Long Vine Poems
Long Vine Poems. Below are the most popular long Vine by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Vine poems by poem length and keyword.
There is, in the Los Angeles area, a well-known brand of milk, called Alta Dena. Near also,
is the city named Alta Dena, and my grandson lives there. I asked him if he had seen the dairy there, and he told me that it does not exist. I then asked him if he had seen herds of milk cattle there and he said that he had not, and doubted that there were any. Of course I wondered why the milk had such a name, and jokingly asked him to look for at least one cow in the city, since it was well built-up, and there were no obvious open pastures at all. I told him that we could only conclude that it this had to b a very famous and rare cow that could supply all the milk needed by a large urban dairy, and thus must be insured, protected from the idle public, and secreted in some private home where she would not be disturbed. The whole story and speculation grew into a riotous family "search" for this wondrous animal. I, of course, ask my grandson each week when I see him, for a progress report on the search. Finally, I have decided to turn it into a poem:
A Search Continues
Something very hush-hush is going on
and Alta Dena folk aren't going to tell.
All cowdom secreted within its bovine lair
yet Bo would stare contentedly at us
with no incursive moo directed at the hellish
vine that she must eat, in lieu of meadow grass.
That ever-present cud must still
be masticated; yea, her celebrated udder
must be filled.
Yet none admit to having sighted her.
Beastiana though she be, no Altadenian
will dare so much as low on her behalf,
no bull, Eden-bound, is ready to exchange
his bold, testicular desire
to service mewling ruminants
who merely run away.
Nay, uncowed are they, though cowed they be,
and cowards not--and if you do not see
their wisdom, chalk it up to power,
Bo's mammary magnificence, so easily
in jeopardy before a single squeeze,
not of a nipple but a trigger
thus applied, and speeding out of sight.
Challenge, indeed, our quest to find
this noble and prolific queen
who dominates with graceful quietude
her milky empire slurping quite
without a care, lush liquid destined
not to slosh within her, rather
in those tumescent tummies
ever crying out for more.
Would I betray them for a share?
Of course. Away with those content
to sour the milk of human kindness
with deception. Let the search go on!
~
What on earth is going on over there, do you have something to share, what on earth is going on over there, you are acting as if you don’t care. Is there any good news for us? Is there any recipe in the cook book? She always has something new to cook.
There is food in the pantry but the drain is clogged up, you have to get the technician to remove the plug before the day is done so that you can get the food from the pantry.
The wine is fine but there are few berries on the vine. You have got to put in a new crop before the autumn ushers in. They have the grain, the water and the drain; they just need a helping hand to clear the land.
The drums are leaving the town and the villains are homeward bound, the oligarchs are surveying the place and the customers are running all over the place. Everyone is looking for the best price before they roll the production dice. The season for the “bleeding” can be so demanding when you have twenty meetings in one day and nothing positive is coming your way. Negative energy will make you sick, and kinetic energy will throw you off the cliff.
Oh, I almost forget the shares; India has rice and beans to spare some people dislike the frosting on the cake because some flavors are out of date.
The Indian rice is white and it is piling up to the sky, the people will starve to death if you don’t act before the break of Dawn.
Narendra Modi, the King of the East must gather his administration in front of the beast, to discuss the rice ban before starvation devastates the land.
We don’t understand the reason for the ban, is it to purge the bad people from the land? You cannot allow the good to suffer for the bad or you will leave the entire world sad.
Prime Minister Modi is a good man and he need all the rice to feed the 1.4 billion people on his land .
This has caused some disruption in the global supply market. This is what you should do to protect the horse and the shoe. Export half of your rice to the globe and keep the other half to nourish your people’s soul.
You can add an extra dollar to the price to compensate for the ruthless sacrifice, consult your loyal customers and apologize for the rice ban.
You must put the politics aside and serve the people with much delight. Send the people to plant more rice and rescind the global rice ban, Prime Minister Modi…lift the rice ban.
