Gathering fantasies over here
Warm holiday books feat setting near
Stomping crimson red grapes
Imagining romantic fate
Characters dreaming of cupid's spear
In the never ending dream I keep walking
Through the insufficient scheme I keep talking
It’s a crying shame, still not quite enough
You may call it lame, call it boring stuff
In the morning street on a shady sidewalk
I move on whispering inner monologue
Wouldn’t be surprised if you do the same
We’ve got something to alter this lose-lose game
In the fading dream, that doesn’t fade too much
There’s a hidden door, that I can’t unlatch
But I tend to suspect it’s an exit door
Must be cold outside, colder than before
So this narrow passage leads to square I know
And I’m welcomed in again, where I used to go
And the waiter turns up with a tray of grapes
Offering a complimentary aftertaste.
Tomatoes, watermelons, and grapes—
Do they seem to you merely as sustenance?
Within the tomato, flesh is shyly concealed,
Yet as it opens wide before you,
It imparts to you the truths of mathematics.
The watermelon blossoms into your laughter;
Within it, a synthesis of earth and plant—
A microcosm is born.
Never devour it at once!
Pay your reverence!
Only savor the entire universe within.
A shelter hotter than midsummer itself!
Grapes?
Clustered like tiny, dangling bells,
Do not pluck and consume them thoughtlessly,
Lest it be you who is consumed in the end.
This is a divine, sensuous intoxication
bestowed by God.
A long time ago on a hot summer's day,
a fox was out strolling his own merry way.
He came to an orchard with blossoms so fine
and, looking up, saw grapes on a high, lofty vine.
"Ah, the very thing to quench my thirst" said he,
with an air that was so nonchalant and carefree.
Walking back a few steps, he took a run and a jump
but just missed the bunch, then landed with a thump.
He tried again and again but made no progress
and became frustrated at his lack of success.
He tried one more time but, to his dismay,
realized it was futile and so walked away.
With his nose in the air and an angry glower,
he grumbled "I am sure that those grapes are just sour."
So please remember these words and have no regret:
It is easy to scorn what you can't get.
unripe nice cute grapes
among the vibrant green leaves
emerald pendants
Vaults of wealth, goodwill
Grabbed fistful, spill o'er like sand.
No one's worried still.
Sweeter are found fruits in hand,
And sour, higher up to fend.
Mocks a mocking bird:
Not grapes, sour seem ways to mend,
Change ere sour turns curd.
_______________________
Tanka (Senryu) | 08.11.2025 | bird, change, fruits, goodwill, wealth
Note: Wealth and goodwill when invested and nurtured would yield well. But man’s first instinct is to grab like a miser. For, grapes are sour if too high to fetch. A mockingbird mocks in this Tanka.
Violet Grape Purple Envelope
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
Contest Judged: 10/4/2025 11:20:00 AM
( 7th place )
In the mailbox, it waited,
a violet grape purple envelope…
not the plain white of bills,
not the business-blue of routine,
but a shade rich as twilight grapes
pressed into wine.
The flap held more than paper;
Its pulse echoed the warmth of a waiting hand,
the secret weight of words
never said aloud.
I lifted the seal,
and the room tilted…
like stepping into a midsummer orchard
where each branch hung heavy,
brimming with whispered secrets
of fruit still blushing in the sun.
Inside, no gold, no check,
just a letter, simple and trembling.
Ink curved across the page
like vines climbing a trellis…
every word a fruit,
sweet with risk,
staining me purple.
I held it close,
as though the page exhaled in quiet pulses,
like hidden grapes fermenting
beneath stone and quiet flame…
a slow transformation,
love softening into molten amber.
Grapes smashed into pulp,
Purple chaos envelopes.
-Violence makes wine.
more than ten thousand
varieties of grapes
glory be to God!
I do enjoy imbibing a vintage libation
now and again (and again, and again)
but when I thought I'd bought
the best bottle of Bordeaux money can buy,
then looked at the label on the back,
before pulling the cork, I nearly had a heart attack.
'Characterised by a great body,' it stated,
'velvety cedar and hazelnut texture,'
but my taste buds went unsated,
'with an intense deep ruby red colour,' to summarise,
'possesses exceptional aromas of cherries,'
and much to my surprise,
'with hints of vanilla, blackcurrant, raspberries,
cassis and tobacco which reveal
a long, chocolaty finish and a good mouth feel.'
Altho' this above-average beverage may in time be fine,
I'm truly convinced no grapes were unduly harmed
in the making of this wine!
with mouths smudged purple
we plunk grapes into our pails . . .
sangria sunrise
grapes come from grapes trees
conscience comes from a conscience-
wind comes from the wind
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?
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 this year I will love me more.
NOTHINGNESS
Spreading around in every
direction are wings of a
peacock
patterned
cherubs hug fresh
cherries
align with soul sounds
one point zero hertz
transmit blue, crimson
white
sitting inside a rock
a marble ornamented figure
gold explodes into grapes
falling
falling
falling
Nothing matters except
drowning into
Nothingness
Still he sits on a Roman
coin
or is it Greek ?
listening for
rain
shine rain
perhaps
a grasp or a wave of fire
It will not come
Nothingness is here
Now !
©GhairoDanielsPoetry&
Song2003/edit2024
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