Luna Sep 2014

Cherry lips, cherry wine

No cherry's scent as sweet as thine

A kiss for you and a beating heart

Cherry lips, these cherries mine

Cherry wine still in a glass

But cherry cheeks drained white at last

I seem to be inspired by couples on the street
Alissa Rogers Apr 2013

You and I were the tree and the vine,
I was yours and you were mine.
I often felt that I was the tree,
for all the roots that came under me.
You were the vine, beautiful and light;
I loved you best for never clinging too tight.
You said that all along it was I who clung,
and then and there something died where I hung.
This tree of mine had changed its leaves,
and grown contempt within its eaves.
And I, the vine and parasite
was bid a prompt and cold goodnight.
By the time I fell to the forest floor,
life as I knew it was no more.

I dream’d this mortal part of mine
Was Metamorphoz’d to a Vine;
Which crawling one and every way,
Enthrall’d my dainty Lucia.
Me thought, her long small legs & thighs
I with my Tendrils did surprize;
Her Belly, Buttocks, and her Waste
By my soft Nerv’lits were embrac’d:
About her head I writhing hung,
And with rich clusters (hid among
The leaves) her temples I behung:
So that my Lucia seem’d to me
Young Bacchus ravished by his tree.
My curles about her neck did craule,
And armes and hands they did enthrall:
So that she could not freely stir,
(All parts there made one prisoner.)
But when I crept with leaves to hide
Those parts, which maids keep unespy’d,
Such fleeting pleasures there I took,
That with the fancie I awook;
And found (Ah me!) this flesh of mine
More like a Stock then like a Vine.

A vine of arrowroot
Touch the cheek of a woodcutter.
Gigantic columns of clouds.

Benjamin Aptaker Feb 2012

Reality a vine
cut short as it grew
tangents of grapes
each fell a direction its own

revelations of faces
in alternate places
cross stretches of spaces
like speed of light races

time travel acquired
time line expired
time itself, tired
time, into minds, wired

like electrical current
like electrical impulse
like instinctual whims
like sensual sins

Sam WG May 2014

You were my Electric Enigma
                                                 Before I even had a clue
                                       I tried to rig the riddle
                                                 But it led me right to you
Oh, what am I to do?

                                       The ivy vine of your intelligence
                                                 So intertwined in relevance
                                       Latched to the walls I'm leaping
                                                 Spreading further each time I'm sleeping

                                       Fictitious thoughts fermenting for a fortnight
                                                Avoidin­g a gaze on in foresight
                                       Steady steps approaching the haze
                                                Around a camp-fire light and a wild night daze
                                       Righteous rituals will lead the way

Hope ya like!
Marian Nov 2012

"You're the branch and I am the vine"
Stay with Him for He is divine,
"A branch cannot bear fruit on its own"
Lest it stay with Him alone.

"Abide in me and I in you"
Remain good, loyal, and kind and true.


This is a short poem taken from the Bible John 15. If you aren't saved now is the time to be saved. It is very simple. You choose where you want to live Heaven or Hell. No one can make up your mind for you it is a choice you must make. If you want to live with God in Heven where we'll all be perfect then ask God into your heart or if you want to live in Hell (Mark 9:44) "Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched" then just stay the way you are.
Which will you choose?
Zach Abler May 2014

I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser.
In Him is pure peace and pure life and none lesser.
In Him is everlasting and nothing's even better.
His Word is not a chore list, it's an eternal Love letter.

He prunes every branch that abides and Him and bears fruit
He seeks the ones that chose the path of endless pursuit
Of His face, His will, a branch who chooses to go all out
A life greatly lived, a life who can't live while Him without.

Every branch in me that does not bear fruit He takes away
A happy illusion, a path of the gold-plated astray.
But to a dismay, without the roots a branch goes dry
Thrown to the ground, iuyet picked up but thrown to the fire.

The branch whog stay true to the Vine pleases the Vinedresser
Who calls out to Him amidst the thorns, despite the world's pleasure
With so much fruit a branch has no better sign
When trampled by life would produce the finest wine.

