Long Blackberry Poems
Long Blackberry Poems. Below are the most popular long Blackberry by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Blackberry poems by poem length and keyword.
Country living
Casual, comfortable
Mashed potatoes
Hot sweet meatloaf
Corn on the cob
With melted butter
And plenty
Of it
Gardens are blooming
Colors everywhere, what
A fragrance!
Barnyard cats are
Squatting behind bushes
Waiting for songbirds
To swoop in
A welcoming porch
Sits waiting, being warmed
All day by the sun
She bides her time
Knowing she will be
Popular after supper
When the
Beautiful sky starts
Changing colors
And blackberry cobbler
With ice cream is being
Eaten
Smell those lilacs?
The butterflies do.
The bees are humming
All are happy here, in
This country paradise
Including me
I watch as a cardinal
Chases a robin away
From one of my six
Birdfeeders. Blue jay
Makes his move.
I sit in the sun, delighting
In my gorgeous yard, a
Yard I have spent eleven
Years fashioning out of
Waste.
Other people go to
Resorts that are not
Half as beautiful as
This. Country living.
Nothing like it!
I chose to dwell in the clouds
Rise above the demonic shouts
The verbal and physical abuse
Sexual assault harassment too
There is no reason to worry wait
For an apology to come my way
I am but a poor little girl child
Born in sin in a bipolar world wild
It is my cross to blackberry bear
Memories crown of thorns in hair
You know they did worse to Christ
So I can bear this one more night
And when he comes in my room
I mentally shut down spirits zoom
Rising me above the bed of darkness
Into the celestial light where God IS
I can see ancestors in amethyst glory
Listen to Christ tell us all another story
My body is a chocolate abandoned shell
That belongs to the Lord no one else
I’m free to be emerald empowered
By love which the Father has power
I’m new in Him light as a feather
I can withstand sinful white weather
So if you want to feel sorry do not
I am stronger for it due to God
I flow like a gold soul above rainbow clouds
As an example and sample He allows
Your bedroom with a garden view
Includes a view to the field
Here we are, looking through
Leaning on the window sill
It’s calm, the early dusk hour
My favorite time has come
I sense the smell of every flower
I breathe the tune you hum
Down in the sitting room
Comes Pippa to lick your face
She’s jealous, you say, and the fume
Of your blackberry vape fills the space
Then our images blur, the sound worsens,
Interrupts, and the call fails
We're too good for the real persons
Just two characters of a tale
It’s over now, all of a sudden
I can’t bother less, you’d say
I’m promised another garden
See you sometime, one day
Tangled and lovely, hot and dusty,
And exotic blooms wild and lusty;
And days are fine like old wine,
And bluejays are there to dine.
Throaty warbling amid the trees--
Is wafted by the silent breeze.
This lane leads to Farmer McCain
And his wheat fields of grain!
Children race along this path;
Laughter echoes their aftermath!
Colored blooms riot 'till day is done,
Then off to sleep in search of the sun.
Blackberry Lane twists and turns;
And in summer, it burns.
The beginning place of country pies;
Resting place of the butterflies!
The lane seems jaded even in June,
And though it's long, it ends too soon;
Somewhere out near Farmer McCain
And his wheat fields of grain.
Blackberries to me are one of natures fine treasures
Fruit jewels that give many culinary pleasures.
The berries are versatile with nutritional health benefits
And wildlife safe haven under densely grown thickets.
Nature gives plenty for us all to share
But be aware and pick them with care.
Covered in thorns over each entwined stem
Defence of its own blackberry briar realm.
Nutritious, low calorie and naturally sweet
These are a favourite fruit that I eat.
Now that I have a large ample supply,
Time to decide which recipe to try.
The popular apple and blackberry pie
Ah, just the thought makes me sigh.
Next - apple and blackberry crumble
My tummy agrees with the sound of its rumble.
Jars filled with luscious blackberry jam
For dinner blackberry-mustard glazed ham.
Blackberry juice or homemade wine
Both very tasty and simply divine
Cheesecake, cobbler, trifle, cupcakes,
Ice cream, muffins, puddings and milk shakes,
Tarts, flapjacks, sorbets, pavlova.
The latter being my sugar rush supernova.
So many recipes from plenty to choose,
Oh what the heck! What have I to lose?
Only the weight that I will probably gain
And removing the odd blackberry stain.
Your Thoughts On Blackberries Poetry Contest
Sponser Matt Caliri
Written 06.08.22
Transcendence
Winter strides past halcyon autumnal daze
On sweeping ariels of barren hues
Brittle bones of blue with fiery breath
Sun drench soul icicles marrow like nebula stars
When decrepit doldrums descend
As winter Daphne slowly returns
Her satin clusters, in chilled fragrance, bloom
Then flood lassitude with transcendence
To intoxicate icy vapors of wistful wandering.
Early harbinger ascends above the solstice
When vernal visions transcend hibernation
Dormant malaise and feeble sight,
Blurred by floating cataracts of blizzards,
From dark welkins raw melancholy’s cadence flutters
To glimpse enchantment in hindsight -
The sweet scent of butterflies and bees -
As Daphne coaxes a threadbare season
Into a blackberry winter of vernal vitality.
1-11-22
Contest: This or That
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title chosen – Transcendence
Blackberry winter is a synonym for spring.
