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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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Standards
Following the standards of this world, as your work day is unfurled,
May be the normal thing you do, as you see your schedule through,
But, Believers need to be aware, of standards that are set out there,
The standards that deny our Lord, and as moral issues are ignored.
Their standards may get jobs done, but, do nothing for God’s Son,
To help believers live their daily life, above all of their immoral strife.
With our standards set much higher, pleasing The Lord is our desire,
We desire to live and honor Him, while in this world plagued with sin.
Our standard is an Everlasting One, authorized by God’s Only Son,
God’s standard is carved in stone, put in place from God’s Throne.
A standard of unalterable ways, is needed for these changing days.
Standards followed by the wise, as the world chooses compromise.
This standard is the choice of those, who the Lord above has chose,
To shine His light in every nation, to lead all men to God’s Salvation.
God’s standard simply cannot waver, built upon our Blessed Savior,
Before the foundation of this world, it’s the only one we’re to herald.
The Word of God will be our source, as we chart our earthly course,
For The Word alone is foundational, as men seek to live God’s Will.
As the standards set forth by men, by The Lord will be condemned,
But God’s standard is eternal friend, as His will alone will never end.
(Copyright ©06/2007)
Thousands of eyes
Poetry or prose is a writing.
In prose contents get focus
And in poetry, taste of words.
Prose sounding poetry is sweeter.
We see thousands of stars at night
And only one sun in a day - prose.
The night has thousands of eyes
And the day, only one in sky. - poetry
01.08.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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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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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
copy rights 2010
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.
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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Artificial Flavoring
Well...
It has come down to this.
We would like your opinion.
And...
What it is you think.
We'd like for you to be candid with us.
'I'll do the best I can.
What do I think?
About what? '
About priorities.
And what others seem to have placed,
At the top of their lists.
'That's very difficult for me to respond.
You see...
I am accustomed to quality.
And not the artificial flavoring of anything,
Rated to give it popularity.
It is as it appears.
And what appears represents,
Where current mindsets feel...
They can accept as most comfortable.'
So you are not going to respond to our inquiry,
Legitimately?
'How can I do that responsibly?
When what has been selected,
To represent fine wine...
Clearly doesn't merit the taste,
Of a homemade beer.'
You 'sound' as if there are some sour grapes,
You wish to exchange...
To replace personal feelings.
'How is that going to make that beer taste,
Any better? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Taste Or Life?
They say honey is sweeter than wine;
Many say kiss is sweeter than wine!
Some are fond of sweet taste in all;
Many like hot taste in food we eat ever.
Taste is just a flavour of coffee we take;
Tasteless food nobody likes at first ever;
But food for living life cannot be ignored.
Sugar coated pill makes us take medicine;
Just like that taste makes food delicious!
Taste various from person to person ever;
Hence one man's food is another's poison!
So also taste for poetry, novel and articles
Say about one's mind, heart and soul ever;
More than taste food for living is fine ever!
poem by Ramesh T A
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What I do and what I dream include thee, as the wine must taste of its own grapes.
quote by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just A Taste Of Life
what i have in my hand
is a slice of pineapple
it is sweet
its sweetness lingers
in my tongue
and sticks to my brain
it is simply a slice
just a taste of this bigger life
ahead of us
i have another slice
to hand to you
take it
why waste some time
on bitter herbs
and sour grapes?
what i have is just a slice
of sweet pineapple
take it now
it is sweet
what do we have next?
