Blackberry Picking
I have fond memories of going blackberrying
On Sundays, with my Dad, when I was a child.
Situated on the very outskirts of our little town,
The lane was long and winding, lonely and wild.
We worked our way along the prickly hedgerows,
Plucking perfect fruit from amongst the brambles,
But the berries, which were over ripe or under ripe,
Were left behind by us, during our country rambles.
We picked plenty of plump, juicy berries,
And popped them all in to our plastic pot.
Dad seemed to know the very best time to go,
So we always returned home with quite a lot.
Along the way, we spotted spiders in their webs;
Of spiders, I have always been a little scared.
So any fruit which was located round about,
Was more than welcome to stay right there!
The blackberries were taken home to Mum,
Who mixed them up with apples, inside a pie.
I always felt a small sense of pride, as we ate
Those blackberries, picked by my Dad and I.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Related quotes
Blackberry Eating
I love to go out in late September
among the fat, overripe, icy, black blackberries
to eat blackberries for breakfast,
the stalks very prickly, a penalty
they earn for knowing the black art
of blackberry-making; and as I stand among them
lifting the stalks to my mouth, the ripest berries
fall almost unbidden to my tongue,
as words sometimes do, certain peculiar words
like strengths or squinched,
many-lettered, one-syllabled lumps,
which I squeeze, squinch open, and splurge well
in the silent, startled, icy, black language
of blackberry -- eating in late September.
poem by Galway Kinnell
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Berries! ! ! ! !
Mulberries
On a visit to granny in the Doon valley
It was March, the old tree full of Mulberries.
Red, purple teasing from far, ran with cane basket.
Picked one, ate some while the birds created a racket.
Strawberries
Strawberri es in white boxes, one atop other
The hawker sat on his knees, said go no further.
I protest too expensive, not for the masses.
Rich eat raw, make a tart or with cream in glasses.
Wild Berries
On way back from school at noon, attack wild berries.
Are for free and so yummy, home a lot we carry.
We laugh and shriek as our skirts get stuck in thorns,
Satiated, come back home, with berries, skirt torn
Written in ancient japanese form Sitigotyo
06.04.09
Mamta Agarwal
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Fruits Of Waste
food waste
one country
say old Italy
800 million tonnes
of fruit picked sold
from fruit trees
750 million tones
left to rot
never picked
every year
why
not increase
efficiency?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Tree And The Branch
the tree looks
upon a branch
where a ripe
fruit is hanging
the tree says
it is mine
the branch say
i am holding it
the tree says
the branch too
belongs to it
angry about the
tree's greed
the branch lets go off
the ripe fruit
a hungry child
picks it up
and goes home
with a happy heart
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Doug's Peach
The Theory of Non-Exclusivity states that:
Always right exists in left
And likewise left in right.
I went outside and picked a peach,
the episcopalian of the four.
Parts were ripe and parts were wrong-
if 'wrong' is 'not as ripe'.
And if 'wrong' is 'not as ripe',
then 'ripe' is 'right' for sure.
I ate some right, then ate the wrong,
then ate what right was left:
thus proving, sure as Al's my brother,
that neither right nor left is
exclusive of the other.
poem by Douglas Scotney
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Simple Observation #5 - Fruit that's ripe is..........
Fruit that’s ripe is easily picked from a tree
but things which are forbidden are not free.
poem by George Krokos
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Spiders In The Night
Spiders in the night
Creeping round the walls
Now you'll feel him
Crawling over you
Creepy crawly things
Filling up your bed
Soon you'll feel him
Crawling through your brains
You think he's there
Beware his bite
But when you look
The spider's not in sight
Spiders reappear
Taking peoples names
Everything is taken down insane
There's no way out
And there's no key
But here's a clue
The spider's really me
You're written in his book
The spider won't forget
You won't forget
The spiders in the night
The end is going night
Itsy witsy friends
The spiders disappearing from the night
You think he's gone
You think he's dead
There's no escape
The spiders in your head
All the spiders in the night
All the spiders in the night
All the spiders in the night
song performed by by Ozzy Osbourne from Bark At The Moon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Busheled Together
See those apples hanging ripe,
All yet to fall...
From that one tree.
Even though they appear,
To look the same...
If one should examine closer,
Each would have a unique and distinct...
Quality.
Although on that one tree,
One may declare...
Them to have similar identities.
Upon tasting from those apples picked,
One will come to a core...
With seeds inside of it.
And delicious is a sweetness,
When the juice is licked.
But when busheled together from that one tree,
Some may have blemishes.
While others upon inspection may be blemish free.
And all of them have been witnessed,
To be the product of the same tree.
See those apples hanging ripe,
All yet to fall...
From that one tree.
Even though they appear,
To look the same...
If one should examine closer,
Each would have a unique and distinct...
Quality.
And when busheled together,
They are all apples.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Country Song
`Lily of the Valley (Convalaria Majalis, fam. Lilliaceae). Grows wild in N. England. Commonly cultivated. Flowers in May. Berries red when ripe. Leaves particularly poisonous because three constituents depress the heart, like Foxglove.'
