Best Mulberry Poems
Golden leaves flailing
Like a fiery child that rides
on the back of a tiger ~
Desiring to romp
Wint'ry skies of midnight blue ...
Yet, its coal black trunk held fast
~*~
The tree's branches spread
Oh, how her leaves did glisten ~
Casting a shimmering hue
on woven blankets ~
Of winter's fresh fallen snow
The ole mulberry thrives still...
This poem was inspired by the viewing of "THE MULBERRY BUSH" painted in 1889 by Vincent
van Gogh. I hope that all will enjoy my interpretation of his brilliant masterpiece.
As I walked down Mulberry Street, my pack and the shoes on my feet.
I see a nickel, penny a dime an empty bottle of wine.
Fletcher the old drunk, smelling a bit of a skunk still I smile and wave.
Punks have placed Graffiti on a wall, claiming ownership of this urban sprawl.
I stop for a bit and have a quaint sit on the remnants of a flower box.
I light my last smoke, watch some odd folk, they walk to the beat of their drum.
Exhaling the sweet mist of nicotine addiction, happy this is my only vice.
A dandelion grows through a crack screaming for me to take poetic note.
A Mercedes parked in front of the attorneys office, ill gotten gains.
Trash blown into the inner recess of the arched doorway in which I sit.
A drug store receipt a note perhaps a declaration of love or don't forget the milk.
The cast iron manhole cover states proudly, Made in Chicago.
Ahead lies the Mulberry Street Mission a line already forms.
Where dinner and biblical mumbo jumbo are being served.
The old woman greets everyone with a smile and tells them Jesus loves you.
I'll wait until she goes inside I don't want to argue.
The wind blows and sunshine falls on my face.
I notice out of the corner of my eye a normal folk (Non-Homeless).
Taking their own cigarette break enjoying the same sweet addiction as myself.
Our eyes meet in acknowledgement of we are the same, for the moment.
The Mulberry Street bus rambles by spewing noxious fumes.
The city's wind artwork slowly turns hoping someone will take notice.
My last long draw on my cigarette, I grab my pack and pull myself up.
then One foot Two foot I resume my journey to the Mulberry Street Mission.
(In Memory of Fletcher Campbell 1940-2015)
roadside mulberry
nectar attracts butterflies
- there's the goat again
From a tiny see that I did grow
A Mulberry tree it did grow
That tree gave birth to so much fruit
As it grew tall, down went the roots
And now it's grown, and grown,and grown
The neighbours about it love to moan
I chop and saw with all my might
It seems this tree can't do no right
Sooner or later it must come down
To rid the neighbours of their fowns
Written 7th March 2018 by Vera Duggan
Long berries droop high
Above the ditch made sweet with
Grainy edibles.
glossy green hearts hang
slotted on blotched grey branches
flappers try to fly
17th August 2020
Haiku Nature Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin
summer sings
forever in my heart
perfume and love in the air
evergreen memories of
mulberry trees and butterflies
unwritten poetry lines
floating on dreams
whisked ever so gently
by a subtle breeze of you
coming back to me
AP: 3rd place 2025, 3rd place 2025
Submitted on March 22, 2025 for contest MULBERRY TREES AND BUTTERFLIES sponsored by KAI MICHAEL NEUMANN - RANKED 10TH
The August's heat wave made streets sizzle,
in the fifties there was no air conditioning;
can we imagine the frustrutating feeling
that made bodies and minds very feeble?
Summer was fun on that noisy Mulberry Street,
no traffic went through it: such a sad downbeat;
how happy were the kids that couldn't help screaming,
getting wet in a large pool of water that was refreshing.
Blame that rascal kid that opened the firehydrant,
nobody went to school and mothers seemed moody;
some vendors were mad, but watching was so groovy...
they weren't nagging and enjoyed the scene with interest.
My books lay on the stoop, splashing water made them slide
nom brought them in giving me a naughty and disapproving look...
even she realized that's another silly excuse for me not to hide,
dipping bread into her delicious gravy while dad sliced the snook.