we shall wait and see
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Forbidden Fruit
There's a game you wanna play
There's a risk you would like to take
But words can't change what you feel inside
There'll be no going back from here
I'm scared it'll lead to tears
Patience, boy, and I will decide
If your kiss is sweet enough
If I wanna feel your touch
You should know I can read your mind
If the deal is worth the pain
If you just won't die of shame
I am tempted to try
If you taste this fruit forbidden to eat
You can drink this wine from a love so deep
I dance for you
Let you come within
If you swear to me that it ain't no sin
There's a world you wanna know
There's a place you wanna go
Take your time and love will delight
There're wonders everywhere
Their mysteries to share
Be gentle, boy, and it will be alright
If you taste this fruit forbidden to eat
You can drink this wine from a love so deep
I dance for you
Let you come within
If you swear to me that it ain't no sin
If you taste this fruit forbidden to eat
You can drink this wine from a love so deep
I dance for you
Let you come within
If you swear to me that it ain't no sin
You wanna taste it
Oh, if you swear to me
If you taste this fruit forbidden to eat
You can drink this wine from a love so deep
Love so deep
I dance for you
Let you come within
If you swear to me that it ain't no sin
If you taste this fruit forbidden to eat
You can drink this wine from a love so deep
Love so deep
I dance for you
Let you come within
If you swear to me that it ain't no sin
Wanna taste it
Love so deep
I wanna dance for you
I wanna taste it
I wanna taste it
I wanna taste it
I wanna taste it
I wanna taste it
song performed by by Jessica Simpson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lemon Sorrow
Have you ever tasted sorrow,
I think it taste like lemons,
If all feelings had a taste i think of lemons,
They can be sour then can get sweet,
Lemons sweet or sour then comes the sorrow taste,
Sorrow taste of rain,
Sorrow taste of lemons,
poem by Samantha Guinen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Easy Made Cake
Easy made cake...
Doesn't taste,
Homemade.
An easy made cake...
Doesn't taste,
Homemade.
Or does it age...
Like a fine wine.
Made from grapes,
Picked and saved...
Off of a selected vine.
Easy made cake...
Doesn't taste,
Homemade.
Or have a flavor staying,
In one's mind.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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If Amy Lowell Had Been James Whitcomb Riley
When you came you were like red wine and honey,
And the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness.
Now you are like morning bread--
Smooth and pleasant,
I hardly taste you at all, for I know your savour,
But I am completely nourished.
--AMY LOWELL, in The Chimæra.
When I wuz courtin' Annie, she wuz honey an' red wine,
She made me feel all jumpy, did that ol' sweetheart o' mine;
Wunst w'en I went to Crawfordsville, on one o' them there trips,
I kissed her--an' the burnin' taste wuz sizzlin' on my lips.
An' now I've married Annie, an' I see her all the time,
I do not feel the daily need o' bustin' into rhyme.
An' now the wine-y taste is gone, fer Annie's always there,
An' I take her fer granted now, the same ez sun an' air.
But though the honey taste wuz sweet, an' though the wine wuz strong,
Yet ef I lost the sun an' air, I couldn't git along.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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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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Wine Story
An Abridged Story of Wine
The bottom of the nave used to be a lake's bed, but one night,
when moon was white as search light and the sky maroon,
the lake vanished. Dead fish and toenail clippings at the bottom,
but the soil was rich, and the people who used to fish for a living,
planted vine which bore healthy grapes, but grapes fermented
and wine was discovered. A drink that made them merry, they
sang, slapped flat stones together and made music.
But if drinking too much they ended fighting and used stones as
missiles, and given to arguing about the quality of snow that fell
the year before. In clay pots they sold red wine and became rich,
till Moslems came, forbad the making of wine, they planted pale
yellow orange trees instead. But the juice of sweet blue grapes
has an unstoppable allure it fills heart with music, the production
was moved to hidden dells in Alentejo. When Arabs, defeated by
Christian hordes, fled; Iberia had abundance of red wine but also
sugary orange juice.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Sub-Standard Is The Giving Of My Love
Sub-standard to you is the giving of my love.
Do you remember when it see-sawed,
Between excellent and moderate?
Before below sub-par it went.
And your nagging sent me away quite a bit.
For days at a time!
And I returned looking and feeling exuberant.
With no explanation how my joyous time was spent.
Sub-standard to you is the giving of my love.
And I agree the taste of it has been irregular.
With a flavor leftover,
Even the cat turns away.
Sour it is and sits in decay.
Yet when I gave it you thought it to be mixed,
With foolish gift giving and childish nonsense.
Close I came to dipping your chocolate mints in cement.
And today you demand why I express not interest?
I get a better response when I shake an empty paper bag,
While sitting alone on a park bench.
Surrounded by squirrels giving me at least 'some' attention.
And all I have to do is to pretend I am there to give.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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