What are the constituents that depress the heart?
the scent of lilies in dark green silences under trees
milkweed and ragwort and sunshine in hedges
small flowers picked amongst trees when it's raining
A year ago
You planted lilies in the valley of my mind
There were lilies at the bottom of my garden
And ferrys at the bottom of my street
Now
I sit here in sunlight with the smell of wild garlic
Trying to tape record the sound of windflowers and
celandines
Wondering What are the three constituents that depress the heart Without you here in the country?
poem by Adrian Henri
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Prisoners
This song appears on two albums, and was first released on the rocky mountain high album, and has also been released on this is john denver album.
Josie works the counter at the downtown five and dime
Anything at all to help her pass the time
Her mama keeps the baby and grandpa rambles on
About the good times playing in his mind
Its a hard life livin when youre lonely
Its a long night sleepin alone
Its a hard time waitin for tomorrow
Its a long, long way home
Josie spends the evening with the people in the pages
Of the paperback she picked up in the store
Or sometimes its the tv or shell try to write a letter
But they dont come too often anymore
Its a hard life livin when youre lonely
Its a long night sleepin alone
Its a hard time waitin for tomorrow
Its a long, long way home
And I stare at the gray walls before me
And I see her face in the stone
And I try to imagine our baby
And I wish they would let me go home
And I wish they would let me go home
And I wish they would let me go home
Its a hard life livin when youre lonely
And I wish they would let me go home
Its a long night sleepin alone
And I wish they would let me go home
Its a hard time waitin for tomorrow
And I wish they would let me go home
Its a long, long way home
And I wish they would let me go home
Its a long, long way home
And I wish they would let me go home
Bring me and the other boys home
And I wish they would let me go home
Bring me and the other boys home
And I wish they would let me go home
Bring me and the other boys home
Words and music by john denver
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sound Images Of Innocence
bathing bare on the river
the kids of the neighborhood
they have never seen
the crocodile
and then the go home
together
spreading laughter
along the path of mud
beside the
wild flowers
they pass upon a forest
and climbs some trees
tease the monkeys
and gather the ripe berries
and imitate the wings
of black birds
the chase each other
without the numbers
never mind their shadows
until it gets dark
and then they are home again
their mothers singing songs
their fathers telling stories
about how the tigers roar
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Switches, Pop, And Persimmon Rockets
I remember, well, that tall old persimmon
That stood in the yard, when I was a lad
The soft fruit that fell from that tall old persimmon
When picked up and eaten, what sweetness, it had
It didn’t take long to eat up all the ripe ones
And then what was left laying under the tree
Was firm, shiny fruit that resembled green apples
And it seemed it should also be tasty, to me
I picked up a big one and brushed off the dirt
Then sunk my teeth in its flesh, firm and green
My mouth puckered up like a prune in the sun
I found that persimmons aren’t tasty when green
My brothers and I and the neighbors as well
Would play in its shade most all the day long
Softball or horseshoes or cowboys and Indians
It didn’t much matter ‘cause life was a song
Since no one could eat those hard green persimmons
We wondered if use for such fruit could be found
While playing one day, through a sheer stroke of genius
A discovery was made of gargantuan bounds
Right there on the ground we made our discovery
A single use switch that my pop made me cut
And once he had finished the job it was cut for
He dropped it right there where I, then picked it up
It seemed, such a waste, to get only one use
From such a fine switch as this one I had cut
So, onto its tip I pushed one green persimmon
And reared back and flung it as hard as I could
We couldn’t believe how smoothly it flew
Up through the trees and over the fence
It bounced off the roof of the house on the next street
We all were astounded, how far that it went
A new sport was born that glorious day
Contests were held and a champion was named
We bounced more’n a dozen hard green persimmons
Off of that rooftop the very first day
One day when that neighbor should’ve been working
He found green persimmons all over his lot
He studied awhile on the puzzle before him
Then, as fate would have it, he called up my pop
It didn’t take pop long to figure it out
When he found all our ordnance piled in the ditch
Since I was the oldest, he called me in first
And told me, “young man, go cut me a switch”
I cut you a good one, I said to my pop
But, I feel I must say, as I give it to you
For a switch of this nature, it seems a disgrace
To be wantonly put to such vulgar a use
© C R Clark-6/15/2008
poem by C.R. Clark
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Who I am
Grandma Kasan, has the Bali citrus fruit tree
Their fruits was very luxuriant
Unfortunately with-him, Day And Night
after she made the Palm Fruit Charcoal
Always the road observed the her loves citrus fruit
because of being not again child
and the grandchild in her big house
when the night, I pass away
was carried by Old brother
under the citrus tree
that already ripe
around the little path
close my house
get its with my hand
when the grandmother fell asleep
and then I could eat citroes
when at the afternoon I ask her
to have her fruits not permitted
such was juvenile delinquency
when I older we to like children
that wanted to win ourself
the developing process of life
that always
repetitions
Who I am
when the others
gone
left me
alone
in the quiet home
poem by Prasetya Utama
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Summer Bramble Diadem
Blackberries waiting to be picked
At the end of July
Guard their treasures with a thorn prick
And a black snake nearby
Tasty morsels of purple sprig
Hanging savory sweet
Stabs your fingers with spiteful twigs
So none may ever eat
Both my hands are dripping bloody
And I watched the snake's eye
Thunderstorms made plucking muddy
But Mmmm...Blackberry pie!
