Vines Poems - Poems about Vines

Something dreadful is reflected in this scene Could be she's seen death in a horrid dream, or perhaps a relapse of an affliction or addiction has left her crestfallen, in an insentient state with the blood of her sin dripping from her eyes. In vines, she's entangled for having sat so long Grieving for whatever tragedy has gone wrong. Entwined in living...

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a crisp chill fills the early morning air dew drops periodically appear on the yellowing blades of grass as a light frost coats ...

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Crystallized dew drops scatter across vines in winter, while I can feel the harsh grip of the season reaching for my throat, slithering ever closer, bitter air sweeping across crackling skin. Loneliness weighs heavy beneath ashen clouds that coat the skies. The scent of dry ozone fills my nostrils as I struggle to breathe. A step upon the gelid ground...

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Stark naked and bare Creepers conserving new life Vines in wintertime ...

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[Poet’s Note : McGregor is a small rural village in Small Karoo, SA, which experiences extreme winters. It is believed that 8 of Earth’s leylines cross one another in McGregor, making this village a powerful planetary energy junction. My youngest daughter & I were privileged to live on a small holding vineyard in McGregor, for...

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Vines in the spring of my life were sturdy and spry. Utterly dependable, they ran along the many parts of my body. Able to cling to ligaments, tendons and muscles with great connectivity, they allowed me to walk, run, and jump with ease. How wonderful was my pain-free youth! Winter has arrived all too soon. The vines down my spine have lost...

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Into dormancy vines enter preparing to grow for next season, as vines have some valid reasons to adjust with chill of winter. Vines to undergo some changes as both physiological, and also biological,...

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The leaves, long gone, each golden child carried on autumn draft to reach a season's death, portends bitter squalls will blow the harried vines with long, cruel winter's icy breath. Now slumber long beneath the warming banks upon your tender roots deep in the earth. All while stillness patrols your sentried ranks, you strengthen sap to bring a new year's birth. The spice...

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A wanderer's heart, by Gemini vines embraced, A starlight mystery, in your eyes it shines, A dance unknown, in lunar realms we're graced, Beneath twin moons, where love divinely dines. Your heart, the north star, guides my twilight dream, Where whispers soft in shadows gently hide, Between the dark and light, a passion's gleam, In this...

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I want a drunk moon one entirely at home in a glass of golden wine. Let evil be forever sober, wine hydrates reality, a dead moon bloom's in small cups of tipsy poetry. I want to rest my eyes in a winding river of moonlight, let the madmen thunder and rail, my peace booms above their loudest shouts. I used to be a tomcat, I made love to...

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Jessamyn's Song (circa age 14-16) by Michael R. Burch 16 There are meadows heathered with thoughts of you, where the honeysuckle winds in fragrant, tangled vines down to the water's edge. Through the wind-bent grass I watch time pass slow with the dying day on its lolling, rolling way And I know you’ll soon be mine. 17 There are oak trees haggard and gnarled by Time where the shrewd...

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See within those starry skies, Beauty of binding vines, Fluorescent meaning lies, In its parting petals spouting lies. A clams soft pink shell, Glints in thousand little pearls, They glide gracefully and swell, Winding around the rivers swirls. The white serpents eyes are peach, Tempting, soft but out of reach, High up in the turquoise trees, It's flicker preceding a cool breeze. The glowing fruits are unfamilar, No...

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The paring knife of winter undams the dense brown blood. Asps awaken and seethe—. Twining stems sweat, Irregular coralla dance around your feet, pray at your altar. Children of the soil, meek and mirthless—no currency save the smooth skin of spring. Flexous philosophies, grown splendidly in the shade do not flower well in sunlight. Black axillaries, soft feather! Cower in the green heat, pull away in kindness. The slate...

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The old homestead is a shambles, nearly hidden in wild brambles. My mind reveals a happy place that had once held your funny face. The tree swing we once swung upon is fallen rotted and now gone. How many the years, or the miles, have stolen those days of our smiles? I survey the giant oak trees we would climb for a cooling breeze. Now...

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I rest my eyes away from you, and I feel the grip of our  entwining vines.  I feel how tightly they hold us— I smell the fragrance of the monomaniac squeeze— and I feel the grip of my vines loosen.  I feel a wisp of cold wind— the only real sign that you have long passed me by  no longer growing  confusedly as one....

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