Best Vintner Poems

Nebulous night dreams
Become modish grapes of wrath
Reap an austere wine...

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His stock is rosy red, his nose
Blood-hound sensitive;
Cabernets, Chardonnay, 
Muscadet; Bacchus of the industry! 

Rolling the names around his tongue,
leaving no Chateau or wine unsung:
...

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The walker prevails without his brimmed hat, 
skirting whirling dervish of hungry gnats 
which seek to explore each orifice bare - 
to sample the blood...

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Wasn't meant to be mine...
Or yours, or his
There was none to give

Foolishly longing for what I'd never...
you'd never... we would never be
How so vibrant yet...

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alone inside with me, less than inspirational

  so look out for the more interesting folk

  momentary excitement, the fiery motivational

  beyond the...

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We've grown from the same root

We stick together

like a grape bunch.

Until a final decision is made

Stay in our bunch and enjoy our company.

Grow older, you...

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Strolling of my time in the old orchards rows
Amidst the falling satin whiteness of blossoms 
A thousand eyes open…if only for a moment
Longing for a...

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The fabric to the maker’s touch                   ...

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Rapturousness wrought Unitarian
transformational spiritual rapport
traversing thru space/time
continuum appending increasing
chronological orbitz as an Earthling,
frivolously did cavort,

who (with ever more energy)
required exhaustively to sport
fretfully clinging to each...

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A vintage wine’s a precious gift! We see how much remains,
can tease the tongue and ration it (and plumb life’s glass’s curves),
fermented taste that knows...

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Though I am stranger
By birth and by blood
I felt accepted

Pulling the cork out
I smelled the famed scent 
Of the old vintner

Held captive in own
Sweat, when...

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The vineyard is planted
The grapes are growing
The Master Vintner
Is tending the vine
The grapes are growing
It won’t be too long now
With Christ in the Kingdom
We’ll taste...

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'True Jihad's a holy war, a hope for 'Better World,'
And not just 'tour de force' that aims to see 'your' flag unfurled,
Not party’s bribe, or...

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fog
logs

widely
slowly

on the air
on the bier

touches cat feet
hugs ram soft fleece

the ship lively move
harbor greets as grove

whistle comes in dozy
fog smoke covers noisy

a cup of tea...

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Like wine in storage,
The cellar of my perception ages
Buried deep in its recesses
The past and future abandoned 
  —time no longer the vintner

Fermenting in...

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