#blueberries
WHY ARE YOU FEELING BLUE?
What's with you?
You seem really sad!!
I'm not sure what to do?
I don't have a clue!!
I don't know, let's see!!
I'll just let you be!!
🫐 BLUEBERRY BLUE🫐,
A color so true,
Don't feel SO BLUE,
just see it on through,
BLUE as the SKY,
BLUE as the SEAS,
BLUE is created
FOR YOU and FOR ME,
🥧 BLUEBERRY PIE 🥧
MY, MY, MY!!!,
BLUE can BE,
ROYAL, NAVY or TEAL,
BLUE is a COLOR
to LOVE and FEEL,
BLUE is a SHADE that
HAS MANY COLORS,
BLUE is REMARKABLE,
there is no other,
part of the RAINBOW HUE:
🫐🐦💙🔷️🔹️🟦 THIS IS BLUE 🟦🔹️🔷️💙🐦🫐!!!
B.R.
Date: 3/9/2025
Mar 10, 2025
Mar 10, 2025 at 11:33 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall HSG
[email protected]
The God of Children and Blueberries
For Theo (who is three today) and Nora (who is more than three)
“It is eaten, and renewed, every day.”
-Ramandu’s daughter in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
God is prodigal with his seasons and feasts -
This is the season of blueberries, each day a feast
Great clouds of fat blue globes hang upon the little trees
Water and sky shading into Prussian blue
This is a table-tree, all are invited
To stand with buckets and thirsty lips
To pick and take, to take and eat, each day
The feast magically renewed each dawn
Mockingbirds, robins, sparrows, rabbits, and squirrels
And children
Picking, pecking, plucking, nibbling, biting
All at Aslan’s Table, and all at peace
Jun 8, 2024
Jun 8, 2024 at 11:11 AM UTC
She smells of strawberries,
ice cream on a
melting, runny day
She speaks of blueberries,
waffles in the morning -
hot and warm,
comfy -
snuggled, next to you
I smell _strawberries_ so often;
I hear _blueberries_ so soon,
and every time I do,
still - I think, I speak
of you
Nov 18, 2021
Nov 18, 2021 at 3:10 PM UTC
Molded blueberries,
I joked of scooping them up
and having a bite
May 26, 2021
May 26, 2021 at 7:01 PM UTC
Like standing on the peak of a mountain range during a lightning storm with my eyes closed,
I am sending myself as a beacon out to you.
With blueberry tinted fingers you touch my face, soft as the sunset mist, and leave bruise colored echoes across my skin,
I am running, skipping my body across the darkening soil like a stone, spinning my way past the orange fungi adorned trees after you,
Can’t you feel the swirling hurricane of desire in my chest when we press close,
the way my body settles like cooling lava around you when we intertwine,
I cannot help but to be shaped by you.
All around us the auroras waltz and curtsy,
the moss cloaked rocks pulsate with earth's breath,
the lightning strikes.
I open my eyes, and you are gone.
Mar 27, 2020
Mar 27, 2020 at 4:45 PM UTC
Never bein who I wanna.
See thru.
neck kiss.
car hood.
lost a thing.
Don't belong.
don't believe.
all wrong.
have to leave.
don't.
.
Stay.
Garrett Johnson.
Jan 9, 2020
Jan 9, 2020 at 11:27 PM UTC
On some mornings
mom would ask
if Kyle and I wanted waffles
these were no ordinary syrup catchers
marbled by deep purple
stuffed with blueberries
When I was born
I was born a blueberry
due to the blue pigmentation
resulting from lack of oxygen
because of my mother’s smaller stature
that day a screaming smurf was brought into the world
and I’ve been getting redder ever since
Above the sink in my dad’s home
is a small purple bowl
handmade with a ceramic stem that broke off years ago
on the inside bottom is an engraving
that simply reads
‘Blue Berries’
but no longer carries fruit
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
Under a blue sky,
Bluejays eating blueberries
Then away they fly
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 7:57 PM UTC
Heat oven to 400ºF. Place paper baking cup in each of 12 regular-size muffin cups, or grease bottoms only of muffin cups.
Cleaning hands of the grease
excitement in the release
anticipating the taste
forget, the roll on the waist
Stir all ingredients except blueberries just until moistened. Gently stir in blueberries. Divide batter evenly among cups.
The smell of heavenly batter
nothing else in the world, too matter
moist and gooey, so dreamy
the texture so smooth, and creamy
Bake 13 to 18 minutes or until golden brown.
From the oven returning
my want and my need, a yearning
too hot to touch, I want them so much
my tongue and lip, are now burning
I'll eat the entire batch
no breath and no train to catch
fat dumb and happy, taking a *****
a carb dream, I made them from scratch
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 9:37 AM UTC
Come with me. Here’s
the secret trail. At the edge
of the potato field, crouch through
the barbed wire fence. Pass the stone
foundation of an old homestead.
Enter the maple forest, the green oven.
Bake, slowly rise like a gingerbread figure.
Follow, it’s fine (there’s no witch).
Release rivulets of sweat.
This is nothing, the foothill.
Listen: the purr, the burble, the rush,
the small canyon of Catamount
Creek. Remove boots, splash yourself.
