He's hardly a sour grape, yet behaves like a raisin.
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A Facial Expression Redefining the Meaning of Love
Love
Like a raisin
Dried in the sun,
Hardened by time,
Sweet to a choke.
The difference
Between a grape
And its transform:
Liquidity.
Rape the juice
From a ripe grape,
You get extract
In solid form.
Sun toughens life,
Dehydrates cells,
Leaves leaves lacking
Cracking color.
Wrinkles written
On a surface
Rough of desire,
Size down to daunt.
It once ago
Was, no longer
Is its old self,
Just a raisin:
A sweet re-treat!
A Thrill Of Hope
you love and fail
and you want to die
the heart that loves and fails
shirks and shrinks like a drying grape to the desert sun
raisin, look at you, you have become a raisin
wrinkled fruit,
shrinked to the size minimal to the existence
desired, you dry some more, taking away all the life
possible in your skin and bone
the desert sun is cruellest
in you
so unforgiving so determined to shrink you
more than a raisin
this cruelty can turn you into a stone
the night has come
this thrill of hope comes like a comforting friend
to tell you raisin,
keep the sweetness still
for tomorrow's bitterest spill
the cruelest sun
the deadliest ever
on this desert sun the hottest sands
and you will not surrender
the hope is still there
the dream is this oasis somewhere
the bedouin and his coming camel
who knows? and when?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Grape, Grape Joy
I am a small and lonely grape,
Clutching to the vine,
Waiting for the day when Ill become my saviors wine!
Oh, wouldnt french cuisine just yearn it,
Ive eternity to ferment,
But knowing me Id end up ripple
In a cellar of cheblis.
Are you a small and lonely grape
Clutching to the vine,
Waiting for the day when youll become your saviors wine?
Dont give up hope ye heavy laden,
You dont want to be a raisin;
Theres a grape grape joy in jesus,
In the vineyard of the lord.
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Purple Grapes
Fresh purple grapes,
Dried raisin cakes
I love the seedless kind.
Grape fruit essence
The fruity, tasty kind.
Give it as presents,
I'll tell you I don't mind.
Grape fruit essence
As good as Merlot wine.
Raisins (rictameter)
Raisin
Wrinkled morsel
Formerly plump round grape
Sun-dried, shriveled, concentrated
A sweet snack savored by grand ol' granny
Concentrated, shriveled, sun-dried
Formerly plump round girl
Wise and wrinkled
Raisin
poem by Aaron Brown
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If there are occasions when my grape turned into a raisin and my joy bell lost its resonance, please forgive me. Charge it to my head and not to my heart.
quote by Jesse Louis Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Journey of love
Life is strange
Sometimes sweet
Sometimes sour
suddenly you meet
Someone
Judge him by
The way he talks
The way he behaves
Carefully scrutinize
His every thought
A liking develops
want to
See more of him
Waiting for him
Becomes agonizing
He captures your
Dreams
Your thoughts
Revolves around him
Love starts blooming
Both of you decide
To spent life together
Nobody knows
What shall happen?
In the future
It May be sweet
It May be sour
04-02-2012
106-16-02-12
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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For Mona Liza....
hello sweet lemon,
did you call me a sour grape?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Life of a Grape
On the vine, the green fruit ripens,
Becoming fresh and well-rounded,
And such is the life of a grape.
In the sun, its sweet skin softens
On the branch where it's been bounded,
And such is the life of a grape.
The others grow fairly often.
Eventu'lly, it's surrounded,
And such is the life of a grape.
Then one day, away from the flocks,
It's plucked, dried, put into a box,
And such is the life of grape.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Clusters Of Grapes
as God nature creates complete
a bunch of grapes growing on vine
each grape an interlocked fold skin
of original envisioned composition
so too human architect craftsman
creates cultivates ideas to time define
each grape is picked complete from vine
each grape is perfect as singular complete
an orb idea formed vine ripe fertile complete
each grape is taste savoured relished eaten
peel me a grape of an idea complete eaten
slave starves creates each gilded grape given
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Yahdai
In those days, say Yahweh:
'Ten men out of all languages of the nations will seek who is a Yahdai'!
But to th inhabitants of the world i will swing along with my muse.