Written for 'Or Are We?' with Ullrich Lariosa as the guitarist.
spiritedaway May 2013

three sets of withered, wrinkly hands
with chipped
pale-pink nailpolish
flutter in the air,

three froofy perms
one browny-gray
one white
one salt and pepper
jutting forward,
wobbles a little.

Grandma wears
a green-foam party hat
with a thin, white elastic band
that runs under her wrinkled chin
it sits atop her fuzzy perm
she smiles
at me.

"Ah! my cappuccino! you remembered i like it, didn't you?"
she chucks her great-granddaughter
under the chin,
"oohh! look at these gardening gloves! Cidi! look at these gloves! i like the green ones."
she hands them to her white-haired sister
aunt cidi told me
this year she is
oh, and the gloves were really

aunt cidi
misses uncle harland
he was buried three or four years ago
in his uniform
i remember sitting next to him
at awkward family reunions
eating hotdogs
i never saw so much mustard
in my life
he could never hear me
when i tried to talk to him
but he smiled

the talk turns serious
over our black coffee
crossed legs
and chocolate cake
grandma turns grim
in her lime-green party hat
"did you end up killing that trumpet vine in your yard, Jeanie?"
aunt jeanie's head wobbles a bit
she squints
wrinkles her nose
"i TRIED to!"
she scowls.

schemes of murder
plotted by three chunky-earringed
old ladies
who are a little late
for the 1940's
but never too late
for a handsome
"we're older..."
says aunt jeanie
"but not THAT old!"
they all

Britney Kempker Nov 2012

I'm a vine
with a mind
one of a kind.
I engulf those around me,
complexity compounding.
A black hole with no future,
they just keep falling,
"Britney, I love you
isn't that enough?"
"It is,
but I don't want kids,
I'm not ready to marry,
I won't be carried,
but those are just excuses.
I care,
I do,
but love,
not you.
Harsh reality
with common legality.
I'm sorry you fell,
the beginning of your hell,
and although there is another side,
for awhile,
you're mine.

James M Vines Jan 2016

From many wild vines come many bitter grapes. Only from a vineyard that is well tended and nurtured will you find sweet fruit. As it is with earthly fruit, so it is with the spiritual fruit. Only from the true vine of Christ will the grapes of righteousness come with the sweet savor that only redemption can bring to the soul.

Put a flower in my hair
for everytime you show you care,
and watch the beauty grow
as the vines intwine
and wind down my spine...

Climb the ladder of my ribcage,
and kiss your way back down,
and see how the gold falls
as the seasons pull me into light;
galaxy brown in my eyes, as warm,
as skin to skin the gardens forms;
I am the bed.

Pull me into the dark with ease
and I shall be my own light,
and I shall fight my fright;
so long as the touch of your flowers do stay
I'll live
and I will grow, hence forth,
each and everyday.

So, I am simple, not rude.
Perhaps a little crude.
But, people usually won't act.
So it's dignity that they lack.
Sure my edges are torn and shredded.
Not as though this can't be mended.
Asking simply for the chance
to spark a bit of romance.
This request was met with pain.
Though it wasn't all in vein.
All I needed was a glance,
to inspire a hint of forward advance.
Although it could have been nice,
at me she wouldn't look twice.
So now I spend my days missing a friend.
Praying for my loneliness to end
I just need this to go away!
Find some shelter, a place to stay.
Just to try and weather the storm
and get back to my original form
Yet it seems no matter what I seek,
my arrangements appear far to meek.
I just can't escape realizing it's all too late.

I came,
             I saw,
                       I lost
No time to even pause

Now I'm left with a life un-lived.
Twenty years young with dreams well hid.
What is left for me to do,
but fashion myself a good ole noose?

Though I enjoy the sentiment.
I can't really deem it an accomplishment.
So now I retreat check the horn,
turn on the T.V and watch a little porn.

These seemly men talking to seemingly underage girls about a seamless transition into a whole new world.
Not even a past time I can enjoy,
scenes just drift by the by.
With one click,
I was on to a new flick.

Not quite Cinimax.
So no more visualized climax
Just the tale of a bride to be,
and the husband she could not bare to see.

(Insert True Love...)

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