Splash me. Cup water in hands
to pour over the face. Let water dribble
inside the shirt, drip to the shorts.
Relish the shock of cold
against hot parts.
Work uphill now, at last
out of the trees into the land of
wild blueberry. Pluck, taste
tiny tight nut-like explosions of blue,
so intense, so different from store-bought.
Gorge, let fingers and tongue
turn garish. Fill pockets.
Climb with me now among rocky
outcrops like stair steps to the Funnel,
a crevice where from below
you push my bottom, then from above
I pull your hand. Emerge to a view
of valley, farmland, wrinkles of mountains
like folds of flesh. How far we’ve come.
This is the false top.
Catch your breath, embrace the vista,
then join me in a scramble up bare granite,
farther than you’d think, no trail marked
on the endless stone but simply
navigate toward the opposite of gravity,
upward, to at last a bald dome
chilled by blasts of breeze.
At the top, sit with me, our backs against
the windbreak of a boulder.
Empty your pockets of blueberries. Nibble,
share — above the rivers,
above the lakes, above the hawks,
among the blue chain of peaks
beyond your outstretched tired feet.
Appreciate your muscles
in exhaustion and exhilaration.
We have made love to this mountain.
Hear a sound like a sigh from waves of
alpine grass in the fading warmth
of a lowering sun. Rest.
After this, the return
is so easy.
Jul 22, 2017
Jul 22, 2017 at 12:19 PM UTC
Papa showed me the way
to the wild blueberries.
We hiked up the tall hill,
and found those sapphire
spheres hanging from
delicate stems.
He told me stories of
our Native American ancestors
as he taught me how to pick
the berries;
surely a lesson in gathering
like this goes centuries beyond
our two lives combined!
We took
handfuls and filled our
mouths with the sweetest
blueberries I had ever tasted.
Once we had our fill, we
gazed out upon the horizon
and admired the beauty of the
ancient forest, then we returned
down the dusty trail, climbed
into the truck, and drove away.
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 3:36 PM UTC
scorning sun bursts into the aisles of graying curly waves,
punching yellow teeth and candied sweets with the
green of loving laughter that i've not heard in years.
you taught our fingers to bleed of bramble dew.
so sticky in our attempts to keep Genevieve's crystal filled but,
clear of improper pounds. collected ounces that rudely
overflow, are picked with mudded, forested feet.
consumed so clean and sweet, from thorns
between the brush, the aisles buzzed of summers paths
that only lead us where we knew.
through the scales and passed the cords
where drying life would heat our warmth,
nights would drop with echoing sounds like trains
slowly passing through our country's vacant crossing.
you voluminous sap of unaccounted ooze.
you sweet maple so never barren or dull.
you flame of northern light.
take me back to the path we passed
where cords are dried to burn
where frogs croak in Côté's creek
where my memories live and yearn
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 4:12 AM UTC
I woke this morning
from a dream of eating blueberries
indigo streams
as the fruit burst
into juice and pulp
filling my mouth
with memories of summer
warm and crushed
and floating
on my speechless tongue
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 7:53 AM UTC
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
***Extremely enjoyed picking up forest strawberries
among quiet zephyrs.***
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Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 10:02 AM UTC
Criminal
O Criminal
This deceit you leak reeks
Of sour lemons and urination.
Criminal
O Criminal
This pride you flood smells
Of blueberries and broken dreams
Criminal
O Criminal
These miracles you bring leave a miasma
Of grape Faygo and suffering souls
Criminal
O Criminal
The peace I bring leaves an aroma
Of blue raspberry popsicles and lonely depression
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 9:02 AM UTC
off the roof
like
rain
from
the
gutters
eaves
filling
with
blue
berry
ink
i
taste
the
sweetness
on
the
warm
tongue
of
pages
before
they
blow
away
with
my
breath
.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 12:22 PM UTC
Third weekend in July
I love canoeing out on Northwood
Lake, early morning hours melting
into the pines, as I head toward the
island where the wild blueberries
lie. Tiny morsels, abundant and packed with
the taste of summer and beepollen and freshwater
and snow. Minnows nibble my toes, each one
a solid worm for the biting, as I slowly
fill a one-gallon jug, berry by berry,
to use for breakfast pancakes and
Belgian waffles cooked golden from
the waffle iron. Some of the ripest
berries plop into the lake. I swipe
them up before bass or sunfish
see them; always leaving the
green berries behind.
Pausing to taste some, they
split between my incisors;
I marvel at the flavor
while a loon’s haunted red
eyes stare at nothing.
Blueberries split like
relationships
occasionally do,
sour at times, always
leaving a taste on your
palate. Families, young
lovers picnicking on the
beach lake, confused couples;
they branch off, moonlight
silhouetting their outlines;
silent elegy softly blossoming
downward as their paths skew.
They won’t cross again.
My jug filled, I oar
back to the dock,
ears filled with
humming of birds,
insects, boats;
brimming with
the bream from berries
splitting apart,
and the intense
silence of blueberry
picking in late July.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 3:09 PM UTC
ripe wild blueberries
nestled under tall fir trees
sweet **** juice bursts forth
Copyright © 2014 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC