Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Blackberry Bramble

This is a poem I wrote for my poetry class a year ago. It's about a blackberry bush that was in my backyard in Boise. It's an English sonnet--in iambic pentameter--and I am proud of it. I'm not saying it's amazing, but I am happy with the result. Iambic pentameter was difficult to work with at first, but I found it very fun once I got the rhythm--a bit like a literary Rubik's cube. That's what I love about poetry--good poetry isn't just "expression" or a random assortment of words tossed dramatically onto the page. Good poetry follows rules, or works around or breaks them if there is good reason. There is no "just because," and I like that.



Blackberry Bramble

My backyard has a blackberry bramble,
That creeps and tangles pine, reluctant host.
Through needles, sharp, the lode the vines gamble,
And form a cave, the fort I love the most.

I creep into my shadowed berry cave
To pluck the purpled gems from whippish vines
That hang so low with dimpled globes. I crave
The leaf-dressed amaranthine sugared brine.

I dream of jam and tarts and berry pie
As thorned nets grasp my curls and black-stained coat.
A lush and juicy berry meets my eye,
It slips, de-juiced and crushed, on down my throat.

I turn to leave the tangled briar net,
My mouth, with berry blood, so sweet and wet.
 

3 comments:

  1. I like it!
    We miss our blackberries.

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  2. i miss our blueberries! all four of them... :)

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  3. i agree. now that you say it our loud. the coolness of poetry is that the writer tortures the words into a strict configuration. but there is a beauty to the torture. i'll have to think about that.
    i am saddened by the loss of the berries. i am not saddened by the forced labor your father imposed upon us when we visited. the cans strapped to our sweating, mosquito bite-riddle necks is still a fixture of my nightmares....
    auntie

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