Long Blueberries Poems
Long Blueberries Poems. Below are the most popular long Blueberries by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Blueberries poems by poem length and keyword.
My Missing Muse
I have tried to write as of late,
but my mind has become a true blank slate.
My keyboard is bored and my ideas are bland.
I have to think of something grand.
Lately I lack poetic thought, thus I’m feeling quite distraught.
Maybe new themes will come to mind, if I read some antique poems of mine.
I have written about nature,
birds like ducks,
a child’s marker freckles,
a coffee cup.
A retired boat resting on the shore,
dirty socks behind a door.
I’ve penned 2 poems about Monet and VanGogh.
Now Degas? I don’t know.
Lady Di who danced in her royal gown,
but sadly now listens to angel sounds.
Her love for people was always increasing, but my poetic thoughts,now decreasing.
A teapot and a tuffet, diddle diddle dee.
A sweet little bundle came to me.
Blueberries grow on a bush not a tree!
Still no ideas will come to me.
Two tired tulips on my windowsill doze.
Three ladybugs on a daffodil pose.
Now is the time I need to compose!
A chorus frog’s peeping has a dancing beat,
clicking,
croaking,
repeat.
Jumping rope in heels, the teacher who tried her best.
Feathered fledglings sleeping in a Blue Egg mommy’s nest.
There is a wee granny in my apple tree.
Bring your appetite, then you’ll see!
Trees dressed in acorns
Protect our seas
Echoing owls between forest trees.
No new ideas coming into my head ?
My muse is hiding, I dread.
Cronkite,a reporting wiz,
closed the news, “That’s the way it is”
An unbiased journalist one could trust.
Integrity, sincerity and principles, a must.
TV shows,
Winter fairies on tiptoes.
Still I have the blank slate woes!
A path of moonlight, dragonflies.
Slowly summer says goodbye.
Soon the southern birds will fly.
Smell the season sunshine.
Crowds that cheer, “Alley Oop”
As basketballs find their longed for hoops.
Aunt Gloria was warm in her Irish blue.
Little boy Benjamin lost his little shoe!
His sister found it, "PEE U”
“Hooray” I cheer. Now it seems more clear, I feel my blank slate might disappear.
I’m suddenly feeling passion for more creative action!
Imagination,inspiration,determination!
My mental blankness is washing away.
New topics to write about, coming into play.
Now upside down silly fun.
To the writing teeter totter Marikate, have fun!
To Eat A Peach
Spring is here.
The delicate tree blossoms replace
the delicate white lights of Winter.
From the petals fruit will grow.
Pears, plums, apricots, cherries,
nectarines...
Peaches.
I set the unripe soft rose and yellow
orb on the windowsill.
Two days later I tenderly lift it
and gently squeeze its warmth before
I wash it.
Biting into it...
the sweet liquid is Ambrosia.
The juice runs down my chin onto
my tee.
I greedily suck the peach’s flesh dry.
I daydream as I munch.
Peach cobbler, peach pie with a lattice crust,
peach shortcake, peach muffins,
stewed peaches, peach tea bread,
slices on your cereal, slices in a bowl with cream.
OR...only for dessert?
How would a
chicken breast soaked in a peach marinade taste?
My taste buds begin chattering.
Summer’s here!
corn on the cob, okra, tomatoes:
small ones that pop in your mouth
and big beefy wedges that
garnish crisp celery slices, carrot medallions,
tender Bibb lettuce, sliced mushrooms, cucumbers,
asparagus, broccoli, Vidalia onions, cauliflower...
Watermelon, blueberries, cantaloupe,
strawberries, honeydews, raspberries...
Juicy hot dogs, spicy barbecue, thick charbroiled hamburgers,
hot German potato salad, 3-bean salad, macaroni salad,
potato chips and French onion soup dip,
soft pretzels dipped in brown mustard, popcorn...
chocolate chip cookies, Snickerdoodles,
strawberry shortcake,
chocolate cake with red, white and blue frosting for the 4th,
apple pie
— softball, Mom, doggies —
I awake with a start. There is drool
on my pillow.
Another day begins but it’s really
not another day.
