Best Sycamore Poems

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Black Diamond Night (a coal miner’s cemetery) 

Where the ebony, we call “NIGHT”,
Old black rocks sit under the twilight
Diamond shape eyes unclear and lonely, 
Sinister...

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Picking a rose in a garden of Sundays
Calling your name on a broken branch wind
Looking for clover where weeds are not welcome
Walking the bridge till...

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O season of amber tulips, of yellow daffodils,
Of grinning verdant prairies, of cheery hills, 
Of giggling, burbling streams rushing to seas,
Of fragrant breeze rustling passions...

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In depth of woods how autumn dazzles, swirling beauty of ornate décor,
Waltzing with ochre hickory, birch; whirling flaxen moods of sycamore,
Gracing my view upon blazing...

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One evening, much like any other
striated feathers of pinks, and deepest primrose
colored the clouds with facets of light, tapering inward
Traces of gold between each color,...

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I

just like their love of fifty years
that they held very dear
the lilies and the irises
looked radiant that year.

they had no need to prove their love
just...

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I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree—
A belle crooning nature’s glee,
Splendorous as seasons’ glory.

A ballad of resplendent spring
In stanzas cherry-blossom...

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(1.)
As Eager Sun Rose, Rewarding Its First Bright Gifts

As dawn woke, uttering shining of its first rays
Night's darkest veil vanished into whispering winds
Rooster's clear crow,...

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Pondering The Sad And Fateful Decision

there he sat
his brain peddling along
heart fluttering in space
and that bright summer sky kissing his face
mind recalling trouble
her face appears
she...

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This is the story of mad Molly Shaw
She might be mad now but she wasn’t before
she came home to find her man dead on the...

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Pain had damaged her wings
in her seemingly endless struggles
beating them against the valley walls,
then, in the last days she made haste 
and climbed to the...

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Always leaning against the sycamore
Where leaves and shadows play upon your face
Standing solitary in evenings's softened light
You touched me once
In the midst of siren sounds...

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Silver haired, the year
rests in the field.
Crows gather
on the sycamore bones.
The day is like glass.
Winter lurks
in the shadows.

In brittle glades,
papery pods protect
the last seeds.
Spiky coneflowers...

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Part Three of the Sixth poet honored
(Emily Dickinson) in famous poets dedication series

(3.)

From Weeping Tears, No Longer Shall Joy Find In Heart Anything

Creeping thick fog...

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