The Vine

You didn't choose me, but I chose you, and appointed you, that you should go and bear fruit, and that your fruit should remain.                    ~ John 15:16

Showers of tears,
the fruit of the vine
touched by a raging sun;
yet, still she reaches out,
season after season,
ever onward and upward.

Despite such daily assault,
no bright flames
shall singe nor harm her;
and her fruit shall nourish
the nations with the sweetness
of a love like no other.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

This poem has been set to music by Carson P. Cooman,
in his cycle of songs for solo voice entitled Brief Vibrations, Op. 870

Winnowing

In the dwindling days of the year,

you find me
in the fields,
ready for harvest.

Shall the culling
be bitter
or shall it
be sweet?

Harvest,
the turning of the year,
the time of turning
and returning,
for threshing
and for winnowing.

Stand amid the grain
and feel the wind,
gathering ripe stalks
with whispering
and singing.

Stand among the still tender shoots
and feel the wind,
caressing each and all
into a dance of plenty
with a song.

The winnowing fan
is aloft, riding the breeze!
The music and the dance,
the singing never ends!

The same song
garners the wheat
as burns the chaff;
in either case,
transcendence
is the fruit.

Now the song,
the sweet song,
has found me,
inside the dance,
inside the spiraling now.

Take me in the field,
and winnow on.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Blessings and prayers for our departed loved ones, this All Souls' Day.