Pick Raspberries

Pick raspberries, ripe, glistening with showerfall,
Dark, summer-pink on the vine.
Careful, do not bruise them (yet!).
Do not rinse away the musk of growth,
The yeasty life of them,
Their maidenly blush…
But keep them in a white dish,
And gaze on them awhile,
In awe of their total virginity…
Take one, tenderly, with thumb and finger
And, rather than lifting her to your mouth,
Bend towards her, slowly, teasing yourself…
Ah, beauty, dimpled and hardened with love!
You scarcely dare to bring her to your lips,
So first try her with tongue-tip,
Marvelling to find her dimpled firmness
And cool, cool, sweet-cool fullness…
Now – suddenly – surprise her!
Quickly now, suck inward, take
Her wholeness in your mouth;
Press her between your tongue –
Now aching with the sharpness of her juice –
And the ach of your palette,
And know … Raspberry sweet!

Pick strawberries, ripe, in slanting sunshine,
Shy, summer-red, hidden under leaves.
Careful, do not bruise them (yet!).
Hold them in the lap of your apron,
And run laughing home with them!
Torment yourself by thoughts of stealing one
On the loaning, by the burn-side,
Hiding in the grass, devouring – oh sweet sin –
By home-time how your saliva runs!
Strawberries you may rinse in burn-water,
Or squeeze enough to sharpen them
From oranges and lemons if you will…
Enough of waiting, away with caution!
For inside each one is soft, pink flesh,
More subtle than the fickle, southern peach,
The apricot, or Hades’ pomegranate.
Chosen strawberry – bliss it is to lick her
Yielding flesh; taste-buds zing with her!
Do not stop tasting until she has fallen…
Now your know her – Strawberry sweet!

Pick blackberries, ripe, lush with year-long warmth,
Taunting from within the bramble
Whose wicked thorns can pierce your heart!
Take them roughly, bruise them (yes!),
Daring the darts of those prickles,
Laughing at the torn skin of your fingers.
Fill your pockets and feel, with each stride
From hedgerow to kitchen table,
Errant juice course wicked down your leg!
Yes, wash them all, cascading, rolling in a sieve,
Like laughing friends on holiday,
Drunk with some exotic wine…
Choose? What need for choice – take many
And cram them in your waiting mouth.
Their sweetness is touched with sharpness,
As though they hid a thorn to pierce your tongue…
Enjoy their profane impetuosity,
Their elvish merriment,
Their arousal – the longing for more food!
Eat your fill, and know who you were conquered by!
The armies of the Empress of Autumn –
Know and love her – Queen Blackberry!

O maids – come all you lithe and lovely ones –
And mistresses all, come you!
Taste, while the year is still kind,
Raspberry, Strawberry,
And wanton Queen Blackberry herself.
Season yourselves with these ladies’ juices,
That you may, on winter’s long eves,
Have memorised warm months’ abandon;
Close your eyes, regret nothing,
Save if you did not choose to eat –
Oh, regret that at your leisure –
Dream your dreams now of all that sweetness,
Recall, recall your wantonness
And the blushing shame of your pleasure.
Rejoice at the promise of next season.
And be you happy!