Blackberry Picking

Late August, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it
Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots
Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.

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Walker Art Center
Alexander Calder Exhibit

Just people, you know -
Their shapes and sizes
And the things they do
with their hands;
How they move their feet and fingers,
All crossed and stretched and
moving together;
The movement of faces,
lifting lips and eyebrows.
Nodding and turning.
The free-form people, you know.
They were all there.

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A Little Gold for August

Song Of Aragorn

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.

J.R.R. Tolkien Read more about A Little Gold for August