Best Vineyards Poems
Opening line from "Highway Five Love Poem" by Ruth L. Schwartz
This is a love poem for all the tomatoes
I squished to make our Date-Night spaghetti.
Our love, like the pasta, was shiny. So the story goes.
We sit at our table, between us a rose
Red as the marinara I chose. (He let me).
This is a love poem for all our tomatoes.
We watch the steam, which the mouth quickly blows
Away (like the wind and those petals the day he met me).
Our love, like the pasta, was sticky. So the story goes.
We sip our red wine. Chianti, it has a good nose.
(In the morning, do you think he will regret me?)
This is a love poem. For all our tomatoes
Are gone, just as the wine hides grapes squished by toes
in authentic California vineyards. (You get me?)
Our love, like the pasta, was steamy. So the story goes.
We finish our meal with gestures the other knows.
(I wonder if he'll someday forget me.)
This isn't a love poem for all our tomatoes.
Our love, like our pasta, was al dente. So our story goes.
Categories:
vineyards, food, lost love, sad,
Form:
Villanelle
There are long years to come ,and I know
I would never lick fresh sweetness
from the sugar of your lips
Nor will I taste the salty tears of last goodbyes
But my beloved...
there will never be a sunset without me thinking of you
I'll think of you with perpetual affection
As I stroll by the river,I seek your reflection
I touch you,I'd feel you through fragments of memories
Memories of better times
Of flowers and breeze,Vineyards and fields
I touch you in memories that will never leave
I see you,I see you with the eyes of a child born blind
beyond the perception of shade and light
I see you in the same way He sees his world, and lives each dream
With a crazy sensation of intense hues
above the spectrum of unrecognized blues
And I love you, but how do I love you
I love you with all that I was and all that I'll be
I love you with my silence and solitude
With my spirit's exhale,and all that is me
I love you with the depth of where my heart resides
Between what is real,faith,and where illusion abides
I love you not with my flesh and bone
But with a bleeding emotion that lives
in my infinite soul.
Categories:
vineyards, absence, feelings, future, love,
Form:
Free verse
Early rain falls gently
like your fingers
running softly through my hair
in our cabin down the valley
The wind breathes lightly
like your lips
treading kisses on my neck
as I keep humming merrily
Crimson poppies bow in silence
whilst I walk down the lane
I cross over the bridge
to cross over again
I watch the Tuscan sun
set down beyond the prairie
I dance in verdant fields
where once met a pink fairy
With eyes full of love
I follow fluttering wings of tiny fire-flies
which glistens in night sky
like little lantern lights
I pass through fragrant vineyards
which pour perfumes of wine
I walk distance and moments
in memory of time
I hold on to a star
which leads me somewhere far
to cobbled winding streets
to wherever you are
To the end of glowing moons
to the still sound of your cry
to a forgotten kite
which keeps freedom
soaring high
To the well of your thoughts
to that soft tender part
to the cascading passion
in the alley of your heart.
Categories:
vineyards, absence,
Form:
Free verse
Autumn in Waiting
I love when vineyards turn
to yellow, orange, and red.
I will get up an hour later,
and may earlier go to bed.
The valley floor strewn wide,
with Chardonnay leaves.
Growing tall on their stalks,
are the corn in their sheaves.
Clouds shaping skyward,
sculpting Michelangelo’s art.
Grapes gone to seedlings,
waiting cold winter’s heart.
Whips of wind curl and lick,
at sleeping summer gardens.
Burgundy mums fall and nod,
in clay that freezes or hardens.
Blonde grasses turn white,
waiting for tinges of green.
While other trees go to sleep,
with leaves no longer seen.
Things seem to linger,
or stop nature’s clocks.
Birds preen their feather’s,
to fly south from our docks.
Time, stopped for the mellow,
with unknowing hesitation.
We wait for the deep sleep,
of wet winter’s presentation.
-Edlynn Nau
© November 10, 2019
Categories:
vineyards, autumn, nature, seasons,
Form:
Rhyme
As the chandelier dances with lustrous light.
