Grapes Poems - Poems about Grapes

object be silent not signed about take the present it a meaningful moment at that cornered life you scram behind the bent stand she and he hide out for once and for naught a single ounce you got left to sell comin in a center miss perfect deflecting death shirt coats end polish pranks and bank shot calling from my starched abandon lifetimes no skranton big world owners and rulers standard operator error get blues when?...

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On New Year's Eve, I will make plans to sit under a table with green grapes. Eat 12 of them instead of kissing your face. Maybe I will end up manifesting your love in the next seasons to come. And when the clock strikes midnight, I will realize that you loved me last year. And...

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NOTHINGNESS Spreading around in every direction are wings of a peacock patterned cherubs hug fresh ...

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In youth, we discover the grape is good. Things get great when we uncover Welch’s, Champagne - which you can’t believe it could - Is better still, and then you belches....

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Sour are the fruits of some grapes, some say, but those that fail to yield their own fruits are bitter about other's fruits...

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You will see heaven and earth roll up as a scroll You will read the Word, written in twigs and rocks You will hear the scroll of the Word quake as light sets You will feel starlight pearl bracelets, engraved in gold You will wear white garments made of moonlight silk You will taste...

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The tender tendrils spiralling on the stake The grapevine weak in structure Yet the fruit...

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It will remind you of alchemy how taste and image don’t align; Lypophrenia hits you, best friends the county fair; Memories play back while snacking on those cotton candy grapes....

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“Journeys” I reread “Grapes of Wrath” Today, Then went to El Paso And stared at the wall....

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Harsh area to grow up charming views for waking up along sacred land. Exposed to chances fed by honorable pride ...

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Whoever painted these lifelike grapes could also paint blueberries I lean into the canvas to see if grapes have a smell They look real enough to pluck out An old master’s touch...

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John Steinbeck wrote the story Of the Okie family Joad as they Travelled down their bleak Hard California bound road. Tractored out by the Cats After the bank had foreclosed, No feelings of welcome as They’d hoped and supposed. Woody Guthrie sang the ballads Of that desparate Dust Bowl Spoke of the period From the heart and soul. From those depths of despair Solidarity brought hope Gave...

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I'm spitting grape's these day's I don't wine and dine but when the time come's I'll be her guest quite next to your brother half sister I smell attract's you and well so being so leave it be and be quite like me...

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It is my observation that those who violently oppose the opinion Or belief of another their own self bias disclose I want to believe In a power Greater than my own To have a hope For an anchor to grope In seas starting to foam And how is it dermis Off your nose What others are Moved to say And why...

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maybe it was more of a whine...

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