An Invitation Back to the Vineyard
Forever was the vesper's smile
Like in a nightmare's mist
An eerie breathing hiss
A servile guise striding along
The strife to escalate living
Throttling the abeyance of breath
With the red hands of gaiety
But the vineyard had no eyes
To witness this profound debauchery
So the trample cat-walked leisurely
Amidst the garden's cloak, I
Reckon with these ancient eyes
The dark that loiters in ubiquity
Under the nubile and florid light
Of the moon's chaste flourishing
Brewing the concoction of
A rose-wine dance of fire
And the whiffs of haughty ivy
Lost in the ghastly mangrove
My vision in an agog pirouette
And in this dour soliloquy stood
A sentry warding off the caterwauls
Endeavoring to disentangle from
The yards' saccharine and agonizing grope
A fiendish comrade that never abandons
Until I moseyed farther from the yard
Where the roots are buried at my feet,
The vines of eloquent wisps are spangling
Like lynches under the moonbeam
In a knot of vehement condensing,
The redolence is preposterously resilient
In a loop of melancholic bitter-sweetness;
Tongue in cheek: steadfast yet flimsy
Cobwebs drifted with an insidious sheen
Tranquilizing the lamp with shrills of fear
But this sentry fire I had held like my skin
That drove the shadows of the vineyard
Back into the cradle, the valley of dying stars
Spits scorches to the cognizance and fraternity
Of the shackles that tethered me here
In this feigned state of inebriation
And splintered me from the vineyard
Where my bones bloomed in desiccation,
Closer and closer, the vineyard closes in
Safe and sound from the horrors
Of the vineyard's myths and lore
The echoes of the cellar, the chateau;
The mooring point of the topple,
The ceiling of vertical trance, and
The pillars, the constitutions,
The home, the shadow, the genesis
And the wine that fills the goblet,
Without my misery, I subsist
In this monopolized purveyance,
In this spinning roulette tryst
But I am rather empty
And now I fear the lack of fear
The distance from the nights
That haunts the grotesque vineyard
Now, I linger with the taste of death
Sauntering in the contours of my tongue
Futilely waiting for the invitation
Back to my crimson deluged walls
And sweet and sour trickled floor
Because home is where I sprouted
My roots and stretched my vines
Tangling with angst and agony
Still, this is where I should putrefy
In the vineyard of dreams on fire
poem by Norman Santos
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Related quotes
A purchased vineyard is tantamount to a stolen vineyard.
Louis' Vineyard!
Louis' vineyard!
So near and so dear to you;
Inventory, history, story, victory! !
But, in a White Tower.
To bring it up,
reaching up to it!
To hold it,
With love and concern;
And like an easy drive,
Down there in Louis' vineyard.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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In His Vineyard
In His Vineyard
We fed and bred
Health and wealth
We were nourished and flourished
Happy
Riding on fine horse
Until
He came to pluck us
Then
Became grumpy and dirty
Hungry and Thirsty
Frightened
But
Now enlightened
We are back to Eden
In his vineyard
We feed and breed
Health and wealth
Here
We are nourished and flourishing
Happy
Riding on fine horse
Built a high wall
Hence
No more can sin pluck us
poem by Ayandare Mayowa
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Eating and Drinking chapter VI
Then an old man, a keeper of an inn, said, "Speak to us of Eating and Drinking."
And he said:
Would that you could live on the fragrance of the earth, and like an air plant be sustained by the light.
But since you must kill to eat, and rob the young of its mother's milk to quench your thirst, let it then be an act of worship,
And let your board stand an altar on which the pure and the innocent of forest and plain are sacrificed for that which is purer and still more innocent in many.
When you kill a beast say to him in your heart,
"By the same power that slays you, I to am slain; and I too shall be consumed. For the law that delivered you into my hand shall deliver me into a mightier hand.
Your blood and my blood is naught but the sap that feeds the tree of heaven."
And when you crush an apple with your teeth, say to it in your heart,
"Your seeds shall live in my body,
And the buds of your tomorrow shall blossom in my heart,
And your fragrance shall be my breath,
And together we shall rejoice through all the seasons."
And in the autumn, when you gather the grapes of your vineyard for the winepress, say in you heart,
"I too am a vineyard, and my fruit shall be gathered for the winepress,
And like new wine I shall be kept in eternal vessels."
And in winter, when you draw the wine, let there be in your heart a song for each cup;
And let there be in the song a remembrance for the autumn days, and for the vineyard, and for the winepress.
poem by Khalil Gibran
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Fear keeps and looks to the vineyard, and not the owner.
