Best Muscadine Poems
My Mama and my Papa. They're good and kind, pure and refined.
Sixty-three years together, their loves become genuine.
Like sweet expressions of art; Papa a poem and Mama a song.
With me, they share their wisdom. I listen and see their words take wing.
This is their story, spoken through his poetry and sung through her song:
Once on destiny’s field, a confident Poem chanced an eloquent Song.
By providence divine, the Jasmine intertwined with the Muscadine.
A Ruff-neck blue-collar, beholden to a bride of serene waters.
Two artists with a portrait in progress. Colored in Faith, in Trust, in Love.
One child comes. Another. Then two. Dressed in his rhyme, kept by her tune.
Four paved paths; scented with sweet Jasmine, bearing fruits of Muscadine’s.
Their children are raised and grand-baby’s grow. A harvest, good and kind.
Their past has become distant, but that love so genuine continues on.
It sails over waves of struggle. It conquers, even in the brutal storms.
Through the trials, the Song acquired her virtue and the Poem gained his grit.
Like royalties of time, Crowned with gray hair and cloaked in old skin.
To open-eared youth, they offer insight and share their understanding.
His wisdom speaks thru weathered words. Her sweet song waters thirsty ears.
Their portrait, is still being made. An aesthetic piece of art, valued thru time.
Sixty-three-year journey; their bodies display age, but their spirits are primed.
Categories:
muscadine, age, devotion, first love,
Form:
Imagism
the muscadine grapes
unpruned in the fall season...
grape crop diminished
the muscadine grapes
unpruned in the fall season...
bird nest among vines
the muscadine grapes
unpruned in the fall season...
fireants~wasps~share juice
May 17, 2013
Sponsor: Alfred Vassallo
Contest: Bacchus The God Who Loved His Grapes
Categories:
muscadine, life, nature,
Form:
Haiku
Oh my precious lady Caroline
Confused as a peach on a grapevine
She Forgets to think
Then she drives to drink
And spills her homemade muscadine wine
Categories:
muscadine, fun,
Form:
Limerick
Muscadine grape vine
entwine...smell of bovine
forest edge
sedge
briars growing down the line.
I love the country
The country loves me
I’m as rock solid planted
As my hundred year old tree
Watermelon field
hi yield...Alpaca deal
stocked lakes
drakes
the red barn I want to build
I love the country
The country loves me
I’m as rock solid planted
As my hundred year old tree.
Catalpa worm tree
honeybee...works free
rain drops
crops
I love the country in me.
June 17, 2012
Categories:
muscadine, people, old, love, old,
Form:
Free verse
Have you ever had a black berry bush
Drooping with wild fruit that you were hungry for,
Only to be driven away by
A swarm of wasps encircling its briers?
Have you ever picked up a plum off the ground
Because it was red and plump beneath its tree,
Only to turn it around and see
An army of ants eating the other half?
Have you ever picked a muscadine from a vine,
Popped it in your mouth without carefully inspecting it?
Then afterwards realized that
A stink bug had left its scent on it?
That what it's like to be in a love relationship
With someone who's in love with someone else.
You expect to have the sweetest juice, the firmest texture;
But as soon as the fruit is pressed, you make unpleasant faces,
And you spit and spit and spit and wipe your tongue on your shirt
Telling the one next to you of your unfortunate event, warning them
To be as cautious as you will before the next pick.
Categories:
muscadine, lost lovefruit, love,
Form:
Free verse
Muscadine grape vine
entwine...smell of bovine
forest edge
sedge
briars growing down the line.
I love the country
The country loves me
I’m as rock solid planted
As my hundred year old tree
Watermelon field
hi yield...Alpaca deal
stocked lakes
drakes
the red barn I want to build
I love the country
The country loves me
I’m as rock solid planted
As my hundred year old tree.
Catalpa worm tree
honeybee...works free
rain drops
crops
I love the country in me.
© Mar 19 2010 Charles Henderson
Categories:
muscadine, devotionold, love, old,
Form:
Rhyme
Goin’ north, cross the line
sell a bit of muscadine, homebrew,
and moonshine
steal my horse, but not my stein
got to have my muscadine, homebrew,
and moonshine
probly shut me up fur nine
fur making, muscadine, homebrew,
and moonshine
I tolt the law it wont mine
not the muscadine, homebrew,
and moonshine.
It bees sumpthin sooo fine
thet muskidin, hoembrow,,,
an moneshinnnn, (hic)
© Sept 17 2010 Charles Henderson
H M in Deb's Harvest moon contest
Categories:
muscadine, funny
Form:
Rhyme
The Muscadine Grapes
Ripening on the vine
Little tart but fine
Water was scarce so
They didn't have chance to grow
Soon they will be ripe
Categories:
muscadine, nature
Form:
Haiku
In the cellar, by the stair way, is an old jug of muscadine.
It brings back sweet memories of an old friend of mine.
We used to chat and play chess to fiddle the time away.
It mattered not the undone chore, or the time of day.
Forty three year he lived mostly alone in that house by the stream.
Forty two year he tendered to me as I followed life’s dream.
I’d go back and sit once in a while, spinning that same old line.
