Most people hew the battlements of life from compromise, erecting their impregnable keeps from judicious submissions, fabricating their philosophical drawbridges from emotional retractions and scalding marauders in the boiling oil of sour grapes.
quote by Zelda
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Sour Grapes
I dont care if the sun dont shine
But it better or people will wonder
And I couldnt care less if it never stopped rainin
cept the kids are afraid of the thunder
Chorus:
Say sour grapes
You can laugh and stare
Say sour grapes
But I dont care
I couldnt care less if I didnt have a friend
cept people would say I was crazy
And I wouldnt work cause I dont need money
But the same folks would say I was lazy
Repeat chorus
I couldnt care less if she never come back
I was gonna leave her anyway
And all the good times that we shared
Dont mean a thing to day
Repeat chorus
song performed by by John Prine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bragging Modesty
Why boast modesty? Wasn't handpicked
Bragging seems silly, when was obligation strict.
Posing wise on patterns borrowed by others
Followed a code & custom, or advise by mothers.
Justifying tartness, when Grapes felt sour
Choice will be different, when given some power.
Sour now bad and 'the grapes weren't mine'
Go with flock, is their new punch line.
Decency is out; it's Vanity that's in
Advance WE are, hold up the chin.
(Dear) Modesty is a virtue but its flaunting isn't smart
Simple or Not, be honest with all heart.
poem by Samima Shah
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Those Years Of Separation.....
years separated us
when we meet again there will
be usual questions like
how is life? did you marry?
how many kids? how old are they now?
where do you work?
where do you live now?
i am tired of all these questions,
frankly i am not interesting and nothing interests me
perhaps
i was made sour by all those years,
but sometimes i may compromise
(but not a civil as you may think me to be) and
so i have my answers now, like
life is not really that miserable.
i got married, no kids only dogs in the house
(not applicable) ,
oh i work with a gavel,
and i live in my navel.
perhaps i am just dissatisfied with what
life has given me,
and you who claim to have kids like grapes
work like heaven, house like a castle,
and you who is like a story with a
happily ever after ending,
well, thank God, you are like everybody else,
you own a wife, and kids and house,
yourself is multiplied, your face is xeroxed,
your wealth is not just well preserved but
progressed like
hell,
you have chattels and servants and perhaps slaves
and submarines and nuclear weapons,
you have a brand new car,
an excellent paycheck,
by all means, to my mind, you are a superhero
and you have everything
everything
and yet, oh well, just like rest of the people in this world
you are never, never contented, you still ask for more
how much? how long? how wide? no one knows.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Decapitated Chickens
The decapitated chickens have died.
Their feathers are plucked, their skin has been fried
In the fatty animal oils too much,
In the boiling batter scalding to touch,
In the savory glazes now applied.
Their souls are preserved in formaldehyde,
Disinfected in a jar alongside
Forgotten flavors, seasonings and such.
The decapitated chickens have died.
They're prepared for gnashing teeth, to collide
With the grinding chew, the tongue's licking glide
And sour saliva's slippery clutch,
The contraction of the muscular crutch
To lacerate swiftly, to chop and divide.
The decapitated chickens have died.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Compromise and tolerance are magic words. It took me 40 years to become philosophical.
quote by Hedy Lamarr
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Winning Philosophy
when life handed me
sour lemons
I made lemonade
when life handed me
sour grapes
I made rich red wine
when life was a dangerous
roller coaster
I refused to get on for the ride
when life offered
a shit sandwich
I refused to eat it
did not the great
philosophers
promote positive
states of mental being?
did not the great
philosophers
promote moderation
balance self denial?
happiness is a question of choice
choose wisely live in rewards of wisdom
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Pint of Thoughts
I found a sour pint of milk,
Flashing and smiling like an act of money.
Five hundred tubes of milk, sweeter,
I purchased from the provider of happiness.
They were thoughts, greater thinkers make,
Like those philosophical creams always pondered.
I found the sour pint of milk,
And used it for thinking purposes,
Drinking it whole, for nobody,
For the first time.
poem by Naveed Akram
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One Day A Hungry Fox
One day, a hungry fox,
Saw a high vineyard.
It was full of sweet grapes,
He might not have, he feared.
They were hanging in such
A height, that he jumped
And jumped, but couldn't get.
He had to remain starved,
Again he jumped, and jumped,
And went on jumping ever.
But all his efforts were in vain,
He failed to touch that cluster.
Being upset, he got angry
As he wasted his hour.
Before leaving out of pain,
He said--Grapes are very sour!
poem by Nilakshi Das
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The grapes are sour, said the fox, when he could not get at them.
This Is My Only 'True' Relationship
Do you think I sit,
Unaware of my submissions?
As if I am oblivious,
To what it takes to create them?
Nor do they come easy,
Like those critics who sniff.
With a passing of judgement with it!
Free on the scene and unsolicited.
I wish I could say,
I'm not observant of this at all.
There is too much life I live,
For me to become that enthralled.
I have no ego to be massaged.
None to bring my activities,
To a complete engrossing stall.
Do you think I sit,
Unaware of my submissions?
As if I am oblivious,
To what it takes to create them?
I know I get less sleep!
And this is my only 'true' relationship,
I can say I've managed to keep!
And devoted I am.
With a divorce from it,
Nowhere to address in my mind to exist!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A life without a life...
It’s a life with commitment
It’s a life without complement
It’s a life with compromise
It’s a life without appraise
It’s a life with emotion
It’s a life without inspiration
It’s a life with amuse
It’s a life without refuse
It’s a life with tear & grin
It’s a life without dream
It’s a life with touch
It’s a life without trust
It’s a life with pain
It’s a life without importance
It’s a life with a relation
It’s a life without love and affection
Is it a life or only Compromise?
poem by Sumita Datta
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A Sad Melody From An Old Vineyard!
There are no standards of taste in wine, cigars, poetry, prose, etc. Each man's own taste is the standard, and a majority vote cannot decide for him or in any slightest degree affect the supremacy of his own standard.' -Mark Twain,1895
Though the ripen sour grapes sleep in the moonlit night
Yet the Landlady awakes with a solitary song.
Her fiance sleeps in another vineyard beyond the hills
Those grapes are sweet it seems?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge.
The television critic, whatever his pretensions, does not labour in the same vineyard as those he criticizes; his grapes are all sour.
quote by Frederic Raphael
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sometimes
Sometime my feeling simply hurt some much. I am just in some much emotional pain. So very much. It is hard to say. What is it, it is. I will tell you at times I, hate such emotional irrigate people.
What want to be free from the hang-ups up of the past, to be free of the pain of the misunderstanding and be free to love my life un-bogged down with all of this emotional pain, weight at time.
poem by Michael Kavuoti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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