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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Granny and Mulberries! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
On a visit to granny in the Doon valley
It was March and the tree full of Mulberries.
Red, purple teasing from far, fetched a cane basket
Joyfully picked one, ate some while birds created racket.
Felt nostalgic on seeing in a bucket in the market.
Lying on a bed of ice covered with a guaze net.
Hawker beckoned, explained, delicate spoil early.
Sweet and sour as girls like am told, juicy and healthy.
Came back home with a bagful, took out in a bowl.
My granny used to make jam; now I eat them whole.
No longer alive; her toothless smile, bed time stories,
Ruddy wrinkled face, warm embrace, etched in memories...
poem by Mamta Agarwal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Taste Of Strawberry
I am not sure if every one of my family is entirely pround of what and how I am.
My grandmother turned 101 years old the other day.
I am the nearest one to visit her.
Last week I brought some fresh strawberries to her.
It was a beautiful day.
She happened to tell me the most special thing I had ever heard.
'Even if someone great in Japan came bearing these berries to eat together, they wouldn't be as tasty as these.'
I had never felt myself important to somebody else.
I will never forget the taste of berries in 2012.
Hutch
of her arms, this was her sin:
where the wood berries bin
of forest was new and full,
she crept out by its tall
posts, those wooden legs,
and heard the sound of wild pigs.
calling and did not wait nor care.
The leaves wept in her hair
as she sank to a pit of needles
and twisted out the ivyless
gate, where the wood berries bin
was full and a pig came in.
poem by Anne Sexton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Appearances
I hated them when I was four years old,
The bright pink berries on the pepper tree.
And now they seem quite beautiful to me.
My tower of dreams when I was four years old
Was such a tree. Its branches hid me well,
Although I so disliked the berries' smell.
I had my dreams when I was four years old . . .
But groundling now, who once could mount in air,
I judge the high-swung bright pink berries, fair.
poem by Lesbia Harford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Strawberries dipped in Chocolate;
Commotion on my tongue,
The delectable berries are young,
These berries are alone like a canyon,
They long for a candy-coated companion.
My eyes creep over to the kitchen counter-top,
As my jaw takes a deep drop,
A jar of luscious milk chocolates waiting for me,
And then I thought of a wonderful idea, strawberries dipped in
Chocolate served with tea!
I take out pure, creamy butter along with an effulgent, silver saucepan,
And pour some two-percent milk out of its can.
Then out of the Hershey’s, I take seven precise pieces,
And save the rest of the delicacies for my mamma’s nieces.
The chocolaty mixture bubbles like lava in a volcano,
As I try a spoonful the taste is bursting like a tornado,
I take one of the blood red berries,
And dip it in the mixture that is as heavenly as a bunch of cherries.
Commotion on my tongue,
The delectable berries aren’t young,
And as I pull out another berry from my pocket,
I realize that I have fallen in love with strawberries dipped in chocolate.
poem by Michelle Melnicky
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Tree Of Scarlet Berries
The rain gullies the garden paths
And tinkles on the broad sides of grass blades.
A tree, at the end of my arm, is hazy with mist.
Even so, I can see that it has red berries,
A scarlet fruit,
Filmed over with moisture.
It seems as though the rain,
Dripping from it,
Should be tinged with colour.
I desire the berries,
But, in the mist, I only scratch my hand on the thorns.
Probably, too, they are bitter.
poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Forest Of Berries
The forest expected it, the woods create,
A storm has arrived with the leaves;
Wind blew and created, the leaves turned,
Bellies adjusted to the food.
What were berries? The berry is wonderful,
For the strawberry is the best.
A forest of leaves crazes me, as no other,
Never in too many lives does it create.
Tomorrow it lies with leaves and more,
The best berries are for me, the law;
When are you expected to dance?
The hour is near when the berries are present.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet: All Things Have a Purpose
A wild tree grows for ants to be its guests!
