The Boy in the Vineyard

This piece is neither religously centered nor is it concerned with the art of wine making. Hope you enjoy this - as the subject matter is of a very personal nature...

There is a vine in yonder vineyard,

carefully grafted, lovingly cared for,

waxy emerald leaves and many branches - 

a vine to be heavy laden with the grape.

To see its fruit, so ripe and savory,

you would swear it was borne from perfection.

But the vine bears a fruit of discord.

The vine itself? A divergence of vineyards,

both with deep lineages, very old and proud.

Both yielding a variance of qualities.

One, a deliverer of Strength and Hardiness,

the other, for refined Taste and Definition.

When the young vine came of age,

the Master Vinedresser

grafted the paternal branches precisely

into its tender flesh where he desired.

 

You know the genes never lie,

for the Master Vinedresser always knows

the grafted vine will bring forth the fruit

just as he has purposed.  He adds some

of this for a reason and some of that for

another reason, but always to his

pleasure and purpose and guided by his will.

He leaves the upbringing of the tender vine

to the freewill of the pruners, who by

wisdom and swiftness of their blade,

cut away that which is not profitable

for its maturing and continued growth,

thus bringing it into a state of submission.

The Master Vinedresser

relies upon the pruners to deliver

perfection through balanced trimming.

 

As we have said, however, of this vine,

a fruit of only discord was harvested,

seemingly, the result of a covetous pruner,

who exercised her will over his.

Her blade trims lightly the branches of

Strength and Hardiness yet merrily

she prunes the branches favoring

her own native vineyard; she reasons

the final product might yield a

fruit more to her liking - succulent, sweet,

and tender when ripe. She shows no concern

for the integrity of the young vine.

So it was, that by harvest, this vine

had scarcely any of the qualities of the

one vineyard and an abundance of the other -

rendering a broken vine and rotting grapes.

 

The pruner, her love as tears pour out

over the sacrifice of this vine, now

seeing the vanity of her prejudiced blade

and hearing the Master Vinedresser walking

near in the vineyard, abandons her first

love and fled, gnashing her teeth.

Neither vinedresser, pruner, nor vineyards one,

profit from such self-indulgence and

disobedience to true knowledge.

Verily, it was the Master Vinedresser

who cut away the vine and branch,

in irony, presenting himself as both

the creator and executioner of this life.

In the garden he wept, not for the loss of life,

for his vineyard was full, but with deep sorrow

unbridled for the disobedient. 

 

Reviews

[Rick Puetter]

Dear Todd,

I see my ever perceptive friend Mark beat me to this one. And he did a wonderful job at reviewing this piece. There is so much pain, longing and hope in this piece, but mostly there is disappointment as the tending of the vine was trusted to a "prejudiced blade"--that is a VERY nice choice of words. And this can cause weeping and sorrow.

This is a great one, Todd. Much can be seen in this parable of life. This can be interpreted on so many levels. Some of these you cautioned against in the by-line of the poem. I see this mainly as a parable as I previously mentioned. People are entrusted with relationships to tend, and especially with loved ones the tenders are sorely tempted to tug things in the direction they see as most satisfying. Often this betrays trust and unsettles balance.

This is a beautiful poem, Todd, one of which to be proud.

My best wishes, and I hope we'll see you more around WC.

Rick

[Valentine]

This could relate to so mnay things besides a vineyard..it reminded me more of Christ than anything else..beautiful work..lolanv God bless..Valentien

[jumbie's #1 fan]

what a very mature and professional piece of writing. makes mine sound like teenage nonsense. the wording is very specific and it makes a great outlook for the poem. Great job!

[Mark]

I hardly know where to begin! There are no deeply couched symbols to unfold, no interwoven subtleties, but in this fairly straightforward metaphor, so much of the pain of designs thwarted, pains endured, potential discarded and progeny spoiled is seen. We have a vineyard about fifteen miles from here; I may print this and take it over there! A lovely, sad, hopeful, plaintive, strong poem, Todd!