poem by Pasquale DiMeola
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To An Ex....
what we told them that we did
was all those games of catching spiders
rested in their spun webs on the trees
beside the mountain river
we we really did they knew so well
but how can we ever ever tell?
that what they knew was not all that happened
as it was something else more that what spiders are
on their transparent
webs of illusions upon those trees
that in the first place
never existed
what we had were more than words
and thoughts
and so how can we ever tell ourselves
truly
that we have already forgotten?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Celebrate the Melon
Juicy and delicious they are
Just made for a summer treat
As they squirt inside your mouth
They’re so wonderful and sweet
Picnics aren’t complete
Until a watermelon is cut
Slices of the scrumptious fruit
Drags you from a daily rut
Party’s have a veggie plate
And nestled right within
Are melons all chunked up
Not to have them is a sin
And also is the cantaloupe
So perfect for a summer fare
Orange as a ripe pumpkin
Smoothing out unwanted cares
So let us celebrate the melon
Whether red or orange or green
Juicy and so sweet
A scrumptious summer dream!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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Where No Bells Toll
There is a wood
where we played as children
and bluebells grow
When you came home
after seeing the rape of Zimbabwe
we picked bluebells
When you came home
from the killing fields of Iraq
we picked bluebells
When you came home
from the poppy fields of Afghanistan
we picked bluebells
When you came home
telling of monks beaten in Tibet
we picked bluebells
When you came home
from the line of fire on the Gaza Strip
it was in a coffin
There is a wood
where history plays tricks on us
and bluebells grow
poem by Roger Taber
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At Last, the Lime-Tree Bears Fruits!
A lime sapling I found grew up in wild,
In ten years’ time to be a tree quite big;
For long it stayed dwarf-like: refused to grow,
As caterpillars ate its verdure leaves.
And not a flower or a fruit it bore!
Insects built nests and spiders spun cob-webs;
Its roots stood ’midst gravel and rocky mud;
Red-ants made home till ant-powder was put.
How sad it was to see the lime-tree’s fate!
The rain and sun nurtured it despite odds;
And one day when I stared at her foliage,
Amazed I’as to see it covered by fruits!
There is a time for everything on earth;
‘There is a season for all things, ’ God says;
The keys to success- patience and strong faith;
God will decide when all things fruition best.
One never knows when God uses someone;
One never knows when God does miracles;
One never should look down upon others;
God has a plan for everything He makes!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 4-11-2006
poem by John Celes
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When I Was Small
When we were both small,
We'd go on trips out with our Dad.
I look back now and remember
The happy times that we had.
We'd drive to Harewood Forest,
To try and spot some fallow deer,
Or stroll to a nearby village,
Where my first cuckoo I did hear.
We'd often go to the local park,
For a cricket or a football game.
We'd also play in the playground,
On the swings and climbing frame.
We often went for bicycle rides:
Dad in the lead and us two behind.
We went blackberrying at Cowdown Lane,
And picked all the berries we could find.
We'd go for strolls along Ladies' Walk,
Collecting conkers in their shiny coats,
Or go to the local leisure centre,
And go for a ride there on a boat.
As a family, we'd also go further afield,
To various resorts along the South coast.
We'd have fish and chips and play on the beach,
And these were the days that I loved the most.
I really loved going for family picnics,
To the park in Salisbury or to Beacon Hill.
With sandwiches, sausage rolls, pork pies,
And cup cakes, our tummies we would fill.
It's nice to cast your mind back,
To those childhood days gone past.
They will never be forgotten.
The memories will always last.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Grapefruit-juicy Fruit
By: jimmy buffett
1973
Grapefruit
A bathin suit
Chew a little juicy fruit
Wash away the night
Drive in
You guzzle gin
Commit a little mortal sin
Its good for the soul
Bridge:
And oh it gets so damn lonely
When youre on a plane alone
And if I had the money, honey
Id strap you in beside me
And never ever leave you
Leave you at home all alone and cryin
Ten speed
No need
My pickup gets me where I please
Chuggin down the street
But Ill be leavin
In a little while
So close your eyes and ill
Ill be back real soon
Spoken:
Ah, take it reefers
Ladies choice, everybody dance
Here we go
Bridge:
Yes and if I had that money, honey
Id strap you in beside me (in your strapless)
And never ever leave you
Leave you at home all alone and cryin
Grapefruit
A bathin suit
You chew a little juicy fruit
Wash away the night
Yeah you chew a little juicy fruit
Its good for ya soul
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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