The Story of the Humble Blackberry Poem

blackberry-bush

 

 

 

In my last blog I complained that poets who rhyme are a lot like the late Rodney Dangerfield. They don’t get much respect. There are a few notable exceptions like Kay Ryan and Richard Wilber, but for the most part, poets who rhyme are expected to feel a little apologetic.

I tend to send my non-rhyming poems out into the world in hopes of landing in poetry reviews and anthologies. I have had some success. But poems that rhyme are often kept hidden in a folder on my computer. I entered one of them in the County Fair this year. It won a blue ribbon. It wasn’t an accolade from the Midwestern Poetry Review. Still, someone liked it.

Recently I read a few of my poems to my writer’s critique group. I planned on entering a few in an upcoming contest and wanted the opinion of my fellow writers as to which poems were submission worthy. When I finished reading my “serious” poems, I had an afterthought.

“You know,” I said, “I have another little poem I wrote last fall. I was walking along a trail with my little dog, Peanut. Blackberry bushes lined the path, most covered with shriveled fruit—seasons end. Then, a spot of white caught my eye. It was a blackberry blossom struggling to produce against tremendous odds. I went home and wrote the following little poem. I’m not going to send this one out, but I’d Iike to read it to you.”

The Lesson

blackberryblossomLast blackberry blossom of fall,

most optimistic flower of all.

It’s a brave show, but tinged with regret—

there isn’t time for your fruit to set.

Nature’s lesson shows those who wait

that good intentions can start too late.

When destiny calls, don’t tarry;

be a bloom that becomes a berry.

Our group meets at a local coffee shop. People tend to come and go around us. So, I didn’t pay particular attention to the man at the next table when he rose to leave. I was surprised, however, when he headed in my direction, leaned over, and whispered into my ear, “I liked the one about the blackberry.” He’d been listening.

Suddenly, my simple, little poem felt more important. A stranger’s comment emboldened me to say, “Damn it, I honestly like this poem!” And you know what? I do. No apologies for the rhyme.

stolen-light

Gift the gift of Poetry For Christmas…                                              Stolen Light: Redwood Writers 2016 Poetry Anthology

Beautifully crafted poems by some of the finest poets from Sonoma County, California. A lovely gift for anyone who enjoys poetry in all its forms.

 

 

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