To tell the truth,
I was no fan of opera, in my youth...
When did it come...? That turning point....?
I do not know, ........
perhaps I grew, to understand...
a wrenching tale his stories told
can grab the heart... ...grip fast ...and hold!
Puccini came, from out of nowhere
It finally made more sense to me...in spite of those who scoff, and shake their heads
Alive once more....this man long dead
has stirred my soul, ........and I was lead, into the clouds, where heaven lives!
I became a fan, ...and realized, such music lives within the blood
It rushes in, and floods my veins, just as it did to those so long ago
An aria... then a divine duet....Rodolpho and his sweet coquette
connects me to a vine entwined,
with those who listenend, long before my time.
Sitting in the dark tonight, I pause to think
who would have dreamed
how tears in the eyes, have formed a thousand rivers?
Long through the ages, still coiling with emotion
devotional artists, sing of such rapture
into the rafter's to countless reception...
A lover's kiss, the singing with prose
Skins turning cold....from the chill beauty holds
Tears to unfold, hypnotic poses
A bliss such as this
has left generations.... breathless
As the curtain is closed........ I must compose myself
Old music that echoes, as it has for centuries
bouncing off these walls....as I'm torn into two....
mingling with my heart, the old with the new
The rafter's of time, have absorbed one more time
Two tragic lovers, declaring in song
Throngs have been sung to.....hearts have been wrung
I listen, I watch, as lovers fade from the light
in poignant beauty, drifting away...
...........dying in the distance, ........
as will Mimi,
leaving her love behind....alone with a shattered heart
as death tears them apart
leaving my eyes brimming over
with tears in the dark
_________________________________
"Music By Puccini"
I climb to the top of the Eiffel tower to catch the remnant of hope gliding through the skies in a bolt of lightning as it circles the three hundred- and thirty-meters pinnacle standing bravely on the hill singing songs of redemption.
I have been longing to get there because I have something romantic to share, it was you I saw sitting in a golden chair with a diamond ring on your finger and golden septage in your hand.
You had gifts all around you and long line of people were waiting to see you and the people from Babylon walking by saluting and bowing in front of you.
It seems like yesterday they rolled the curtain away and you came out without a thought or doubt, but the villagers began to shout.
They marched in the village with sticks and stones calling on the woman of Samaria to turn around or they would send the tanker man to blow up the town.
She didn’t take it seriously until she got hit in the face and ended up with broken finger and domestic disgrace, forcing her to pull back into herself as the weapon of death wheeled over her head.
It causes her to lose some precious vote and while she was out everyone start to shout, the river monkey and the Pentecostal valedictory but the Methodist honorary showed compassion and did not voice their opinion. Pope Francois was in on it too. But his persuasion was not strong to take down the giant man.
The live imagery was so profound of everyone you meet in the town. They smile in front of you and tear your garments behind you and when they are done, they hang it on a stick and place it on top of the Eifel tower in the sun.
We live in two separate worlds, one inside of me and the other outside of you, but it feels like you are right here besides me.
I can hear you all the time but you mask your voice underneath the vine and at nights when I take a nap you play tick tack toe underneath my frock but I pretend to sleep on to prevent altercation on the land. The image is always there it comes and disappears.
I am going on the hill to meet with the daffodil; I will minister to its soul and make its body whole. I will heal its painful allergy and when I wave my hands over its face, it will remove all the disgrace and dry up all the allergies.
The daffodils will smile again from the virtue of my healing hands, so come and help me to sing this beautiful song.
Janice Avery loved deep green nature; like cherry sunset owls, gawping.
She dwelt with her parents and Sissy, when old, golden days were walking.
They lived out in the hilly country, where orangeish stars could be seen;
And summer seemed to last forever, for days held a predominate sheen.
Noons were filled with happiness laughter, that foreshadowed pink moon.
Life was young, but blue world was old. Burgundy butterflies left cocoons!
