Her Father’s Vineyard

Within the vineyard of her honeyed youth
The red wine flows through long and draping vines;
From sharpest grape it runs to sweetest tooth,
Down where the soil and the sun combines

To bring about a type of miracle.
A marvel that she’s not thought on for years:
A thing that’s not the least satirical,
A sober thing of ancient engineers.

For light and flippant are her thoughts these days,
Of vanity and life amid the stars;
The latest trend, the hottest fashion craze,
And all the best of nightclubs and of bars —

She stops and blinks, a teardrop to conceal;
Within her father’s vineyard, life was real

.

Picture / Photo Credit : © Mikhalevich | Dreamstime.com – Vineyards. Watercolor. Photo

and where is your ambition

and where is your ambition, son;
why don’t you strive for more?
why waste your great potential, when
success is at your door?

because i see the wilderness,
the doleful, bleak condition;
the swamp that eats our every dream,
and mocks our vain
ambition

The Pride of Lucy

Lucy sat out in the sun
In cold and clear September;
She modeled for us her new life,
I always will remember

The pride she wore upon her face
As she soaked in the rays;
Not knowing pills and Crystal Head
Would soon cut short her days.

The pride of Lucy, young and full
Of beauty and its power;
The sharpened razor blades, so cold,
That hacked to death

The flower


 

(“The Pride of Lucy” – 12-27-2015)

A Common Ground

We cannot find a common ground
To share a point of view,
For I stand here, in judgment, of
The things that make you, you

And you are there, entombed within
That fort of your devising;
That there’s no common ground for us
Just isn’t that surprising

But there’s a universal truth
In all strife to be found:
Our hatreds go with us to graves
Beneath a common
Ground

Hallways : Crumbling House

The arrogance of avarice
Is known to all humanity,
And yet, it hasn’t slowed a bit,
No decrease in cupidity

As every day, we read again,
Of twisted, dark, venality:
But empty and esurient
We bumble toward mortality

Here in the houses of the dead
We see the sheer insanity
Of filling days with emptiness
And shallow dreams
And vanity