Eras of still slumber awoken...from fluid dreams,
...in the depths of her confines...hibernating..
..fermenting her taste...timeless beauty.
Legends of vineyards past...uncorked.
Poured into existence by a charming present sommelier..
The bubbling prelude enters...a smoke filled scene.
Her sparkling silhouette...emerges on a silver platter.
...of her bottled mystery of decades past.
Penning the inception of empty chapters of glass...
..with her sweet tasting presence...
...nervously sweating condensation.
Fulfilling the myths of bottled beauty of life’s unknowns.
Overflowing the pages...in liquid stanzas
...of dazzling passion.
Her legacy manifests...scripting an ardent saga,
Staining the aura of pleasant reality.
Shining elegantly...while striding across marble floors.
Echoing...soft chronicles of champagne light.
Love, a crimson...virgin berry...plucked from vineyards afar..
...bottled for aging beauty...filled to the capacity of his clear figure..
While passionately...embraced by his fragileness of crystal arms.
...in the ballad of wine and glass.
Categories:
vineyards, love
Form:
Free verse
Dear All
Hot today. Hired a car. Took to hills. Travelled far.
Narrow road. Never ends. Sweat on wheel. Hairpin bends.
Glanced at temp. Glanced at fuel. Aircon found. Turned to cool.
Island sun. Not like ours. Single track. Other cars.
Parked at top. Lovely sight. Valleys. Vineyards. Left and right.
Church looks out. Opened door. Spanish writing. Walls and floor.
Candle lit. Sat for prayer. Silence deep. Everywhere.
Dark and cool. Warm in feel. Off The Strip. Life here's real.
Gary & Ann
X
Categories:
vineyards, holiday, life, silence, summer,
Form:
Rhyme
In the heart of the Loire valley
Where the river wends its way
A young dreamer lured by nature
Free of care played music gay
As he wandered along footpaths
Playing lightly on his flute
By the vineyards in abundance
And the orchards full of fruit.
It was there that he encountered
A fair maiden and her art
She was painting on her canvas;
With a smile she stole his heart.
From then on they met in secret
Near the rolling hills in green
Where the flowers looked in wonder.
They were happy and serene.
They made love and plans together
Spoke of dreams they meant to share
Looked at life through coloured lenses
And built castles in the air.
Then one night a storm erupted
Unexpected in mid May,
Raging waters in a frenzy
Came and took her life away.
All his dreams were quickly shattered
And the castle tumbled down
For his Queen of Hearts had left him
Broken king without a crown.
In the ruins of the castle
He was left to sit and grieve
And his friends who came to visit
All were kindly asked to leave.
Days and nights passed undetected
As he dreamed of raven hair
On his lips he felt her kisses
Woke to find she was not there.
Then one day, he rose with vigour
Once again he built the dream
Made a castle even finer
Standing stately by their stream.
And the people came to marvel
At the wonder of this sight
For there in the very centre
Was her statue gleaming bright.
Now the castle so resplendent
Stands a testament to love
Which will never wane or wither
Conquers death and soars above.
-------------------------------------
26th August, 2015
Paul Callus & Eileen Manassian
Contest: Partner Up
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Categories:
vineyards, loss, love, memory,
Form:
Quatrain
Don’t Speak
Close your sweet lips
So I may whisper wine drops in your ears
Close your eyes
So that I may wisp you to magical delusions
Where the scent of love
Wraps around your essence
Your nectar enticing and perfume captivating
You need no words at all
For the love above shall embrace us all
Together, we shall dance in all kinds of weather
Me and you
Love letters bashful and vineyards that grow
With each whispered word
Let me wrap my arms around you
Love has fermented in eternal caskets
The bonds shall keep us together and free
No one can hurt us
Eden was be quested to us
Our paradise until we turn to dust
The stars in the sky
The raging fire warming loins below
Angels massaging our seductive dreams
Do not speak; hear your heart and ponderous desires
You know you are a flame on fire
Scream for me
As I shall conquer for you
The love within the heart
The love never to be
Do not speak
For teardrops have spoken
The sadness within awoken
Do not speak
Our love was to keep
Inside the bowl of teardrops
Evaporated
Categories:
vineyards, angel, art, heart, joy,
Form:
Free verse
Let me wade
deep into the water
with all my clothes still on.
