Blog Archives

Great Is the Grief of the Grapes


How can the grapes endure such grief?
What forgotten strength contained within
their skins must they summon,
now that the pickers have come with shears
to fill their empty baskets?
They must be aching,
knowing they’ll be tossed in the press
that will crush every drop of life from them.
There’s nothing subtle about destruction.
It doesn’t steal over you
like the fleeting shadow of a wren at twilight,
but lands like a stone on a toe.
Great is the grief of the grapes!

 
  

Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #241
 
More Pantry of Poetry and Prose #5 at Poets United

 

Stealing

 photo Sonoranshadowywash_zps0c1948c8.jpg
Shadowy wash, Sonoran Desert, Southern Arizona
 


in the midday light
the sound of one black wind bell
ironing the wash
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
midday shadows stealing across a wash

 
Text and photo © 2015 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
More Six-Word Saturday
 
More Shadow Shot Sunday 2
 
More Carpe Diem: “Fuyuko Tomita’s ‘Black-Iron Wind Bell'”