Brambles is the word I would call them, especially as we gathered these beauties locally, but will allow the late and great Seamus to call them as he wished.
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
— Seamus Heaney, ‘Blackberry Picking’