Old water-tank helps frogs spawn, croak each year;
A neem tree grows for birds to build their nests;
The refuse-dumps rear insects sounding ear.
The cut tree-trunks help white ants eat and breed;
The papayas help birds to beak with joy;
On wild berries, squirrels happily feed;
The tall palm-trees house pea-fowls to enjoy.
The wilder trees add greenness to the earth;
The wild flowers give nectar to wild bees;
The parrot-noise though disturbing, gives mirth;
His duty to His creatures all, God sees.
Don’t blame something if you can’t understand;
God knows the uses of the desert-sand!
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Berry Picking
Berry picking back of the island,
Hiked a mile through the woods
Came upon the bright red berries
Glazed purple in the morning sun
We got down on our knees and picked everyone
The October sun shining down
Wild cranberries by the sea is a spectacular sight to see
Time out for lunch, we sat on a log
Surrounded by grasses, reed, and bog
Food tasted delightful out of doors
We savoured every bite
A gray jay in flight decided to join us for awhile
The uninvited guess indulged in the very best
We chatted for awhile of ordinary things
What the weather will bring
Cooking onion rings
Before going back to fill our sacks
The hours flew by
The October sun was fading from the sky
With red stained fingers and bruised knees,
We slung our sacks over our backs
Stumbled our way back
Homeward bound with our bounty in our flour sacks
poem by Verna Ralph
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
North-way Woods
A visit to Norway
A journey back in time,
Massive trees left and right,
Stretching their branches skyward,
Reaching for the sun that seldom shows its face,
With rocks happy to reflect its mighty rays,
Hills would make their home for moose and deer,
White houses cling to steep slopes;
Tumbledown shacks cower in their shadow,
Nature is always ready for nature callings,
With berries and mushrooms so wild.
When the mist clears and the curtain drops,
Souls engulfed in a red, white and blue shroud
Witness
Love blossoming in the house of
Love.
poem by Ibrahim Ibn Salma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Wild One
Wild one wont you please come home
Youve been away too long, will you
We need you home, we need you near
Come back wild one will you
How can we live without your love
You know that could kill you
How can we carry on
When you are gone my wild one
So you go your way wild one
Ill try and follow
And if you change your mind
I will be waiting here for you tomorrow
For I would beg for you
I would steal and I would borrow
Id do anything, anything at all
To end this sorrow
Wild one
The gypsies warned of the danger
You can laugh and joke with friends
But dont you ever talk to strangers
Although their offers may be sweet
And Id bet and I would wager
Away youll stray and never come back
To those who love and made you
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Wild One
Wild one wont you please come home
Youve been away too long, will you
We need you home, we need you near
Come back wild one will you
How can we live without your love
You know that could kill you
How can we carry on
When you are gone my wild one
So you go your way wild one
Ill try and follow
And if you change your mind
I will be waiting here for you tomorrow
For I would beg for you
I would steal and I would borrow
Id do anything, anything at all
To end this sorrow
Wild one
The gypsies warned of the danger
You can laugh and joke with friends
But dont you ever talk to strangers
Although their offers may be sweet
And Id bet and I would wager
Away youll stray and never come back
To those who love and made you
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Granny Goodbye
Mom of my dad woman so sad
Oh grannys gonna sleep in peace
Grandmommy of children you love
Oh granny one more minute with me
Walk my granny back home to her house in the sky
Im gonna walk my granny back home
Buon giorn goodbye
Oh virgin of life widow and wife
My nanas heart was torn in two
Cause granddaddy died and he bleeds for his lonely bride
Oh nana I make a prayer for you
Walk my granny back home to her spouse in the sky
Im gonna walk my granny back home
Buon giorn goodbye
Walk my granny back home to her house in the sky
Im gonna walk my granny back home
Buon giorn goodbye
Buon giorn goodbye
Buon giorn goodbye
So long goodbye
Oh granny you gonna sleep in peace
song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
New England Mind
My mind matches this understand land.