Mauve fog was doing its fadeaway, as never failing, friends came calling;
When feisty fandango flowers flopped-in scent breezes, sweetly recalling!
Future blooms were dreaming buds, in the spring of faultless, family visits,
Via paths, lined with flowers of familiar hues. Birds sang in willow thickets.
Janice lived in the house of cool shadows, beneath lovely, sheltering oaks;
With colored birds at each window! Back fences, saw many tales and jokes!
Rich, raspberry sun lent sights to remember, on their road of blue flowers.
'Ere reverent night fell richly! Like marmalade change, expected in hours.
Numerous hued clouds were etched nebulously, on dusk skies, blackberry,
When nostalgic neighbors came fondly, as a turquoise moon rose, solitary.
'Midnight valentine' camillas felt Cupid's arrows, under yellow stars of thrall;
And 'Lady Margaret' passionflower vine, in burgundy, crept late to the ball!
'Gay goblin' flowers indulged red revelry, as 'brilliant lilies' rivaled the sun;
When 'sultry scarlet' blooms pined for sunset, like nostalgic noon, undone!
Janice was a birdwatcher, for she loved pretty songbirds' chirps and trills;
But, she wanted to see them up close! So, she put seed on her windowsill.
One day as she was entering the room, she saw a red cardinal, hopping;
And pecking her seed as he hopped. Janice ran, but he was not stopping!
Yet, Janice had gotten a good glimpse of red, like sunset skies, before dark;
With a shake he'd flown into azure sky, destnation garden, or green park.
Janice realized moments are precious, and the briefest, might be golden;
And those are the ones most likely to revisit, once twinkling time is olden!
'Once I saw a little bird
Go hop, hop, hop,
So I said: – little bird,
Will you stop, stop, stop?
Then I was going to the window
To say "How do you do?"
But he shook his little tail,
And away he flew!'
In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God,
And the Word was God and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.
Jesus Christ is the visible image of the invisible God
The Angels worshipped Jesus
By Him all things were created, both in the heavens and on earth
All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to him.
He is before all things, and in him all things hold together
Jesus born of Virgin Mary which is a unique
And his name is ‘Immanuel’ which means ‘God with us’
Jesus is honored the same as the Father
Jesus received honor and glory from the Father
Jesus is our only mediator between God and ourselves
Jesus is the Bread of Life, the Good Sheppard
And the Way, the Truth and the Life
He is the true vine, the Resurrection
And the First and the Last
God Chose Jesus Christ to show many miracles, wonders and signs
He committed no sin, and no deceit was found in his mouth
He is the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world
He performed thousands of miracles
The Holy Spirit bears witness of Jesus Christ
The Prophets bear witness of Jesus Christ
The disciples bear witness of Jesus Christ
Jesus is the author and perfector of our faith
Jesus is the Apostle and High Priest of our confession
He came to preach the kingdom of God
He came to testify to the truth
He came to set us free from the Law
He came to die and destroy Satan's power
He came to fulfill the Law and the Prophets
Jesus Christ came into the world to be a Light in the world.
He came to seek the lost and to save the lost.
He came to serve and to give His life as a ransom
He came into the world to call sinners to repentance.
He came to leave us an example to follow in His steps
He came into the world to Judge the world
He came into the world as a demonstration of God's Love.
He came to redeem us from the curse of the law and to fulfill the righteousness of the law.
The Name of Jesus is above every Name
In the name of Jesus every knee should bow
And every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord.
Salvation is to be found only through Jesus Christ
He is coming soon with the clouds
Every eye will see him, even those who pierced him
And all peoples on earth will mourn because of him
He will come again to Judge the Living and the Dead.
He is the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End.
I heard echoes of scurrilous snarls,
from my conscience as it spoke
contemptible remarks aimed at me.
What shame those words delivered.
"Fatuous one, why does your hand quiver,
mimicking the trembling lips of a child in fear?
You dare call yourself a poet,
but you're nothing more than a joke."