He knew! But he would just fill me a glass of muscadine.
One of those times he told me a tale worthy of publication.
He married my mom not for love, but to save her reputation.
Mama died when I was born; his health began to decline.
I left home right after school, he was drinking muscadine.
I stayed in touch and tried to visit as often as I could.
We’d sit and talk, play a game, pretend that life was good.
We would walk by the stream, talk of things long benign.
While we tarried ‘long the way, to sip that old jug of muscadine.
© Apr 14 2010
Categories:
muscadine, lifeme, old, me, old,
Form:
Quatrain
The truth is –
mango
mildew, marmalade ghosts.
I have a brain like an old motorbike,
I ride it back and forth
just to get laid by you, and her, and that strange one
who kept cats under her long skirt.
I am mildew on a mango. A marmalade calligraphy.
I yodel blood-songs prophets have stitched to my flesh.
Truth sleeps under a stone.
No one can number the stones.
I dream of Macadamia and Muscadine
of pretty girls all in a row.
Truth throbs like an idling engine.
Marimba music and matchsticks.
Truth is I am whatever’s left
after the counting of things.
Categories:
muscadine, poetry,
Form:
Blank verse
Sea glass teeth frosted by sand
clinking their music held loose in my hand
Muscadine chewing, so sweet, less the seeds
walking like a girl who fulfills all her needs
Hair cut and coconut wax scent intrinsic
(the shorter the better to prove true cathartic)
I find less is more as I lengthen my stride
and become my surroundings, refusing to hide
Earrings of silver and sweet aqua ocean
from my momma to me with my soul, my emotion
Sand talks my bare feet into a run
while the silver threads from my heart are skeletal spun
I rip through the currents of woven clear air
like a shadow from clouds which have no time to spare
Frosted and loosely held by sky and by earth
I am my own music, behind my rebirth...
Categories:
muscadine, introspection, life, loss, love,
Form:
Rhyme
I had a brain like an old motorbike,
I rode it back and forth
just to get laid by whomever, and that strange one
who kept cats under her long skirt.
Truth is a marmalade calligraphy.
I yodel blood-songs
prophets have stitched to my flesh.
Truth sleeps under a stone.
No one can number the stones.
I dream of Macadamia and Muscadine
of pretty girls all in a row.
Truth throbs.
Marimba music and matchsticks,
Why all these M sonics?
Mango
mildew, marmalade ghosts.
Why not?
Miss me mother?
The bike ended up in a heap -
Its motor whines on.
Truth is whatever’s left over
after the counting of things.
Categories:
muscadine, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
In the hush of twilight’s gentle embrace,
A locket swings, a whisper of grace.
Its surface tarnished, like memories confined,
Yet within its heart lies love intertwined.
Muscadine wine spills dreams on the floor,
Sweet as our laughter from days long before.
With every sip, I taste summer’s glow,
The warmth of your presence in each mellow flow.
Your fingers once traced the locket's old seam,
While shadows danced softly in the light of our dream.
We spoke in hushed tones that only we knew,
As secrets unraveled beneath skies so blue.
Oh, how time has weathered both silver and gold,
Yet treasures remain in stories retold.
Each clink of our glasses sings songs from the past—
Moments like fireflies that flicker and last.
The rust may adorn it with tales of despair,
But love finds a way to breathe life into air.
For what is this trinket but proof we have soared?
Through storms and through silence—our spirits restored.
So let us raise glasses filled with sweet wine,
To a rusty old locket and love so divine;
For though seasons may change and years intertwine,
In the heart's quiet chambers forever you shine.
Categories:
muscadine, love, wine,
Form:
Rhyme
In the shade of wild trees
grew muscadine vines,
and in our Tarzan youth
we would swing out
on them from the top
of cliffs over the creek
sixty feet below and we
did notfall down,
but yodeled our joy.
We sat cross-legged
in the tree house,
wide eyed with wonder,
and ruled the world.
The old people
leaned out of their chairs,
and fanned themselves
in the summer heat;
they spoke with hushed tones,
talked of the falling darkness, and
knew it was a long way down.
They left us alone.
Copyright
Vol Lindsey
4/2/2006
Categories:
muscadine, war, youth,
Form:
Free verse
Muscadine Sauce
2 Lbs. of muscadine grapes or
6 cups halfed grapes
1 1/2 cups of muscadine grape juice
1/2 cup of strawberry wine
1 tablespoon of ground ginger
2 T lemon juice
1/2 cup of sugar
1 teaspoon of cinnamon
1 Tbsp. of cornstarch
2 sprigs of rosemary
mix l in a pot bring to a boil whisk until a sauce is made set aside.
roll store bough sugar cookies and line a muffin pan
let rest
filling for cookie
2 cups softened creamed cheese
1/2 cup of mild creamy goat cheese
2/3 c of sugar
1 tbsp. of vanilla
1 egg yolk
4 tablespoons iof butter
21 tbsp. of cultured butter milk powder
3 T lemon juice
1 teaspoon of salt
mix well and pipe into the muffines and bake until cookies are done on a low heat.
severe in a bowl with vanilla icecream!
ganish with rosemary!
Categories:
muscadine, music,
Form:
Ballad