When the fox cannot reach the grapes he says they are not ripe.
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Love On The Vine
I came home yesterday
To the love that I left behind
It seems Ive been far away, yeah
But I know that the berrys ripe on the vine
And I know that the grapes will soon turn to wine
Yes I know Ill be there just in time to love you
I guess I just ran away (I just ran away)
Tried to see what I could not find (what I could not find)
Its been a one act play, yeah
But I know that the berrys ripe on the vine
And I know that the grapes will soon turn to wine
And I know Ill be there just in time to love you
Ive been wasting time (wasting time)
With this old heart of mine (this old heart of mine)
Working it overtime, ah, ah, ah, ah
Just another blue day
Like the ones that I left behind
I know its easy to say, yeah
But I know that the berrys ripe on the vine
And I know that the grapes will soon turn to wine
Yes I know Ill be there just in time to love you
Oh and I know that the berrys ripe on the vine
And I know that the grapes will soon turn to wine
Yes I know Ill be there just in time to love you
Love you on the vine, oh on the vine
Love you on the vine, oh on the vine
I love you on the vine, oh on the vine, ah
On the vine, oh on the vine ...
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Are They Real?
Your grapes are so real
I can smell it from here.
Your grapes are so real,
I can almost taste it from here.
Your grapes are so real,
I reach out to touch it from here,
Really? I'm not sure they are not real.
Almost Black
almost black
deepening purple
ripe grapes
poem by Masaoka Shiki
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It is strange to be single
I walk past vineyard of grapes,
see the struggle that the small avocado tree
has against the ripe
while a string of doves
on the telephone wire
looks cooing at me
and feel like the fallen tree
over which the hollyhocks, geraniums, carnations
and ferns are growing rampant and trailing
as if I am laid down dead as well
but still shoots
is reach high into the air
past the roof
like fingers to the sun.
It is strange to be single,
not to catch the view
of your sun filled eyes
and the dogs are following me
and the cats await me
and I am really lonely.
poem by Gert Strydom
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You Have No Particular Reason For Being Happy
you are happiest
when you have no
particular reason
to be happy,
you do not
look for it
you do not
find it
it finds you,
and you
pick it up
in your hands
this bunch
of ripe grapes
hanging
falling
direct to
your
luscious
lips
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In the Fruit and Veg
Knocking you listen
to the sound
that a watermelon makes
to test if it is ripe
and I wipe the smile form my face,
trying to look sincere
and the whole of Fruit and Veg is filled
with shoppers, adoring ripe fruit and vegetables
crowding around some places with special offers
like a great vast congregation
gathered in the temple of a god
and tonight you will again
make your great fruit salad
with chopped and sliced mangoes,
papaw, sweet melon, some squeezed orange juice
and grapes
and maybe this afternoon
we will eat the watermelon
in the shade next to the swimming pool.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Lessons Learned Over Time
Grapes ripe to pick and juicy when first licked,
Will always keep a taste sweet in one's mind.
As remembered lessons learned over time,
Are kept as one ages.
And the vine from which they were picked,
Remembered as if the only one to exist...
That committed an encouragement to nourish.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I have some green grapes at their best
I have some green grapes at their best
And I am waiting for you to pass by
For these grapes are of such great taste
It is the truth so I swear and so I sigh
They were raised upon mountains high
where the wind softly blow
and a herd of wild horses feeds nigh
on tall grass blades rooted grow
So this is why my grapes are so sweet
The mountain spring by them lead
Tall reeds guard the gates
To keep out the ugly crow’s gait
Quietly my green grapes wait
For the clock sounds the hour late
What makes you hesitate?
What makes you not keep your date?
Therefore my grapes are so sad
And I am waiting not have gone yet to bed
But here I hear approaching steps from the south
My green grapes are full of hopes for your mouth
But still I am so lonely and sad
Since to bring flowers you forbade
May be next year you change your mind
And to my request you be more kind
And I will bring you flowers from the bowers
Wet with rain of rainbow showers
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Those Ripe Grapes....
this morning they arrive as
bunches of ripe violet glossy grapes
and i am constrained to receive them
with all grace
though i made a promise not to
eat a piece
i only draw them on a piece of
paper
someone may paint them for me
so i can keep them all
like loved ones
and then after this short moment
i put them in a basket and give them
all
to whoever pass me by...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Tarantella - Sour Grapes
I admitted that I am utterly charming;
my specialty is to feed sour grapes,
to femmes causing a total disarming,
from this entrancing, none escapes.
After we jumped on the sand dunes,
and fighting against untamed sharks,
twas the hour of listening to tunes,
vented by an orbiting of love quarks.
I danced barefooted on the grapes,
on vigorous must-making tarantella,
thus I approached your curvy shapes,
hmm.. I knew your name was Stella! !
Was it not? While dancing I kissed,
those sour grapes you were holding,
and you insisted that I had to feed,
one by one the grapes on beholding.
What was that name; maybe Maria?
(stiff memory never helped my brain)
O, sour grapes! I called you Allegria,
singing Rossini's 'La Danza' refrain.
You stated you loved only the must,
your vine crown spelled 'Angioletta';
it did not? This loss made me aghast,
I thought Rossini called you Giulietta!