It’s the same day I’ve been living
since 1 May 2017 ~
The day I let the dentist pull
out the last 5 teeth I had
in my lower jaw.
And as I come to consciousness
my tongue pushes
against and spills out over the
the soft toothless tissue that burns constantly
and is covered in a thick gooey saliva ~ place a
teaspoon of Elmer's
glue in your mouth ~ if
you care to have a taste
of my reality.
Summer’s here.
Clear your palate.
Clean your plate.
Barbara Dickenson
1 May 2018
- [ ]
I was a marvelous ophthalmologist, impacting how others saw this world,
As tomorrow one day sees yesterday, on lanes where hued leaves swirled.
I corrected hazy, crazy vision problems, with eyeglasses and with surgery;
Like a second look, evoked by raspberry rose, to verify beauty's certainty.
I also did frequent research, on hidden causes and cures for eye disease;
Just as reasons for rainbows and stardust, lay hidden in nature mysteries.
I had once studied cosmetology, and I loved the art of applying makeup;
And I never left home without it, like opening red tulip, at sunrise wakeup.
Friends fascinated like fire opals, bringing fetching colors into a vibrant life;
And we relished flaming, flamboyant Fridays, under maroon skies of strife.
Flavorful fruits were fanatically ripening, when feel-good family visited me.
Fiery red raspberries and fat blueberries, fell beneath puff clouds, so pretty.
I lived in the house of sudden mists, in oranges, pinks, purple and scarlet,
Where any day could be right for lovely visions, before the sky grew starlit.
Snap peas and sweet potatoes grew in the gardens, along my sunny street,
In days of searing, scarlet sun salutes, and gold hours of pause and repeat.
Nearby noon gave nectarine notice, as neighborly neighbors came visiting,
When green nature bore a heatwave, like the nesting woodpecker, knocking.
Pink fairy wings bloomed fantasy gardens, as the yellow tiger lilies roared;
And the dragon lulus breathed fire, like ardor cooling for one, once adored.
Brain cacti meditated summer greenery, whilst toad lilies attracted insects;
And pink bottlebrushes swept away sad blues, scrubbing aside dour defects.
I was attending a Fourth of July cook out, hosted by the fondest of families;
But the makeup I'd ordered was late, forcing me to put aside pure vanities!
By the time I left for the plum, pleasant party, I was feeling oddly liberated;
And family and friends did not notice my lack, like stars, clouds obliterated.
I had a lovely time that rosy day, when martins sang like the Fourth of July,
Amidst mauve festivity and lemon sunshine, and bellflowers ringing nearby!
The lesson I learned that vivid day, is to glam up or not, according to mood,
For people are still loveable either way, like faint dawn moon, briefly viewed.
When I was very young
All I really wanted
To be was an Indian.
My mother always read to me -
Stories of fairies and elves,
Of princesses and ogres, witches,
And brownies who did good deeds.
Poems, “Wynken, Blynken and Nod”,
“The Gingham Dog and the Calico Cat”,
And “The Sugar Plum Tree”.
Books, Alice in Wonderland,
The Little Colonel stories, and
The Five Little Peppers.
(I wonder if my grandchildren
Have ever heard of any of the
Old-fashioned stories and poems
Which were all magic to me.)
But, most of all, I loved
Longfellow’s poem Hiawatha.
“By the shores of Gitche Gumee,
By the shining deep sea water,
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis…”
I hear my mother almost singing
Those magical words from
“The Childhood of Hiawatha”.
I could see Hiawatha growing up
And learning Indian ways in
The woodlands of his youth.
I wanted to live in the woods,
To learn to talk with animals
And know their secrets.
I wanted to wear moccasins
And build a birch bark canoe!
One Christmas my brother got
A cowboy suit and hat and holsters,
But I, wonder of wonders,
Got a “real” Indian dress
With designs of tiny beads,
A fringe on the skirt,
And a headband with feathers!
I told my friends I was part Indian,
That my great grandmother
Was a real live Indian!
When it got back to my mother
She just said, “What stories you tell!”
Although I outgrew the dress,
The dream stayed with me
Throughout my childhood -
Sort of wishful thinking.
I always wanted to
Be close to nature.
