A Paradoxical Vineyard

A Paradoxical Vineyard
In the Midwest, it is uncommon
to find someone who strolls through vineyards.
I am one of the few,
who takes leisurely steps
between rows of fruit and flora.
Each vine stands tied,
much like a crucified partisan,
blindly following orders
while attempting to maintain inherent desires.
These genetic yearnings,
unknowingly thwarted
with the removal of tender clusters
for not entirely ulterior motives.
They suffer hardships.
They fall and freeze and die.
They are eaten and scorched.
But for those that survive,
we are grateful.
For those that endure,
we do our best to protect them.
Their life allows for an appreciation,
of beauty and libation,
which grapevines will never understand.

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Vocational Preoccupations

This is the first of many poems that I have written post college.  My college days were full  of many events that took up much of my time.  The years I spent there taxed my mental and physical capabilities.  I survived.  And now I am a winemaker.  My first few poems related to my new life rather than my complex feelings.  They may not be as easy to relate to, but they still express a part of me.  Enjoy.

 

Vocational Preoccupations
The harvest ended
two weeks ago. But I, still,
cannot find the time
to enjoy an outside life. I find
my work has been brought home with me
on my desk and in my mind.
Not because it’s mandatory,
but because it is my passion.
The work I do is small,
but meaningful.
The tasks I complete are laborious,
but rewarding.
If for every year, until my death,
I came home exhausted
to a loving family and a warm bed,
I could always manage just another day.
Whether the first or last day,
I would be thankful
for the opportunity to be of significance,
and for the end of the day.