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Last Night

Hope Is Sometimes The Best Of All You've Got (definition poem)

Enough to Clear The Clouds Away 4/13/2019

Devious

Checking Out



Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

Someone Send Out A Search Party

Crows...writing exercise in honor of April /National Poetry month

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More Poetry >>

Blueberry Blues

Picking blue pearls
staining our fingers and our tongues
we're a sea of young and old voices
shouting to one another
a freckling of harvesters toiling
in the sun.
We are the berry pickers
collecting blue bounty by the bowl.
I think I've eaten way too much
I hear you're supposed to clean 'em
before you eat 'em,
didn't you know?
The birds and bears eat blues
by the bushel,
the ants eat purple raisins off the grass.
The bees busily pollinate each white flower
but the berry season never seems to last.
I have filled up a corner of my freezer
I have grilled pancakes by the stack,
Still there's never enough bounty
through the winter to last or please us.
We're gerbils with our constant nibbling
they
never
ever
seem to
last.
Rats!


August 29th 2011 All Rights Reserved by the Author
Melissa A Howells of Tilt-a-World

I hardly ever write silly stuff...so I'm tring it out. I am thinking I have not succeded
as well as Edward Lear..."who has writen such volumes of stuff...."
But there is no harm in trying.
Yes, today we picked 8 pounds of blueberries. And people were picking much much more than that,
here in Oregon we take our berries very seriously.





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Blueberry Blues


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