Much of my childhood
I spent by myself, somewhat
Of a loner, climbing trees,
Making hideouts in the woods,
Walking in streams
To “cover my tracks”.
That “Indian child” I was
Still lives on in the
Recesses of my memory.
Maybe that’s why now, “grown up”,
I love walking in the woods
Or foraging by the ocean,
Why Stalking the Wild Asparagus
Is one of my favorite books,
Why I love picking wild blueberries
And grapes and making jam, or
Digging for clams and mussels.
Why I HAD to experiment with cooking
Slipper shells and making
Seaweed pudding and “Sumac-ade”.
Of course, I realize,
As well as anyone, that
The life of an Indian was not
As idyllic as I had once believed,
But, even now, after
All these years have passed,
It appears that
My “inner Indian”
Is alive and well and
Living on Martha’s Vineyard!
Ah Frontiera, here we are at your last, you've thrown a rod, your life lies black
on oily ground - all this snow and you're a mobile no longer; so I must walk.
It's cold, and now I think of it, that cold that exists in enormous reservoirs
at the poles of our world, seemingly to pass back and forth between,
as if through a secret conduit as the seasons are unfurled.
I will relax, I tell myself, "become one with the cold" as if it can't hurt me,
because sometimes you have to tell yourself things in order to survive.
My soliloquy proceeds as I gather thin paper birch branches and fashion them
into snowshoes with rawhide strings from my pack, a woefully empty pack
considering where I must go - the Brooks Range, even in October, is no joke -
and I can make it to a trapper's cabin, south south-west near Lake Chandalar.
Like the Inupiat Eskimos, I will sing my song, make up my tale, and live on.
Garlock, lord of this valley, seven feet of branch-breaking, tree-scarring,
log-rolling, stump-pulling black bear might, looks up, for the wind was behind me
and his nose is ever aware; my prayer - "You've eaten well, for your
winter sleep comes soon, you are not hungry enough for me" - I repeat it with
calm confidence; Praise God - noble king Garlock, this time, gives me a pass.
Two hundred miles, "Can I make it in three weeks, can I stay alive for four,"
I wonder as I walk, as I fish - pike, char; hard-fought with my hook, still the grayling
cooks on my fire - with a few remaining blueberries I find for spice; over mountain pass,
near the gorge's bottom, a rocky ledge, a rare stumbled caribou with broken legs,
my knife finishes it, oh how warm and rich the liver.
Over the blue cold of a nameless glacier - half the planet's glaciers are in Alaska,
that blue in summer melting is half of all water flowing into all the seas; I exist
with the cold, I'm only a part-day's travel from the trapper's cabin now.
Click-thunk! I hear it before my leg is alive with pain; I've stepped on a trap.
The evening's grim descent doubles and redoubles - I laugh or cry.
Will I bleed, will I freeze, or will my life just vanish into shock,
tucked into the ever-colder onset of night.
Trapper, when will you next check your traps?
December 21, 2016
For Shadow Hamilton's contest - 'Epic'
"The Hummingbird Cake"
The day started bright -
Bright Eggshell Blue
and ended in percussion
dark and cloudy stormed in
thunder pummelled drums
against a backdrop of
bruised eggshell dijon yellow
sweating heavy sage green
spitting spoilt the swollen pride of purple,
a wet abrasion against
Electric Blue
crackling along her lips
like Lightening
Sizzled on
her bitumen
her mind
winked at you...
Splits two
into one
not three
Taken slowly
deliberately
cake digested
swallowed like swallows
nibbling freely on air
a symphony of do you see me
in a Hummingbird storm
stairs to you she stares
upwards forever upwards
at lines of ebony tied tight
words kick and spit
like a cat in heat caught up
in a hessian sack
words in a puzzle
shaken and caste
on a playing board
pure white
not black
She,
Third person,
always Third person,
listens to her own heart
and then listens to the
words you have put on
and slowly worn warm
Revisits in her evening
a conversation with an old friend
Lorikeets on the balcony
Passionfruit cake and their
beaks in honey
a day in the life of Mosman
Carmen the dancer
Blueberries and
Raspberry Banana Bread
and Gold Crested
Pterodactyl Cockatoos
commandeering her kitchen
her gangster lovers
dead ends and loose screws
The day started bright blue
Ended in a thunder clap
boiling over onto a glowing hotplate
of flying embers,
reckless kisses and an unplanned
Storm;
A piece of Hummingbird Cake
was fed through a thread
In dreams while you watched
a movie in bed
Spoken to you
through
mind cerebral
not Reality read
Poppyseed and Honey
Bees buzzing on swollen
unheard lips
that silently bled Red
Words
Meanings
Life
Read
Red
Sugar ingested,
Honey to Blue Horse Flies.
