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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Related quotes
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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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.
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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Red Grape
You're like a piece of sugar on the vine,
That's been resisted.
And sitting lusciously delicious,
Waiting to get plucked...
When time comes for the picking.
You're like a piece of sugar on the vine,
That's been resisted.
And sitting lusciously delicious,
Waiting to get plucked...
When time comes for the picking.
By someone patient,
Who sits wishing for you to lick.
You're like sugar on the vine,
Not ripe to lick.
You may be a nine in someone's mind.
But not quite ready to snip and pick.
Or slowly drip from someone's lips.
Red grape...
You're not quite ready to squeeze between teeth.
Red grape...
Your sweetness teases tongues among some.
And,
Red grape...
You look so ripe,
For an easy pick to lick!
You're like a piece of sugar on the vine,
That's been resisted.
And sitting lusciously delicious,
Waiting to get plucked...
When time comes for the picking.
But,
Red grape...
You're not quite ready to squeeze between teeth.
And,
Red grape...
You look so ripe,
For an easy pick to lick!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Facial Expression Redefining the Meaning of Love
Love
Like a raisin
Dried in the sun,
Hardened by time,
Sweet to a choke.
The difference
Between a grape
And its transform:
Liquidity.
Rape the juice
From a ripe grape,
You get extract
In solid form.
Sun toughens life,
Dehydrates cells,
Leaves leaves lacking
Cracking color.
Wrinkles written
On a surface
Rough of desire,
Size down to daunt.
It once ago
Was, no longer
Is its old self,
Just a raisin:
A sweet re-treat!
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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This Bread I Break
This bread I break was once the oat,
This wine upon a foreign tree
Plunged in its fruit;
Man in the day or wine at night
Laid the crops low, broke the grape's joy.
Once in this time wine the summer blood
Knocked in the flesh that decked the vine,
Once in this bread
The oat was merry in the wind;
Man broke the sun, pulled the wind down.
This flesh you break, this blood you let
Make desolation in the vein,
Were oat and grape
Born of the sensual root and sap;
My wine you drink, my bread you snap.
poem by Dylan Thomas
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Love in Spring
My arms reach out
to embrace green hills,
to hold heart-close
spring’s pulsing thrill.
With passion flush,
and grateful tears
I gaze on the forest
for I know you are near!
I can hear your song
in the sea-borne breeze.
Your golden voice fills
green lilting trees.
Oh give me more wine!
Your grape and your vine,
make the night sublime
with spring’s sweet life,
eternally bounding
from boundless time.
poem by Steven Federle
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I Am More a Ripened Melon
Squeeze,
Easy sexy.
When assessing me.
I am more a ripened melon.
Than a young grape,
Dangling from a vine.
Squeeze me easy sexy.
Like an avacado you do appeal.
With two tomatos I could taste your hold.
To feel as if chipped in dipped guacamole.
Squeeze,
Easy sexy.
Gently and not to crush.
Think of me as lemonade,
You prefer to sip and not gulp to rush.
Squeeze,
Easy sexy.
When assessing me.
I am more a ripened melon.
Than a young grape,
Dangling from a vine.
You would rather see picked...
To mash quick into fine wine!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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All Day The Sun
All day the sun ripens the grape;
all night the wine ripens the cup,
a carrying forth into a carrying forth
of fruit into fruit, sun to grape,
grape to cup, cup to mouth,
life into death, you into me,
and everything drunk with transformation,
and everything crazed with flame and fury
as if the lips of the night were bleeding
as if there were eyes on the limbs of trees
that were nudged by the wind
to let go of their chandeliers
and the fire wanted a creek bed of its own
that could weep its way to the sea
and the wind shook the window
it wanted to be. And there are shoes
that were once the barges of men,
and roads that mistook themselves
for a journey, and hearts in the grass,
hardly distinguishable from other boundary stones
that once were blazing meteors,
gashes of demonic iron that could change the earth
in the reflex of their igneous agony,
and faces in the orchards
that admired them for their blossoming,
now, all, utterly changed, transformed,
like the reasons for water or God.
And night after night it goes on like this,
swans in the ashes of burnt guitars,
and women with hysterectomies,
and a pearl on the tongue of the eloquent oysters,
and fire hydrants coming home from war
like amputees, and the lovers
behind the auroral curtains over the hills,
clouds in an hourglass
with lifeboats of sand for mouths,
and floral yokes of bright farewells
on the spinal wharves of their longing.
The sea became waves
and the waves became snakes
and the snakes washed up on the tide
scaled the ladder into feathers
and flew. One can become two, but zero
never empowers anything to change
except to be more of itself,
that's why it's cool to be nothing
and enlarge without limit
the infinities in the grain
of a human heart into a silo for the multiverse.
There's enough space
in the tiny blood-drum of a shrew
for an eternity of zeroes to shine through;
and that's what the stars are,
nothing shining down on nothing
so that everything can exist,
me voiding myself like the silence
I feel like a child before you,
so I can hear you
making nothing of yourself to see
who I might be
in the empty mirror without you,
because there are lamps
that feed on the darkness
shadows brighter than noon,
that make the darkness darker
so we can see the moon.
poem by Patrick White
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The Lemon's Quest
The whole of the fruit world were assembled
to hear what the lemon had to say.
In anticipation the fruit sat and trembled,
would it be the lemon’s day?
“Why can’t there be a sweet tasting lemon? ”
Said lemon in a tone of revolt.
To the fruit world this was open rebellion
and had to be brought to a halt.
The atmosphere turned sour towards lemon,
as he said, “This is not a lot to ask,
it’s a reasonable enough question,
and I’m sure not a major task.
I cannot understand your objections
about a fruit that wants to progress.
I’m open to all and any suggestions,
but until then I’ll sit and digress.”
The avocado replied to the question,
“The lemon is bitter and that is that! ”
“That’s an unfounded objection, ” said lemon.
“It maybe, ” said the Chairman, “but it is a matter of fact.”
The language was now strong and offensive,
as Chairman Plum called out for restraint,
“Order, fruit please, we must not be derisive.”
The tangerine looked likely to faint.
Chairman Plum summed up with a speech,
“This raises many questions for all nations, ”
he was then rudely interrupted by the peach,
“Just think about the complications? ”
A voice shouted from the back of the room,
it was grape with an answer to the problem,
“A sweet lemon must have its own bloom,
without it there will be no conclusion.
The answer is simply, graft and propagation,
a vine, with a lemon tree shoot.
It’s straight forward and without complication,
and should produce a sweet lemon fruit.”
The assembly calmed and became much quieter;
grape was thanked for his solution.
The outlook was now decidedly brighter,
bringing an end to the lemon’s resolution.
The lemon looked across at the chairman
and asked if there were any one with doubt.
The avocado said, “Yes, you give me indigestion, ”
“Out of order, ” said plum, “cut it out! ”
“All those in favour say aye, ” said plum.
“Then the ayes win the vote gentlemen.
We now await a fruitful outcome,
and this assembly is adjourned until then.”
One year later
On the grafted lemon tree a fruit appeared,
but the colour didn’t quite look right.
The lemon was fighting back his tears,
as the grape suggested more light.
Two weeks later
“What beauty of yellow and blue, ” said plum,
“It must be time to judge the taste, ” said grape.
“Why, it’s delicious and sweet; a job well done,
we must have a drink to celebrate.”
Three weeks later
At the next assembly, Lemon beamed with happiness
and announced the success of the new taste.
The avocado said, “I don’t wish to spoil your party,
but aren’t you celebrating in haste?
A lemon is a lemon and will be forever just a lemon,
a beautiful smelling fruit with a taste that's bitter!
I sincerely hope that you have learned your lesson,
a lemon no, but a new fruit that tastes much better.
So with this sweet new fruit I congratulate your success,
but lemon, please don’t try to be what you are not,
you’re famous for your aroma and countless other uses,
so be happy with what you’ve got.”
poem by Orlando Belo
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Water into wine
Once upon a time,
Jesus, who called himself the true vine,
turned water into wine
in an act of love.
All over the world, right now,
a million grape vines
are performing the same miracle
slowly; silently; aided by the sun;
their roots, like farmers, coal or diamond miners,
searching in the earth
for the most precious;
it doesn’t hit the headlines
but who dares say
a patient, silent, unsung love
is any less a miracle?
Who dares say that grape vines
do not seek and love
their beautiful perfection?
miracles, an act of love;
love, that miracle unearned –
what may we do to earn, to drink,
that wine of Love, but love?
*
[with a bow to Hafiz]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Home
This place I once called home is no longer my home,
I am better off alone,
I know that you don’t care about me,
When you come home I am already stoned,
All you do is scream at me,
All you do is hit me when I don’t listen,
This is not my home,
I think I am better off alone,
By the time I come home I know that your not home,
When you get the chance all you do grape at me,
No matter how hard I have tried,
You were never satisfied,
This house is not home,
This place I once loved,
Now hated by few,
All you do is scream, grape, and hit me,
All I want to do is cut and bleed,
Yell and cry out all my tears,
This place is not my home,
I think I am better off alone.
poem by Jennifer Rondeau
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0097 The vintage of a lifetime
As some sun-ripened vineyard-owner, rich
in slow maturing wisdom gained through time,
before that noble rot of trodden grape
yields untold harvest of a well lived life-
and proud that with his daily-tended skills
he'll win a vintage he will never taste -
so I, who seek to daily tend life's yield,
distil a vintage I shall never taste.
Mayhap some pencilled notes from wisdom's root
shall grow new generation's richer fruit.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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To Be Grapefull For The Wine Of The Vine.
Should i be grapefull for the wine of the vine? ...
Fun times romantic-That is fine-That is fine.
Cabernet? ...
Yum yum yum-
Shall we play?
Shall we play?
This fine wined and dined defined fine romantic day...
Fruit of the grape....
There just is no waylaid escape.
Drink but do not drive....
Cell phone detoured right of way.
Shall we make the innocent by life forfitted to pay? ...
Stay alive-Do naught drunkenly drive.
poem by Michael Gale
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Feast
I drank at every vine.
The last was like the first.
I came upon no wine
So wonderful as thirst.
I gnawed at every root.
I ate of every plant.
I came upon no fruit
So wonderful as want.
Feed the grape and bean
To the vintner and monger:
I will lie down lean
With my thirst and my hunger.
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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For Mona Liza....
hello sweet lemon,
did you call me a sour grape?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Monody
To have known him, to have loved him
After loneness long;
And then to be estranged in life,
And neither in the wrong;
And now for death to set his seal--
Ease me, a little ease, my song!
By wintry hills his hermit-mound
The sheeted snow-drifts drape,
And houseless there the snow-bird flits
Beneath the fir-trees' crape:
Glazed now with ice the cloistral vine
That hid the shyest grape.
poem by Herman Melville
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Winding All My Life About Thee
Winding all my life about thee,
Let me lay my lips on thine;
What is all the world without thee,
Mine --oh mine!
Let me press my heart out on thee,
Grape of life's most fiery vine,
Spilling sacramental on thee
Love's red wine.
Let thy strong eyes yearning o'er me
Draw me with their force divine;
All my soul has gone before me
Clasping thine.
Irresistibly I follow,
As whenever we may run
Runs our shadow, as the swallow
Seeks the sun.
Yea, I tremble, swoon, surrender
All my spirit to thy sway,
As a star is drowned in splendour
Of the day.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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How Come
how come, we don't even talk no more
And you din't even call no more
We don't barely keep in touch at all
And i don't even feel the same love on me
And i heard at the grape vine and me
With beef and now
And after all the years we been down
Ain't no messing around
This bull**** can't be true
Were family
That's never gonna change
Because of you.
song performed by by Eminem
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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