The Apple Tree Greed
he has an apple a green apple
he is the only person in this room
with a green apple
suppose suppose NOW
he has MORE of those at home
WHY he has a GREEN APPLE tree
In his backyard no WAIT
He has a vineyard behind his chapeau
And he makes green apple wine
And he sells it to the BOONES FARM people
And they make BOONES FARM green apple wine
And the whole city is soon sick
The children ralf and barf and ralf again
There is no more end to the men
Drinking all the green apple wine
To make this ONE person rich
He never offered me any of his wine
Eyes never drink of alcoholic beverage
Eye have juices and tea and a soda please
I'm just full of good intentions
Picking green apples in my mind and eating way too many
Having a green apple with mye lunch of poetical decay
WAIT he left and YES he took the green apple core with him
Not leaving me a bite not wanting me to taste the pleasure
of his mite. Why eye understand him greedy is his name
the green apple hoarder has so many apples now his wine cellar is so full and his larders aer so rich he does save the stems and seeds to plant again in ground so rich and he chews on this green apple while he watches MTV in selfish hedonistacal revenge while eye have no green apple stuck between my teeth OH bliss oh strang decay my teeth at least aer happier today he took the core away he left me all alone im appleless today im happier to say no song is being sung of little apples of the green variety been hung oh see the tree how big its grown the apples have been lost too long and they fall in misery from branches of decay to rot to rot to rot upon the vineyard floor there is no apple wine no more the green variety is gone they drink it only read and red is the color of the wine in cups so full of color there in plates so heaped of agony with applesauces vailiantly piled higher then the sky.
poem by Parme Hice
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Destiny's Wisdom
....Once.......the winds
Of passion flowed
...Amongst the leaves
On vineyard's row
Touching the vines
With such desire
Fueling the flames
....Of a raging fire
*
*
*
Destiny's wisdom
....Then...rearranged
Those winds of passion
...To winds...of change
A frigid chill
Displaced the old
With angry gusts
....Of bitter cold
poem by James B. Earley
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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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A good vineyard provides bread, wine, and firewood.
The Day Of Joy
Why should you eat your own waste and drink your own urine?
For the land of grain and new wine are now closer to you than ever!
And, i am ready to take you there.
This land is full of bread and vineyard and,
I am ever ready to take you there one day;
Because, what you are doing now has no future! !
This land is with the olive groves and honey,
So come to me and let me take you there!
For this day is the day of joy;
And, i will surely take you there to satisfy your muse.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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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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Animations
Of your blossom,
Of your bud,
Of your fruit;
You are from the vineyard of red wine my love,
But the grain must be ground to make bread.
To the drunkards of Ephraim i will never share my love with,
Like a woman in pain who is about to give birth to a baby;
Of the animations of life,
Of magic and polydaemonism!
Of a fadding flower like the animation of things.
You are the lady of beauty and the lady of Kingdoms,
But the flood of mighty waters is overflowing around you;
Like the first fruit before summer.
Cry like a woman in labour and write down this story,
For the Blacksmith has taken his tools;
But, prepare the way for the Carpenter to encourage the Goldsmith.
I am the voice of him who cries in the wilderness,
And i am like the cormorent and the owl;
For the inhabitants around are like grasshoppers without any hope.
Sow beside all waters and gain the morrow,
For death cannot praise you when you are gone.
Like a market place of the nations where the hungry man dreams,
Mourn like a dove with tried stones around its neek.
Animations,
Of the work and life we live in;
Animations,
Of the act of ones hope towards a dream;
You are very beautiful from a special vineyard.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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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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With a good farm, garden and vineyard, all your problems will be cured.
The Promise
Our of the mouths of babies and out of the mouths of love,
Plant trees and get fruits in their seasons;
For the den of theives is like the tongue on fire!
To the land of grain and wine and,
To the land of bread and vineyard;
A little fire kindles the forest.
Of works done in meekness,
And of the unchangeable act of your mind on this love;
But this world is full of iniquity.
Obtain the promise after endurance,
For i have seen your tears on this side of the river;
And it was not without an oath.
Life is like the golden stick with the spices,
And like the law of the olive groves and honey;
But try to separate the sheep from the goat.
He who does not love does not love the Creator,
For Enoch was the seventh fro Adam;
So keep yourselves into the hands of love,
But situations had made it possible now for me to call you my uncle.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Sonnet: Take Me, O Master, Into Thine Vineyard
0 Master, take me into Thine vineyard;
Thou give me any duty as Thou please;
And when I've finish'd show me Thine backyard;
Enroll me vassal, when free of disease.
0 Master fair, Thou give me a job soon;
Thou may pay me anything in return;
To be Thine servant, humblest is a boon;
For then, I can't ever go to Hell and burn.
0 Master kind, any job will suffice;
My precious time, I've wasted for quite long;
Thou give me food, enough to do work nice;
Thou give me work before ceases Thine song.
How lucky 'tis to be in Thine vineyard!
A servant's lucky more in Thine backyard.
poem by John Celes
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Starlight Golden Nectar Ambrosia
soil grape vineyard
starlight
golden nectar
ambrosia
mountain wind
river valley
salient light
earth sky firmament
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Whoever wants a good must should hoe the vineyard in August.
It's better to have ringworm than a farm and vineyard.