
The leaves wave in the gentle breeze "welcome" to all, have fun,
But seasons ripe for theft and thieves,
Who would steal into these nights,
To remove the juiciest of these,
Bacchus treasures and treats with perfected age,
The hope of pouring a glass
Of crystal clear bliss
Could be gone, amiss,
By some who would crush the cherished taste,
And end this seasons harvest in empty sadness;
Empty vine, oh the shame, the crime
Of stealing grapes that belong to another's claim!

We have found the answer to our dilemma,
"Worry not dear friend, i will be there for you my eyes
Are ever so watchful, and my bright white wing span will
Cause even the hardiest mischief maker to turn away,
While my tail will beat and chase them
From
Your grounds, God's vineyards
Your bounty
This and every day,
Until you pick your crop at its best
But I have only one humble request,
That you save the juiciest single grape for me
King of the Dragons, that fly. "


DWE082013
Inspiration provided by photo
Provided by Scott Olson


dragons,  grapes,  harvest,  protected,  safe.

Author: Ottar
+0-
Date: 24/11/2019


1053139

Grapes

Grapes
In the ear
Taste like grapes
Sound like grapes
Feel like grapes
For an image i bend
You see twisted lump
Of motion
Flying
For no reason
Feet empty
Empty mouth
This empty mouth
Tastes like grapes
You will never know
Your full fine feet
Walk a walk
I admire
In spastic dreams
Awake
I prefer
The taste of grapes
Empty feet and mouth
Grapes


grapes.

Author: Mark Wanless
+0-
Date: 16/11/2019

1050888

Grapes and Wandering

It's dusk
Lustful grapevines curl around my ankles
And I'm thankful it's wine season, the pickers should be around shortly to save me
And bathe me in last year's crop to scare the grape vines into submission
It's a decision they have to make
Do they care about a perfect stranger enough to waste
Roads of trucks of crates of bottles of red velvet
Or white sunshine
Or do they allow this ensnarement and turn a blind eye whilst I sink
While thinking; pondering the fertility of the soil under my feet
I'll wait for the pickers, just to see how they view me
And in the meantime the vines are spinning yarns around me
Crawling up my skin, holding me tight while telling me bed time stories
Once upon a time there was a vineyard struck by a drought
Caused by unrelenting calm, and clear blue skies with no clouds
And they resisted, rationed their water between them,
And it seemed then that everything was fine
The crop was harvested and won best wine, but failed to mention how many vines
Died in the making of their own blood
Morbid and dry, a pinot noir fashioned out of pain and scars
And tears in flesh, not human flesh, but the flesh of the landscape
I didn't smile
But it did make me sleepy
I couldn't fight their grasp
Addicted to their emotions
I let them take me down into their fertile ocean
And when the pickers came to discern the source of the screaming
A new grape vine had sprouted and was teething


grapes,  wandering.

Author: Josh Koepp
+0-
Date: 14/11/2019

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