Copyright ( c ) 20017 by Andrew Crisci
birds fly there singing
seeking berries juicy red
beneath nomad clouds
overly under
prismatic blooms bounce on air
in diamond sunshine
huge mulberry tree
reaching for royal blue skies
in a lush green field
playground of children
where fireflies light up the night
butterfly address
A little piece of Heaven
Just like in my dreams
Just as I remembered
In shades of blue and green
Blue sky, honeysuckle summer
Green green grass of home
Hurley Mississippi
Down Mulberry Road
Feelings flooding in
Overtaking me
Mulberry Road
Walking a memory
Blackbirds on the feeders
Sparrows on the ground
Bluebirds in the treetops
Robins all around
Mama singing on the porch swing
Figuring up the bills
Daddy planting fruit trees
Out along the field
The laughter of children
Carries on the breeze
Mulberry Road
Walking a memory
I'm gonna take the grand tour
I've got nothing but time
Past cherries, blueberries, mulberries
Scuppernongs and muscadimes
The house is full of company
Playing dominoes
Mama's in the kitchen
Fixing something good you know
All of these ghosts
Sweetly haunting me
Mulberry Road
Walking a memory
Daddy picks the dobro
Gonna make it cry
Plays "You Are My Sunshine"
Make you wipe your eyes
Roger picking guitar
Me and Ronnie join right in
Linda and Theresa
Sing "I Ride and Old Paint"
Mama sings "Amazing Grace"
"Softly and Tenderly"
I'm overcome
Mulberry Road
Walking a memory
Copyright 2016
One day in May, I sat nearby a stream
where a few mulberry trees were flourishing.
I rested my head against the trunk of one
where clusters of white comfrey grew nearby.
Beautiful yarrow were also scattered there,
with pinkish-purple bells; some were yellow.
I must have fallen into a dream
because I saw the stream was rippling
with fizzy sounds of bubbles.
The stream was pink champagne!
The flowers around me performed a ballet,
swaying delicately in the breeze
as the bells of the yarrow rang a dulcet tune.
I woke up all a sudden,
noticing that many leaves of my mulberry tree
were not leaves at all.
They were actually butterflies coral streaked.
I’d startled them on waking,
and a cloud of them fluttered all together
away from my tree.
Other bright butterflies joined the throng,
partaking of the nectar of the once-dancing flowers.
Although the stream no longer bubbled champagne,
the reality of mulberry trees and butterflies
was more breath-taking
than what I ever
could have dreamed.
I have not seen a mulberry tree,
only the words that spoke to me.
Now I romance its boughs and shade,
where butterflies in beauty wade.
Beneath the hush of ancient skies,
the mulberry tree in silence sighs,
its roots like veins through earthen skin,
where time and memory begin.
A thousand hands have plucked its fruit,
a crimson stain, a whispered truth—
love once lost, love now found,
a tale in berries, dark and round.
Once, Pyramus and Thisbe fled,
where white mulberries blushed to red,
their love, a river, deep and wide,
a vow that even death defied.
And in its boughs, a silken thread,
where caterpillars weave the dead,
cocoons like prayers in golden light,
waiting to dance with borrowed flight.
From hushed decay, the wings emerge,
a breath reborn, a fleeting surge,
butterflies like spirits glide,
ghosts of silk and time untied.
The mulberry trees are,
awaking with new life.
I am feeling my new green leaves,
coming from my many branches.
Spring is here,
showing off her beauty.
What do I see,
a butterfly house?
It is tucked beneath my many branches,
hidden in my new green leaves.
Colorful butterflies now appear,
dressed in their finest colorful wings.
As I watch I see,
beautiful butterflies dance from flower to flower.
Oh how I wish,
wish I could dance with them.
My branches waves in the cool breeze,
guess this is the only dancing I can do.
I watch them dance,
by the day's bright sun.
Then by the night's dark sky,
as the diamond stars and full moon appear.
I am blessed to be called home,
for I am one of the many mulberry tress.
Shifty brown waters
Gnarled grey shack
on a verdant grassy pier
Snow white townhouses
on nearsighted shores
The sky, powdery blue
and you,
Oh Mourning Cloak butterfly, to where and to whom do you fly
Oh Admiral Butterfly, so many mirrors to count before you die
Oh Jezebel Nymph I love the way you sit on a summer's love flower
by a pipturus mulberry tree, where love blooms without cower
Oh silkworms of beauty eating mulberry leaves, thick as thieves
spinning cocoons warm as rain by a mountain of mulberry leaves!
Oh Monarchs, you with your autumnal colored wings of flaming geest
I love the way you flit around the mulberry tree like angels at a feast
Oh Mulberry tree how majestic thou art, standing by the rivers edge
it is here that I stand in beauty like the sun, taking my last pledge.