Short Vineyards Poems
Short Vineyards Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Vineyards by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Vineyards by length and keyword.
Lions are the Kings of jungles,Tigers are the teachers teaching the lesson that all beyond our reach to be forgotten as grapes in the vineyards savor taste.
Welcome to Maison Ruinart
be sure and visit our cellar
It is like a dark gothic cathedral
We are one of the best vineyards in France
Chardonnay or Pinot Noir?
Talk to me
of vineyards
pungent with
basil and thyme,
of fireflies,
shooting stars,
and long hot
summer nights.
For winter
has gone on
much too long.
black grape connoisseur
Intense flavor aroma
permeates pallet
black grape connoisseur
Intense flavor aroma
near the Tuscan moon
black grape connoisseur
Intense flavor aroma
stars favorable
hawks circle high
over ripening vineyards...
rabbits with red tongues
hawks circle high
over ripening vineyards...
bees sip zinfandel
hawks circle high
over ripening vineyards...
dusk brings wine splashed skies
___________________
Spring Rain
Cloudbursts
Frisky, quirky
Cavorting, frolicking, awakening
Arboretums, orchards, vineyards, fields
Thundering, teasing, tickling
Capricious, whimsical
Spring
4-28-21
Contest: Spring or Summer Diamante
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
I realize that
poetry comes
from the vineyards
and grapes ...
That is why
I live so drunk
of poetry ...
Other poetry
are made of
hops
and barley ...
they always
captivate me
on sunny
mornings ..
Poetry is
noble drink ...
taste it
all
the days
She is one of the sweetest,
Dancers,
Under the exotic moon,
Her eyes caresses,
Mangos,
And fountains,
With quiet tears,
And enchanted kisses,
Her beauty,
Is what the starry nights,
And moonlit vineyards,
Misses,
When the flowers,
Are swaying in the Sun
Reynaldo Casison
Fabulous, Ancient Tyranian treasures found;
possessing sacred , beautiful wealth in kingly vessels.
while,
Yesterdays, Phoenician Vineyards soar above todays,
with the most succulent grapes, and captivating divine Vines!
Copyright McCuen 2009
If I cannot have you
Then I will dream you
Dream you resting in my arm
Of walks we take through vineyards,
I will kiss you in my deepest slumber
Where no being will lay eyes on us
And nobody will ever have to know
How much I love having you as mine.
[center]
Down 41, south of the city
and out into the country,
past vineyards and orchards,
its best to let the car just glide.
The pastoral scenes
can slow the beat
of the past week
thus healing one's innner self.
Be careful not to see
the sad crosses
and shrines
which dot the shoulder.
[/center]
2am
In a lost world
vineyards doze
fatigued anticipation
of the next poem
or next breath
Until then
I breathe for you
my brother
I breathe and dream
as best one can
for maladies to fly away
and poets to soar in skies
of imaginations
where we are formerly introduced
by Nuwas
us two
Youre my ballerina love,
Dancing,
Through the rain,
And evening vineyards,
Youre my ballerina love,
Waltzing,
Deep,
Within,
My,
Soul,
Fireflys,
And,
Candles,
Light,
Your,
Way,
And your dresses,
In the pretty moons,
Sway,
Youre my ballerina love,
Youre my ballerina,
Youre my ballerina love
Reynaldo Casison
A love story in an Andalusian grove
that belongs now as a last look
at a cat-scan.
Beneath that olive bower,
she sips a glass of La Rioja Alta.
He looks at the scan.
He keeps looking at the scan
hoping to see vineyards.
The fruit he sees is dark
and the vine pale.
He raises a last glass of wine
to her.
Catch for us the foxes,
the little foxes
that ruin the vineyards,
our vineyards that are in bloom.
Identify the sons of *itches
Those littered curs
Whose gluttonous manner
Leaves naught for us and ours.
Catch for us the greedy
The avarice few
Who take that which is earned
collectively with toil and tears.
I'd buy Stars And Stripes on Thursdays
To plan Saturday's volksmarch trip.
Vineyards along the Mozel,
On bluffs above castles,
Thru medieval towns;
This Sergeant loved
Those German
Volksmarch
Hikes
I can't entirely say
that love starts with
an enticing face, form
or environment – for
it does seem first
to culminate within
each of us...before
transcending our
outer layers, to revel
in sunlight....
I think Love will
always remain
somewhat a mystery;
especially to those
oblivious to Divine
Spirit, and the vintage
produced by the
ever-ripe vineyards
of Heaven –
~indian summer~
indian summer
apple crisp yawning first light ~
amber moonrise nights
cozy mellow sunshine
warm pumpkin spice afternoons ~
yellow cornfields doze
sleepy vineyards dream
reveries of maize and gold ~
twilight lullabies
drowsy fields of wheat
harvest glows in pumpkin hues ~
autumn’s balmy breath
9-15-21
Contest: Hello September
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
The potatoes have ears
Corn has eyes,
Horses roll in mud
Pigs swat at flies.
Cows lay eggs
Chickens eat grass,
Roosters are sound asleep
The dog has gas.
The goats have fleas
Cats have horns,
Roses smell bad
The sheep have thorns.
A day down at the farm
Where everything is backwards,
The drunkards are sober
No grapes in the vineyards.
Copyright Cynthia Jones
June.11/2005
Vineyards grow
Beside a meadow
A whitewashed wall
A little piece of home
A peaceful den
Where worries forgotten
A happy place
Where nothing could happen
Vacant road
Now overburdened
Dragging weight
Of hope uncertain
A lost few
Found life in dark
A violent crew
No where to start
Pillage insight
Eyes shine with glee
Inside laid hope
Helps fill the empty
Steals drawn
Sights set
Vicious hunger
The beasts never rest
Form:
Rome is Glory
Fair Republic
Loyal Citizens
Manifest Might
Rome is Home
Chaste Matrons
Fair Maidens
Adorning Hearth
Rome is Blooming
Fertile Arbors
Fair Orchards
Purple Vineyards
Rome is Divine
Godly Temples
Jupiter’s Pearl
On Seven Hills
Work released into public domain
Clouds condemn the sky line
fear has taken root
Im drowning in the vineyards
but can't see thru the soot
these grounds have become uneven
there doesn't seem to be anyone around
come harbour these rains before me
before they wash me six feet down
I beg for your sun to save me
as you tiptoe upon your beach
if I hold my hand out here for you
would it still be out of reach
Inspiration
based on deception...
Conceived on the inside
only to be blackened
My voice cracks with
the thought...
"So easy!"
Spilling words at the
speed of angels
paint the picture of
vineyards, Gucci, Prada.
I would rather
see tunnels, twisting
nails scraping against
bricks that build a
Home! for whom?
The candle burns
with no wick to carry
the flame.
Same as always...
a darkness,
my eyes have adjusted
the light filters thru....
Form:
Solomon planted vineyards, built houses, was a king, and had fame,
yet he still said it all was meaningless, and that all his work was done in vain.
Solomon enjoyed pleasure, gave into wine, and had hundreds of wives, yet he still hated life.
He was climbing an endless staircase, he wanted to reach the sky, but the sky was to low when he arrived.
So He finally decided to stop climbing, and chose to fall on his knees.
That satisfied all his wants and needs.
The word itself is a wall
made of windows
and broken frames.
Mind moves over
a seascape, builds bridges
between the waves.
Now you are doing it,
that thing,
creating vineyards
with buckets of sand.
The script, the writing,
it is a harvest sown
by a form yet unborn.
It means nothing,
yet nevertheless
wine pours
then all antecedence,
all inference
returns to scratches
upon a cooling mud
and it is that mud,
the mud on your hands
that speaks.