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Elite
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
You like attention
It proof to you youre alive
Stop parading your angles
Confused? youll know when youre ripe
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
youre pregnant
With all this space
Thick with money
But I lost my taste
Youre into depression
Cause it matches your eyes
Stop! the faux to be famous
Confused? youll know when youre ripe
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
youre pregnant
With all this case
Thick with money
But I lost the taste
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
youre pregnant
With all this case
Thick with money
But I lost the taste
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
song performed by by Deftones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Passion
Oh! this passion I feel for thee
I do believe it's taken me
back to days of younger times
where love is ripe like grapes on vines,
bursting with sweetness in the sun,
waiting to be picked one by one.
Oh! this passion, it does not wane.
Sometimes it drives me quite insane.
For should it not quiet down with age?
Should I not be content to let it rage?
No! I say. It's a life all its own.
It is all consuming from whence it's grown.
Oh! ! this passion.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Mother Exultant
Joy! Joy! Joy!
The hills are glad,
The valleys re-echo with merriment,
In my heart is the sound of laughter,
And my feet dance to the time of it;
Oh, little son, carried light on my shoulder,
Let us go laughing and dancing through the live days,
For this is the hour of the vintage,
When man gathereth for himself the fruits of the vineyard.
Look, little son, look:
The grapes are translucent and ripe,
They are heavy and fragrant with juice
They wait for the hands of the vintagers;
For a long time the grapes were not,
And were in the womb of the earth,
Then out of the heavens came the rain,
The sun sent down his warmth from the sky,
At the touch of life, life stirred,
And the earth brought forth her fruits in due season.
I was a maid and alone,
When, behold, there came to me a vision;
My heart cried out within me,
And the voice was the voice of God.
Yea, a virgin I dreamed of love,
And was troubled and sore afraid,
I wept and was glad,
For the word of my heart named me blesse'd,
My soul exhalted the might of creation.
I was a maid and alone,
When, behold, my lover came to me,
My belove'd held me in his arms.
Joy! Joy! Joy!
Now is the vision fulfilled;
I have conceived,
I have carried in my womb,
I have brought forth
The life of the world;
Out of my joy and my pain,
Out of the fulness of my living
Hath my son gained his life.
Look, little son, look:
The grapes are ripe for gathering;
The fresh, deep earth is in them,
And clean water from the clouds.
And golden, golden sun is in the heart of the grapes.
Look, little son, look:
The earth, your mother,
And the touch of life who is your father,
They have provided food for you
That you also may live.
The vineyards are planted on the hillside,
They are the vineyards of my belove'd,
He chose a favorable spot,
His hands prepared the soil for the planting;
He set out the young vines
And cared for them till the time of their bearing.
Nopw is his labour fulfilled who worked with God.
The fruit of the vineyard is ripe,
The vintagers laugh in the sun,
They sing while they gather the grapes,
For the vintage is a good one,
The wine vats are pressed down and running over.
Joy! Joy! Joy!
Now is the wonder accomplished;
Out of the heat of the living grape
Hath the hand of my belove'd
Wrung the wine of the dream of life.
Belove'd,
My little son's father,
Together we have given life,
And the vision of life;
Shall we not rejoice
Who have made eternal
The days of our living.
Look, little son, look:
The grapes glow with rich juice;
The juice of the grape hath in it
The substance of the earth,
And the air's breath;
It hath in it the soul of the vintage.
Put forth your hand, little son,
And take for yourself the life
That your father and your mother
Have provided for you.
Joy! Joy! Joy!
The halls are glad,
The valleys re-echo with merriment,
In my heart is the sound of laughter,
And my feet dance to the time of it;
Oh, little son, carried light on my shoulder,
Let us go laughing and dancing through the live days,
For this is the hour of vintage,
When man gathereth for himself the fruits of the vineyard.
1905
poem by Adelaide Crapsey
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Moon Over You
on a Monday
morning
i go there
wanting to
see you
expecting that
love is in the air
sea breeze
blue skies
green grass
on the garden
some red roses
white daisies
ripe grapes &
strawberries
i am moon over
you and comes
this absence of a
noonday, till
late night, i am
still moon over
you, this hopeless
loveless romantic
waiting for nothing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Doug's Peach
The Theory of Non-Exclusivity states that:
Always right exists in left
And likewise left in right.
I went outside and picked a peach,
the episcopalian of the four.
Parts were ripe and parts were wrong-
if 'wrong' is 'not as ripe'.
And if 'wrong' is 'not as ripe',
then 'ripe' is 'right' for sure.
I ate some right, then ate the wrong,
then ate what right was left:
thus proving, sure as Al's my brother,
that neither right nor left is
exclusive of the other.
poem by Douglas Scotney
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When the monkey can't reach the ripe banana with his hand, he says it is not sweet.
I've been into the habit of freezing white grapes and using them as a snack. Instead of eating peanuts or popcorn or something like that or pretzels, I just eat the white grapes.
quote by Mike Ditka
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In the hearts and minds of the people, the grapes of wrath were growing heavy for the vintage.
John Steinbeck in The Grapes of Wrath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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