Welkin is a synonym for sky.
I have two pots of winter Daphne by my front door. They bloom in January.
Green carpet fields, laid seamed and edged
with berry hedge
and windswept tufted trees hemline the valley stream that cuts through to the sea.
Coarse bracken covers the higher cliff,
with feather ferns in darker damper climbs
beside the path's incline.
Here sloes display September's hues - softened bloom on velvet blues.
Blackberry brambles necklaced red and black
their spangled jewels among the thorny tangles
where many feet have passed beside this trodden path.
High above, a silhouette against the sky, held there by the upward lift of wind, above the land-slipped cliff,
a Peregrine hangs with quivered pinion wings,
a master of its feathered span.
With stationed head his keen eyes scan.
Then off on swing with gliding bow before the bird returns to hold once more, then drop with close-fold wings down to the grassy floor to disappear from sight.
Beyond, now focussed into view, below horizon's silver line, a small white sail and jib command the breezy sea.
Both man and bird display with ease their timeless gift, with God alone sustaining both as Spirit breathes,
but neither know.
Seeing this alone, and only with grace-gifted eyes, I in silent wonder laud each their perfect mastery to their master and their Lord.
In the quiet twilight, we gather here today,
To honor my dad, remember him, and pray.
From the promised land, he flew with no regret,
To the fifties U.S., a different mindset.
In the old world, he wore many hats, even a soldier,
Now a young man on a Greyhound bus, bound for Boulder.
"Mariah," the bus played as they rolled along,
He remembered Mount Moriah and mistook it in the song.
He told us the U.S. had been great, yet he was sad,
Perhaps because we didn't know what we once had.
He worked his way through the U of C,
Studying the holistic subject of geography.
Dad became a professor; I watched the applause,
At conferences, everyone knew who he was.
A geographer who explored every field,
Endless books in his study, a vast horizon revealed.
Our summers in New England and the West,
The mile-square farm on Black Hill Road was the best.
Swimming holes, blackberry bushes, mountain hikes,
Exploring dirt roads on three-speed bikes.
But time went by, good came, but so did pain
People seemed so plastic, no anchor kept them sane
The sixties began the process, self-image changed,
A once-great country now became deranged.
Geography was deemed passé, no longer in fashion,
Radical winds swept through college halls, a destructive passion.
A compass spinning wild, the intellectuals sinned,
He wondered if Mariah still named the wind.
In older lands one friend had fought Nazis and Communists too
You wouldn’t think it to look at him, but it was true.
Dad joined with him and others to stem an intolerant tide,
A battle of course doomed, but at least they tried.
While we're still standing here, memories endure,
A young man's arrival, his heart remaining pure.
He's gone now, but he didn't cave, he made his stand,
In the old and then in a new Promised Land.
Zionists have been hunted in High School halls,
Jews huddle in fright as mobs bang on the walls.
What would he have felt, to see democracy’s shame?
Though I know he lost I’m proud he ran the race all the same.
I can remember at least four things that we did on train tracks,
And one thing that I never did until I was an adult. Firstly, let me tell you what I did not do on a train track, because that is by far the easy part. Seven words will suffice: I never rode a train on one.
We ran up and down the embankment and across the tracts on both sides. We were poor, underprivileged, and deprived of parks and play grounds, but we were blessed with healthy arms and legs. We used them to the fullest.
We jumped off the track onto the side of the embankment just above the creek which was dry most of the time. We were leapers and jumpers and runners; and I tell you, the train tracts contributed much to the fun filled life of this Southern country boy.
Apparently we never feared snakes, because we often hunted for black berries along the railroad tracks. Perhaps we counted the sweet taste of our mother's blackberry pie far superior to any fears we had of snakes. Also, I suspect the snakes heard us coming, and thought it best that they move on.
We walked the tracts again and again. We competed each other over who could walk the longest without losing their balance and hopping off. This was by far the most fun of all of our “Track endeavors”. Of course the trains, seeing us in the distance, would always blow in plenty of time as they approached. We were energetic kids and dare devils on many things, but we never once played games with the trains. We were certain to get out of their way in good order.
One word could describe what walking the tracts taught me, and became most useful in my life. That word is balance. I have found that the absence of balance in one’s life is a major recipe for instability. I learned “Balance” as a kid walking the rails on a train track. Who Knew?
cj07232015PS
A fine August day to be a dragon, Blackberry thought
He was playing in the sun with his friends, the forget me knots
Nasty Blueberry dragon had been kind of mean to them,
So Blackberry Dragon showed he was truly their friend.
About three o’clock the wind changed everything
The snap dragons hid, and the robins left with a zing.
The sky turned dark, and the day turned terribly gray.
Blackberry Dragon saw Kraken Storm Dragon right away.
Oh no! He said to no one as they had all left.
She is coming fast, and she looks bereft.
Kraken skidded to a stop just over his head.
I’m bringing lightning, she said, and you’re dead.
Blackberry Dragon was scared in a big way.
She was a meanie, and she did not play.
But Luck Dragon returned and took her down.
and the sky turned light, losing all its brown.
The forest cheered, hoping Kraken was gone.
But she had a sister, and it would not be long…
Until sister came by to ask about her sibling.
The whole forest began their fib-ling.