Guilt is the culprit that tunnels my mind
as my passion for poetry shrivels on its vine.
Withering like a flower, my empty heart
has stripped my soul of its craving to write.
It's my own foolish notion
that causes me to shiver.
I weep over my planted seedlings.
They thirst, and their mournful cries I hear.
Abandoned by their mother who begot them,
and for this I'm filled with remorse and regret.
That mocking voice invaded my aching breast,
when again, it ridiculed me as a fool...
"A self-proclaimed bard who gives up the task.
You should put down the quill and live in disgrace."
There is no saving grace for me.
No nourishment for my verses to thrive.
My heart is broken, drowning in memories.
Without the will to live, how will it survive?
It only drums in rhythm to keep me alive.
Rows of sprouted thoughts have withered.
Parched and dying, drying up in a field of grief.
While I, their neglectful sower, helplessly sit
as time elapses and I watch them expire.
I’ve fallen between the gaps of missing lines
into an abyss, my fingers charred in a fire.
I can only water the seeds of self doubt
with salty sweat from my furrowed brow
and over fertilize them with tears of frustration.
I do not seek salvation or redemption.
Damnation will out.
My ink well of impetus has sprung a leak
or maybe it's a new watering hole I seek.
I have not a drop to quench their thirst
no morning dew, nor afternoon shower
to give my wilting buds reprieve, a relief.
I've tried to save them all, or was it just
a half-hearted attempt made in vain?
Not one more rhyme can I rescue from pain.
I'm suffering from loss. All hope is gone.
My fear is that I cannot express myself
in what was once an emotional voice.
No wonder my pages remain barren and blank,
except for the blotches of spilled ink.
My parchment lies in a state of immortal decay.
I relinquish my quill to a better hand than mine,
setting it free and praying that I be forgiven.
For the folly, I've only myself to blame,
this pillaged poet.
I heard echoes of scurrilous snarls,
from my conscience as it spoke
contemptible remarks aimed at me.
What shame those words delivered.
"Fatuous one, why does your hand quiver,
mimicking trembling lips of a child in fear?
You dare call yourself a poet,
but you're nothing more than a joke."
Guilt, the culprit that tunnels my mind
as my passion flower shrivels on its vine.
An empty heart has stripped my soul
of its craving need to write.
It's my own foolish notion
that causes me to shiver.
I weep over my planted seedlings,
their mournful cries I hear.
Abandoned by their mother who begot them,
and for this I'm filled with remorseful regret.
That mockery invaded my aching breast,
when it ridiculed me as a fool;
"A self-proclaimed bard who gives up the task,
should put down the quill and live in disgrace."
There is no saving grace for me.
No nourishment for my verses to thrive.
My heart is broken and lost in memories.
Without the will to live, how will it survive?
It only beats to keep me alive.
Rows of sprouted thoughts have withered
dying of thirst, drying up in a field of grief,
and I, their neglectful sower, helplessly sit
as time elapses and I watch them expire.
I’ve fallen between the gaps of missing lines
and must retire.
I've watered the seeds of my self doubt
with salted sweat from my furrowed brow;
over fertilized them with tears of frustration.
I do not seek salvation or redemption.
Damnation will out.
My ink well of impetus has sprung a leak
or maybe it's a new watering hole I seek.
I have not a drop to quench their thirst
no morning dew, nor afternoon shower
to give my wilting buds a reprieve in relief.
I've tried to save them all,
but half-hearted attempts were all in vain.
Not one more rhyme can I rescue from pain
and suffering loss. All hope is gone.
My fear is that I cannot express myself
in what was once an emotional voice.
No wonder my pages remain barren and blank,
except for the blotches of spilled ink.
My parchment lies in a state of immortal decay.
I relinquish my quill to a better hand than mine,
setting it free and pray that it may be forgiven
for my folly, for I've given it no choice.
I've only myself, this bereft poet, to thank.
