gather
By Di_Hard
- 2297 reads
Pooled, this mild September day
from waves of work (or guilt when not)
once each year
picking blackberries
from prickly cataracts
of free sweetness pouring
over the old school’s walls
where children used to play
or creep away from canings
(now blackbird’s gentle chuck chucks
spring from fruit-spangled thickets)
fingers juice-red as a couple of dog rose hips
taken for pectin, seeking plump composites of rounds
as bees' eyes, made purple so intense they're pupil
dark - tought by each degree of light
and heat and wet this summer past
till boiled and seived of pips, preserved with sugar
in clean jars like memory
of the word “wildness”
heard but not understood
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Comments
Those jars sound delightful
Those jars sound delightful for the winter! I remember my mother sieving from the legs of an upturned stool. I admire your skill. I've only ever made crumbles, and frozen packets for future ones, but it takes up a lot of freezer space! I thought we'd missed them this year, but found other bushes still going strong. My granddaugher and her mum picked a lot on Saturday and we all had a lovely crumble from it yesterday! Rhiannon
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A tasty poem Di.
A tasty poem Di.
I loved your blackberry descriptions in this poem. A mouthwatering read.
Jenny.
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This is so beautiful, Di, I
This is so beautiful, Di, I loved it. The last stanza is perfect. Rachel :)
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This wonderful poem is our
This wonderful poem is our Pick of the Day on Facebook and Twitter. Di - feel free to change the image if you wish.
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I like a bit of 'wildness'
I like a bit of 'wildness' gathered here.
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A great feast of a poem. I
A great feast of a poem. I can feel the passion in its composition.
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Thank you very much for your
Thank you very much for your precious comment on my poems, Di_Hard. I try to give voice to people, nature and situations where they may not have been noticed in this wonderful world, in spite of testy moments. Writing gives us the power to control destiny, and to do so with humility and respect.
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