Your blossom is over and the sour grape is ripening after the flower,
And like dwellers of the earth with different minds;
But the Yahdai is now known among us.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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My computer
Here is my dearest friend computer.
It is much more cuter than anybody else.
And... it is certainly my best tutor.
I sometimes feel nervous or sad
And it is always neutor, my computer.
But sometimes it behaves like an executer
Showing the things I don't like
Thinking I am just a looker.
It keeps mute as a fish, my computer.
But puts me sometimes into a fluter.
Oh, my dearest computer!
It is such a cure and even rude.
And behaves like a lure.
It can be ruder than anything else
Then I am in a stupor.
But...it is still my super.
It is my best curator.
It gives me a cue or something new.
The rest about it I'll tell you later.
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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It's written by a patient in a doctor's notebook
When sweet and sour grape crushes with the bitter medicine of life,
The wine you hardly distilled could be cured the nagging pain?
The mysterious sickness and the biopsy done; but no any diagnose
Where it hides in my skeleton body?
It seems that there is no any response until you get the last breathe of this polluted air.
Hey doctor! It's not very easy to die until you die?
* To the poetess friend Patricia.Gale in gratitude.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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All White, No Rock
it is the want that is giving me this
prison and so
to free myself i must not want this anymore
i wasted all my precious time to wanting this and that
which i never really got anyway
it is a sour grape
now i am sure about it
so i junked it and look at me i am now free at last
my chest is spacious
my hands are waving like leaves to the wind
feeling cool
relieved at last from all those unnecessary worries
the storms are gone
the sands are too peaceful like my mind
all white
no rock.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Monkeys, Strawberries & Grapes
' I give them utmost sweet but they are not satisfied
And they go behind bitter fruits, it's very difficult to find their taste.'
A sour grape cried.
'Let them run faster and they get tired very soon.' A wild strawberry laughed.
'We were in the same bunch once, but they removed their tails
And left the jungle for civilization.' A monkey joined them.
* To Sandra, Alison & Jerry, George, Max, Denis, Duncan, Dave and rest of all.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Ode to A Sour Pickle
Ode to a sour pickle,
To pucker up your puss.
Lay down a shiny nickel,
Come on, don't be a wuss.
The heck with kosher dills,
And sweet little pickles too.
It's sour pickles for your gills,
Can't take a thing in lieu.
A big ole sour pickle,
Will bring on a grimace.
Where they're concerned I'm fickle,
Please bear me no malice.
12/23/10 Alton Texas
poem by by unknown author
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an unhappy childhood of this man who names himself 'I'.....
i've seen this picture of you
on that far corner of the world
land of snow and you are inside that very thick
winter clothes
there is that smile in your face
and i am taking a closer look
it is sour.
i know what sour is. I've been one for forty years
wearing that
sour smile, and i have many reasons why a smile must be sour
for forty years
the reasons are sour
very sour
beyond those tastes of a hundred green lemons
or a green mango with some disturbing gums on its mouth
i burned all my pictures in college
except those when i was yet a boy beside my mama and our white dog
i was in grade one and i did not like school and mama forced me into it
i was selling chocolates and i ate them all and mama was mad at me and beat me with a stick
papa did not like me reading books as he does not know how to read
i climb trees and hide on the leaves and read stories
in our dialect and draw some pictures of women without their dresses on
you see i still have this picture of myself riding a carabao and hauling some wood and coconut palms
i take a close look of my own smile, It is very sour
and it tastes like yours, but perhaps mine is the worst
but i am happy now, i know how to suppress sour smiles, i know how to manage and project myself
i smile like a cow now, and laugh like a horse
because all of them are dead.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What Is It That You Like?
don't you like this sweetness
of my words?
you are bored with this sugar
and honey
and cream?
you are afraid you have become
sick of such
sweet tongue
such sweet indulgence?
oh, you want something bitter
something sour now?
some bitter herbs some sour
species of green lemons?
try me,
i am a bitter person
i am the latest delicacy of
all that is sour
and
decomposing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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From Grape To Wine
If you were to say I don’t exist
This grape would not argue
Longing to be wine
Makes me disreputable
Lowers self respect
A grape begins to become wine when it says
“Pressure is necessary to burst open”
Sweet wine flows from surrender
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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