Written January 24th, 2021
Judged N/A 2/22/21
Contest Open Poetry !
The man I love
doesn't know my name
Conned
What does that mean
It means illusion and dillussion
It means lies that live like a vine on a tree
swirling around the trunk
Fingering the branches
Basking in the life force of the beautiful tree
The vine
It grows telling the tree they are lovers
Entwining slowly and ever gently
It grows
The tree enjoys the company
Thinking
This is my friend my partner
Let us join together
Let us grow together
Let us take up more room
We will be more ...more leaves
We can take in more light together!!!
Till the tree starts to choke
Just a little at first
then more and more each day there is less oxygen
Until it's lower branches start to fade
It's Leaves are less green
It starts to choke more
And it turns to its so beloved friend
and says
I feel unwell
But vine says
Oh you are so beautiful
So tall and gifted
Look what poetic leaves you make
Tree blushes and let's the vine hug it tighter
And tree feels loved
It says to itself I am needed
I am essential
Look how vine loves me
look it hugs me holds me
We are a true pair!!!
But tomorrow comes and tree can't breath
Tree says to vine I know you love me but can you
gently loosen your hug
because I am not able to breath
Vine says
You are my life
You are my love
Don't you love me?
Am I not loving and holding and embracing you
just as you needed?
I am everything you said you wanted
Tree can't argue but with every day grows weaker
Unable to breath and no longer with enough oxygen
It starts to fade
Vine says
Hey buddy look how full we are
Man I feel great my leaves are super green
I am reaching the sky with your help
Look at me at the top of the world
But tree is too weak to argue
It whispers
Vine I love you
Vine says
Oh man isn't this an incredible view
and stretching further to the sun fails to notice
that tree
No longer answering
Vine thrives and thrives and forgets to talk to tree
Tree turns brown
Vine notices tree is less attractive
thinks it's age
Vine feels vibrant and attractive and giant and unstoppable
Vine thinks it has moved beyond tree
Look at me know it thinks as it reaches for bigger trees
Near by
But then suddenly tree is cut down for fire wood
and vine is cut back and cut down as well
Crying out
Why why why
as it is hauled away
When it comes to being a good father what do most young black men see?
Can they picture their fathers passing down any legacies?
Do they remember any male bonding or talks on how to be good men?
Do they have any perceptions or even comprehend?
Unfortunately too many households are single parent with only a mother in residency
Caused by incarceration, unemployment and dysfunctional inadequacies
Too many don't have a clue of what a good father should be
As the father factor in their lives was one of obscurity
But God is the ultimate father figure to each and every man
And if you desire to be like Him read His words and follow His plans
To become a good father you must examine the Holy Scriptures
And hopefully you'll be able to obtain a good father picture
Now tapping into God's heavenly Twitter account
And Facebooking the Gospel to see what its all about
Fully prepared to formulate, cultivate and stimulate your spiritual life
So that your behavior and way of thinking lines up with Jesus the Christ
A picture of a good father is a man who leaves a financial legacy
So that his children won't exist in a state of abject poverty
By showing them how to save and how to invest
Leaving a fruitful inheritance and a full hope chest
A picture of a good father is a man whose vine is rooted in a strong foundation
And structured to lift him up in godly formation
Respectful, resilient, loving, loyal and kind
Of strong moral conviction and secure in his mind
Knowing who he is and what he could be
And having healthy relationships with every member of his family
So if you're broken, bitter, angry and have any doubts
Seek God and a professional to help you work it out
And i say this to all women and I hope you receive
You need to let a man be a man to his family
Stop disrespecting him and put your anger and pride to the side
He is doing the best he can so work with him by walking stride for stride
A picture of a good father is a man concerned about his community
Who comprehends we live in a global society
A man who gets involved and not stay isolated
As we are all a part of this world that God created
A picture of a good father is a man who loves and respects his family and community
A man strongly rooted, striding humbly and secure in his spirituality