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He's hardly a sour grape, yet behaves like a raisin.
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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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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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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The Fruity Taste of Life
Sweet and sour is life
What yours shall be, destiny shall contrive
But dependence on destiny shall decrease
And it will then depend on you, my friend decrees
What say you to that?
What surprise can pull from the hat?
Think of the sweet Tangerine
Perhaps you would, the sour Tamarind
They both spell L-I-F-E
For not even in strife
Shall the sweet in Tangerine
Be comparable to the sour in Tamarind
poem by Maureen Oby Iwueke Gbagir
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Sour
some fruits are loved
for their being sour
it is their sourness
that reminds of their essence
like the green mango
it is even missed more
than when it ripened
but with you my love
do not worry
sour or sweet or bitter
we will always be together
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What They Write About
what they write about
are so poetic, and sometimes i feel
envious, and think all nights to also
write everything poetic like the way
they write about the moon, and stars,
and sun and clouds and hills and
valleys and blooming flowers
about summer,
but honestly speaking, i think every
poetic imagery has only become too
routinary, all metaphors conceived of,
are nothing but simply variations adopted
from one poet to another like an
uncaught plagiarist on the loose,
but somehow, i also like it when i think
that writing is just a hobby, a diversion,
if not a deviation from what
we really want to become.
well, i may be a sour grape for
staying just to be myself,
an imaginary toad in the real
garden untended by its owner.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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.
Song Seven
Song Seven
you cant sit up
you fell too fast
you come at the right time
you come too fast
you bloom in spring
you move the sky
youve come in singing
you call me a liar
you were like a cloud
yes you are a flower
then you were a lime
now our love is sour
you were like a flower
you were just like a flower
then you were a lime
now our love is sour
dont give up (I owe you)
no dont give up
oh dont give up
dont give up (I owe you)
you were like a cloud
yes you were a flower
then you were a lime
now our love is sour
you were like a cloud
you were just like a flower
then you were a lime
now our love is sour
here I feel I wish I could just see it
the love the hate the things that separate
forcing conscious to conscious every small attack
it takes a small man to notice but not to act up
confrontation complication needs a foundation
I'm calm baby, I'm calm
you were like a cloud
yes you are a flower you move i love life is all we need
then you were a lime
now our love is so sour you move i love life is all we need
so sour
so sour
dont give up
no dont give up
oh dont give up
no dont give up
start again butterfly
start again butterfly
start again butterfly
start again, start again dear
song performed by by Interpol
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Possessiveness
If I listen to the chirping swallow,
my nightingale sings a sad melody.
If I were lured by the perfume of Jasmine,
the face of my rose goes red.
If I take a bite of the Himalaya apple
my mango of Salem turns sour.
If I snooze in the shade of the banyan
my cool neem shrink her leaves.
If I sip some juice of orange,
my sweet grape feels cold.
If I see some smiling faces in face book,
my wife grumbles and shuts down the computer.
But, if I read some lines in my mother Tamil,
my step-mother English sprinkles a broad smile.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ghazal 119
I don't need
a companion who is
nasty sad and sour
the one who is
like a grave
dark depressing and bitter
a sweetheart is a mirror
a friend a delicious cake
it isn't worth spending
an hour with anyone else
a companion who is
in love only with the self
has five distinct characters
stone hearted
unsure of every step
lazy and disinterested
keeping a poisonous face
the more this companion waits around
the more bitter everything will get
just like a vinegar
getting more sour with time
enough is said about
sour and bitter faces
a heart filled with desire for
sweetness and tender souls
must not waste itself with unsavory matters