Let my body
ripple in the space I occupy.
Let me swim
in the murky water
and dip my skin
in the unrefined.
They seem much too eager
to have me sit very still
for long
long periods of time
as they talk.
I am the grass that grows
between the weathered
cracked cement.
You are delirium
that takes over
when my spirit is spent.
I am the dagwood painted trees
I blossom in the night.
I own the obstacles
that stand between
me and life.
Let me float.
Let me walk
barefoot through the vineyards
where the soil can cling
to the soles of my feet.
Let the weight
of my body
impress upon the ground
some sign of life.
Let me steep
in the adrenaline
the sun seems to wring from my skin.
They seem much too eager
to have me sit very still
for long
long periods of time
as they talk.
I am the grass that grows
between the weathered
cracked cement.
You are delirium
that takes over
when my spirit is spent
I am the dagwood painted trees
I blossom in the night
I own the obstacles
that stand between
me and life.
Let me float.
Categories:
vineyards, introspection, me, body, me,
Form:
Free verse
In England’s pleasant pastures amid the free wild flowers
Lie pagan ways the wise ones do not mock
And one adept at harnessing these ancient rural powers
Was Oggwool Fleece, the black sheep of the flock
Oggwool was old, much older than the old oak it was said
Beneath whose boughs the dark sheep’s plans are sealed
‘Twas said the sheep had come back from the other side of dead
With the darkness in that corner of the field.
The farm hands better knew to venture in the oak’s strange shade
Or to the long grass that the darkness gripped
Where Oggwool lurked amid the spells and potions he had made
A sheep unshorn and magically undipped.
Not limited by four hooves in working his deft skill
Unhindered in ambitious sheepish plans
Harnessing the dark elves to do his dark sheep will
Dexterously with little dark elf hands.
From that darkened corner of that English country field
His influence extends itself outside
His arcane woolly web through which his mystic powers wield
Reaching parts and persons spread worldwide
He has extensive vineyards in Italy and Spain,
He has mining operations in Peru
He owns a flock of ostriches down in the Ukraine
(Although he never quite intended to)
He’s engineering world events on scales beyond the ken
He has his hooves in business of all kinds
He interferes remorselessly in world affairs of men
With night-time thoughts drip-fed to human minds
Little green men fly through space in saucers flat and round
On interstellar missions without cease
But on their furthest journey yet, their enterprise is bound
To the ever growing plans of Oggwool Fleece
The politicians spin their words and armies shoulder arms
And yet do not beyond their small acts see
But Oggwool Fleece with thistle skills and other sheepwise charms
Is planning how to rule a galaxy!
Categories:
vineyards, adventure, animals, business, fantasy,
Form:
Rhyme
I stood on the cobbled street
at midnight - gentle wafts of the Cassis vineyards
dancing on air, mixing, not unpleasantly,
with the bite of late December,
(reminding me fondly of my days writing in Paris,
and the trips my love and I made
to the countryside on long weekends,
for picnics and rest).
The sweet lull of a small choir
floated tenderly from the chapel nearby -
'O little town of Bethlehem' ...
coaxing even more poignant thoughts of childhood,
Christmases in the little church by the lake,
when all that mattered was
held inside my family's home at night,
warm and cared for and safe.
I looked up at the sharp glints
of winter suns, thinking how each
was a true-but-intangible thread of light
that tied me inexorably to all I needed and loved -
to all that I cared or worried about in the world now,
no matter where she had been taken away to ...
No matter where I now had to follow
to win her back.