Australiana
Fed.
Sleep,
Bed.
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
"Listen to the Hummingbird" / Leonard Cohen
https://youtu.be/hYIeW8bwlWQ
"Meadow" / Liam Gallagher
https://youtu.be/wHVuW7eOPNI
"Cosmic Dancer" / T.Rex
https://youtu.be/GMfjA4gyEcU
"Meadow" / Liam Gallagher, Lyrics
https://genius.com/Liam-gallagher-meadow-lyrics
The Retuning Smiles
i see beneath pairs of almond-shaped, green leavess
On white fabric, flowers set with four heart-shaped petals,
The color of sun-kissed blueberries,
Decorating the smocked sundress of the pig-tailed toddler
.Hanging over the crook of her mother’s arm, and
With her dazzling, black eyes looking all around
For some reason to be let down
Just as I was passing by,
Happy to see a pretty little child. and say, “Hi!”
The way any older woman might,
Wishing to receive a second’s gift
From the beauteous youth of the child’s smile.
But, she leaned into her mom’s chest, shy, seeing me
Stand there, one hand eagerly waving along with
My saying, “What nice flowers all over your dress,”
Diverting her attention from me down to what she wore
— The bright hearts scattered over her knees,
Causing a slight smile as her head lifted,
Which I shared, showing her my own happy,
big, slightly giggling smile,
To which her mom leamed in to kiss
Her darling girl nose to nose, thus blessing
Away the shyness…so the little girl
Shifted to sitting tall on her mom’s elbow
To seriously size me up
for herself, eye to eye —
For some moments —
While I almost lost hope.
Until at last her creased lips started to part.
The corners of her mouth rose, showing
Her several front, white baby teeth,
Set to share her smile,
Elating me, so I announced loudly,
“How pretty you are smiling!”
But when i lifted my eyes to see
Her reaction to my gleeful words,
There was no child, nor mother there. Even
Gone was the street I assumed
I’d been walking along…
And neither had I been dreaming, but
Speaking as I had into the air beyond my bed.
I’d been hallucinating. Another instance lately
That comes out of the blue, while wide awake,
Likely caused by the prefacing of exhaustion and
horrid pain I sometimes feel
Crossing my sight and mind with a
Boosting interplay with people who’re likely to smile ~
Who come, then go.
————————————————————————————————————————————————
(c) sally young eslinger 2/25/23
Thanks be to
God…
So Much To Say
”Here’s your oatmeal and blueberries for breakfast,” I said
putting on a smile.
She said, “Could you adjust my pillows?
“Of course honey, “ I said,
wondering how many more breakfasts
I would bring to her
before she died.
She said “Will you make sure
they feed the cats
After I’m gone?
They forget sometimes…”
She shrugged.
I said, “Of course. honey.”
She said “My arm is lost somewhere
beneath the blankets
I can’t feel it.”
“I know, honey,” I said
retrieving her arm
from obscurity.
“And my leg feels as if it’s caught
Like a fish in a net…
Quivering” she said.
“I know honey,’ I said,
“Would you like me
To move it over?”
“Gently” she said
“Very gently” I said,
Moving her leg
Across the quilted blanket
Across the jagged edges
Of my grief.
I got there early
there was so much to say—
I said: “Have you been watching the birds
at the feeder?”
She said “I have…I love them…”
Her voice drifting away;
she didn’t say more
She didn’t say
“I will come back to you
As a bluebird…
and you’ll know it’s me.”
We have so much to say…
“Look how the sunlight
Is lighting up your hair!”
