A Vine in Winter – 2-18-25
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A Vine in Winter
January wakes
Whispers with kisses of snow
In floating bits of crystals
Catching weak beams of sunlight
Glinting on Lovestones of the misty isles
Where dewdrops quiver
Beneath the wand of hoarfrosts.
Tendrils colored in evergreen,
Not beholden to time or seasons
Or hibernation’s demand, pulse.
Silent lianas,
Protector of the vernal resurrection,
With quilts of tender tendrils,
Weaves a covenant of scented leaves,
Over skeletons of loam.
Through sleepless tempests of winter daze
This solstice cape, scented by faithfulness,
Sees into blackberry winter’s glory -
A snow rose endures with promises of renewal -
Harbinger and prophet.
Ode to Kudzu
Kudzu! O my limber lianas
Your “vines” “soar” o’re magnolia scented boughs
Then “glide” through briar thickets
Of purple stained blackberry kisses.
Kudzu! O my summer “hued” climber
No native son, you “hold” onto songs of lazy rivers
Then “clasp” the lyrics of midnight trains to your heart
In million pines with roots to “grasp” red tinted earth.
Kudzu! O my trailing tangled rambling mass
I “gasp” in awe and “clutch” your leafy majesty
Framed in humid solstice sunlight to “inhale”
Your sweet breath of newborn blossoms.
Kudzu! O my creeping southern smile
Impervious to scorching sun or wild hurricanes
Your ghostly outlines haunt trees and telephone wires
But when frost comes I mourn to see your empty trellis - NOT!
7-8-21
Contest: Grasp
Sponsor: Constance LaFrance
Prompt words: grasp, vines, clutch,, gasp, hold, clasp, glide, soar, inhale, hued
An dünnen Zweigen
Aus dunklem Grün leuchtendes Rot
Zeit für die Ernte
Flinke Finger pflücken reife Kirschen
Schnell füllen sich die Bilums
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On thin branches
Out of dark green a brilliantt red
It's time for harvest
Nimble fingers picking ripe cherries
The bilums are quickly filled
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En ramas delgadas
Del verde oscuro un rojo brillante
Tiempo para la cosecha
Ágiles dedos cogen cerezas maduras
Rápidamente se llenan las bilums
Note: In Papua New Guinea the ripe coffee cherries are collected in big bilums which are
string bags mainly made from natural fibers of certain lianas or knottet from artificial
material.
A cyan globe
rolling in the black sky.
I was visualizing
an earthset
on the horizon.
Lianas
threw a noose
around my neck.
Did I
start the fires?
My dissent
was of any relevance?
Who was standing
on the moon?
Self-centered was your vision
I was trying
to turn the tide.
So much bragging
could not go well with me.
The tongue had the burnt taste.
SATISH VERMA
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