Categories:
vineyards, adventure, christmas, french, memory,
Form:
Narrative
I'm silk-fire, curled in emblazoned quartz horizons,
Of aurous equator, rising in smoke as a secular bird,
From own fossil-ashes, flying to distant honey-shores, scarlet spun,
Stretching across merlot crusts of earth, like a coal-storm, sobered
Yet, my heart is not a silent sandstone, flaming with rage,
It whispers to my Mon Cherie, my arctic air,
In dialects of redolent romance, midst ethers of space,
And he, who fuels my glory by igniting spirit, emerges in graphite flares
Our skies are not sketched with rose-gold glitters,
Rushing in a black-horse's symphony,
crashing porcelain herbs,
We paint universe in ruins of lead and metallic cinders,
Me and arctic air, breathe as one in thunderous heartbeats of reverb;
Orbiting in jade bonfires of ornamented redwood,
While cradling wrath in crimson vineyards,
Has any nurtured offspring of starburst hope withstood,
If our eclipsed union is a toxic twinkle upon sacred lotus' haven-yarns?
Categories:
vineyards, art, deep, fantasy, fire,
Form:
Personification
Well the house was rock & rolling,
and the dance floor was pulsating,
I had myself too many drinks,
then drank two or three more.
All the ladies, they were moving,
in tight clothes so scintillating,
one looked so hot I couldn’t think
as we walked out the door…
Then I woke up in Australia,
and I don’t know how I got here,
and it’s really kind of funny,
went to sleep in Santa Fe.
And I woke up in Australia,
and I don’t know what I’m doing,
but the folks are nice
and there’s beer on ice,
so what the hell, I’ll stay, mate!
Where the girl went, I do not know,
nor even where we did go
when we left that raging party,
probably to an airport.
Vaguely recall lights turned down low,
did I get with her? I hope so!
Joining the mile high club is
a real fine way to score…
Then I woke up in Australia,
and I don’t know how I got here,
and it’s really kind of funny,
I blacked out in Sante Fe.
And I woke up in Australia,
and I don’t know what to do next,
but the weather’s nice,
and they do shrimp right,
so what the hell, I’ll stay, hey!
The ladies here are so sweet,
and the men all like grilling beef,
the animals want to kill me,
guess you can’t have everything.
Do you know they have ski hills?
And vineyards to drink your fill,
Plus kangaroo is so tasty you
don’t know what your missing!
Yes, I woke up in Australia,
and I don’t know how I got here,
and I wonder when they’ll find me,
send me back to Santa Fe.
Yes, I woke up in Australia,
all because of some strange Sheila,
but I’m doing fine
under southern skies,
so what the hell, I’ll stay, G’day!
Categories:
vineyards, adventure, celebration, confusion, drink,
Form:
Narrative
~indian summer~
indian summer
apple crisp yawning first light ~
amber moonrise nights
cozy mellow sunshine
warm pumpkin spice afternoons ~
yellow cornfields doze
sleepy vineyards dream
reveries of maize and gold ~
twilight lullabies
drowsy fields of wheat
harvest glows in pumpkin hues ~
autumn’s balmy breath
9-15-21
Contest: Hello September
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
Categories:
vineyards, autumn, september,
Form:
Haiku
Do We Celebrate Ancient Red Rose's Well Earned Death
No great fire, yet get the water hose
decayed words fall in ancient settled dust.
As they break under weight of new age prose
in modern shone light are we now to trust?
No riper fruit to be sweetly savored
classic poetry is now scorned as rust.
New age ink, tis now the new gem favored
ill winds destroy more with every huge gust.
Birds of Paradise show only dull gray
old vineyards no longer make treasured wine.
Sun illuminates brighter the long day,
bow to new masters and all will be fine.
If allowed, new-age will destroy the past.
With such broken foundations, what house can last?
Robert J. Lindley, 6-30-2017
Sonnet( Do We Celebrate Ancient Red Rose's Well Earned Death?)
Nay say I, Fate controls death yet we control our souls and heart
Categories:
vineyards, appreciation, art, beauty, character,
Form:
Sonnet