I said. “So pretty…”
“I love you too,” she said
Smiling, while her one hand drifted up
To the place where clumps
Of hair had fallen out.
“Can I brush your hair?” I asked
She nodded.
I took up the brush
And stroked her hair…
Grace descending on us
As if with invisible wings …
“You know we will always talk
honey, we will always talk.” I said,
“I would go with you” I didn’t say.
She nodded, closing her eyes,
Surrendering...
To the moment.
There was so much to say,
and there was nothing
to say.
I was yearning for words
“The blueberries are so good,” she finally said
And I nodded, my heart broken open
As a thousand birds
Flew out of the nest of my heart
Into the sky above….
Without another word…
Elizabeth Spring. July 31, 2023
. So Much to Say
”Here’s your oatmeal and blueberries
for breakfast,” I said. putting on a smile.
She said, “Could you adjust my pillows?
“Of course honey, “ I said,
wondering how many more breakfasts
I would bring to her
before she died.
She said “Will you make sure
they feed the cats
After I’m gone?
They forget sometimes…”
She shrugged.
I said, “Of course. honey.”
She said “My arm is lost somewhere
beneath the blankets
I can’t feel it.”
“I know, honey,” I said
retrieving her arm
from obscurity.
“And my leg feels as if it’s caught
Like a fish in a net…
Quivering” she said.
“I know honey,’ I said,
“Would you like me
To move it over?”
“Gently” she said
“Very gently” I said,
Moving her leg
Across the quilted blanket
Across the jagged edges
Of my grief.
I got there early
there was so much to say—
I said: “Have you been watching the birds
at the feeder?”
She said “I have…I love them…”
Her voice drifting away;
she didn’t say more
She didn’t say
“I will come back to you
As a bluebird…
and you’ll know it’s me.”
We have so much to say…
“Look how the sunlight
Is lighting up your hair!”
I said. “So pretty…”
“I love you too,” she said
Smiling, while her one hand drifted up
To the place where clumps
Of hair had fallen out.
“Can I brush your hair?” I asked
She nodded.
I took up the brush
And stroked her hair…
Grace descending on us
As if with invisible wings …
“You know we will always talk
honey, we will always talk.” I said,
“I would go with you” I didn’t say.
She nodded, closing her eyes,
Surrendering...
To the moment.
There was so much to say,
and there was nothing
to say.
I was yearning for words
“The blueberries are so good,” she finally said
And I nodded, my heart broken open
As a thousand birds
Flew out of the nest of my heart
Into the sky above….
Without another word…
Elizabeth Spring
I have a faint memory
From a time long ago I was five maybe six
I was walking a dirt path from my grand parent?s bungalow
It was early in the morning and the peat moss was everywhere
I remember my grandfather just looking at me with a smile
Then his head nudged to the left and said come along with me for a while
He?d take my hand and we went for a walk past the mist and through the brush
It led into a thick field where blueberries were everywhere
On our way back I could see a pebble shore it was through the trees and across the way
It was on a crystal lake somewhere upstate in a town of the same name sake
And just up the road was a pasture which was part of someone?s estate
Its landscape caught my attention and would remain embedded in my mind
I remember jogging along side the road back to the view I felt drawn to.
Because I wanted to see the sun set
I went back to that pasture and watched it go down
From the distance I could see cows grazing the land too.
I stood there just looking at everything around me
It was such a beautiful scene
A gentle breeze and the scent of flowers all around
I took the moment into my mind like a photograph in time
On the way back I notice this prairie was attached to someone?s home
There was a sign in front it was on a red brick stone wall
It said the Johnson and Johnson estate
I stole one lasting view then ran back before it was too late
Going the other way I could see another giant sign
It said Crystal Lake Pennsylvanian next left
I ran for the entrance and up the pebble hill
I turned back for a moment and looked across the street
I could see the wire metal fence and the pebble shore
I took another picture into memory
Then continued running up the hill and on the dirt road
My heart was racing cause? I thought everyone was looking for me
I could see my aunt and uncle just waving to me
Then I heard my grandmother call out my name
I could smell food in the air chicken and sweet potatoes on the Bar-B-Q
I sat down to eat and found my cousins there too.