Outdoors the pencilled tree, the wind-carved drift,
Indoors the constant fire, the careful thrift
Are facts that I accept and understand.
I have brought in red berries and green boughs-
Berries of black alder, boughs of pine.
They and the sunlight on them, both are mine.
I need no florist flowers in my house.
Having lived here the years that are my best,
I call it home. I am content to stay.
I have no bird's desire to fly away.
I envy neither north, east, south, nor west.
My outer world and inner make a pair.
But would the two be always of a kind?
Another latitude, another mind?
Or would I be New England anywhere?
poem by Robert Francis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
0028 Emily Dickinson Considers Her Breasts
White silk gown – Sunday silk – yet
daily donned – tight-cuffed –
cool hands – folded - warm lap -
milk-white - under orange vest – and -
bearing – or to bear? –
two Legacies - from You, Sire –
this simple pair accompanying me -
twin-mirrored –
two poems yet to be read –
two words yet to be said –
to stimulate – a man -
circumferencing – unwritten future – to know – perhaps - which? -
kiss of need? as kid of goat –
little lips - innocent of teeth - tugged
as pulled red berry? Cherries fit
such little mouths. Or -
kiss of love? milk-white skin
brushed first – moustache – then
body’s delirious shudder –
ecstatic contract!
two red berries – red-plucked –
this first?
Will there be a morning - mooring –
you as sunrise -
after wild and feathered night,
bondage as play - so sweet?
Or – are these berries – to grow parched?
A rose - cease to bloom - before the flower taken -
autumn berries - heavy-hanging –
dropping – unmilked – unmouthed -
love put away - put in a drawer,
hiding brave face in hand?
I thus eventual – be –
awaiting further chance
of eternity?
You cannot put a fire out –
you love me – you are sure -
but – which is it, sir?
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Tiger Face, Steel Heart
The log is burning, we have berries for supper
The road has been long, a shipwreck we had
In the ocean of sharks we swam
Hot sun and hailstorms, all we had to bear
Here in the wild, wild animals make neighbors,
With a jewel stare, the moon is gazing from the sky,
Let us make more fire, I'm told, the wild fear fire
My pearl, your face is a tiger, my heart is steel.
At break
Of dawn,
So near
Is the destination,
we'll make and merry.
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Juice
Mulberries drop; tart purple rots to wine.
Plump sparrows celebrate and gorge like swine.
Perhaps their revelry should be delayed
Since cats appreciate a marinade.
poem by A.M. Juster
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Holly Bush
The Holly Bush
It was in the depth of winter
When snow lay crisp upon the ground
That I saw the tiny creatures
Which fluttered all around.
I stepped into the garden
To see what the fuss was all about.
There was a fairy trapped in my holly bush
And her friends were trying to pull her out.
But the sharp leaves stabbed at wings
And they tangled up long hair
As the fairies attempted their rescue.
They weren’t getting anywhere.
The fairies saw me on the garden path
And that I was getting near
They hid behind my chimney stack
And cried aloud in fear.
‘Stop being silly now, ’ I told them
As I carefully pulled the fairy free.
‘My name is Buttercup’, she said
As she explained to me.
That she had been stealing the berries
To plant down in the wood
Because there was no holly left.
She was really trying to be good.
‘People like holly for Christmas
But some of them dig up all the trees.
They don’t leave anything for the birds
So, can we have some berries, please.’
I did not want my little friend
To take another fall
So I helped to pick some berries
And said I did not mind at all.
The other fairies came to thank me
Then taking a berry each, off they flew
But Buttercup waited by my side
There was something else she had to do.
She waved her hand up in the air
And her dress changed to green and red
‘This will remind me of your holly bush
And your kindness, ’ the fairy said.
So, if you find a fairy in your garden
With a dress of red and green
Please, allow her to steal some berries
For it is my friend that you have seen.
poem by Irene C S ClarkHogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!