Image for the poem picking-satchel of blackberry stained patterns

picking-satchel of blackberry stained patterns

pheasants and partridge rise    
through coppice and hedgerow gapes,  
boroughs of  brush, terrified flowers    
and abandoned nests,
‘fore the shotgun escapes.    
from wiry snares and tweeded capes    
their eastern sunned curtain’d drapes    
in oleander bursts  of shot    
in the mornings wake    
 I  awake.    
Esteemed  fox-bait in style they recommend    
Its gone: they are gone.    
Their pat has gone.    
Jinn of buckthorn makes    
   a cider so strong, its drunken stings: in the fields the furrows made    
made  so deep  no man can escape    
deeply, and deeply I wish, I wish; I list the crops,    
the rotation-systems and where the water lakes    
in the rain -  in flooded stubborn pools.    
I drain, abstain, I want to be coming to    
a last leaf;  a blackberry feather and  crane of head    
   reaching  through for last  of season’s fruit,      
grappling hawthorn as it pricks the palm    
where the rising suns reflects    
off bloodied black bark    
and  these hands’ blackberry stains.    
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ImperfectedStone summultima _shadoe_ Ahavati HowlingWhelms Jade-Pandora DanielChristensen Josh NewBeginnings katydidnot butters Calamityofgin
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