Long Mulberries Poems

It was late in the perpetual summer, and I had been dozing,
On a blue and balmy afternoon, as I lulled on my porch swing.

When from my pleasurable dreams, I was eventually aroused,
By sweet breezes that...

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MULBERRY TREES AND BUTTERFLIES 

Don’t go back to heavy sleep
dwell in the wakefulness 
of I AM THAT I AM
here mulberries and butterflies 
beckon across filtered fences
which you can comely climb
for a bountiful bestowing 
pick, a...

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A cricket chirps, a sparrow sings 
     Grasshoppers glide on chattering wings.
A summer’s day in august thus begins.
     Each crack upon the sidewalk 
Breaks another mother’s back.
...

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Is it the early morn in a yellow field of corn,
Or could it be flowers with strange powers,
Or a stroll on a donkey chomping a carrot,
Or a baby pig in a pram, who would make...

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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...

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The sweet bird songs heard at the break of dawn
Mixed with the sound of sprinklers on the lawn
Neighbors readied boats for bobs in the bay
Morning papers landed in each driveway
Boxy air units were wedged into...

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First Line Prompt Contest
Sponsor: Julia Ward


Outside the city where the pomegranates grow,
   where fruit bears life whispering to the breeze,
      seedlings turn into roots and roots start to...

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A timed lesson in diameter of dialogue is akin to eating a vast amount of bean. But buttering a heron should never really be performed in a new moon. So hesitate not by the tropical...

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The air, warm, unmoved, clings to our bodies
Like an old, familiar blanket.
From the west, the light,
A warm amber brew, pours down
And is strained through the leaves of the nearby gums
It fills the veranda and spills...

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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...

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Blackberries, blackberries, what’s the big deal?
They’ve too many seeds, and they give me no thrill.
They’re actually tart and they’re only sweet when
placed into a pie. Are they even good then?

Likewise the strawberry is not all...

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DARKNESS GROWS IN THE GARDEN OF PLEASANTRIES 

Meandering through the garden of pleasantries,
did you sense, the breathless pant of trees,
or hear, the violin seduction, of Cupid’s sentries,
or pierce the eyes, the blossom spread of luxuries?

Do...

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In the pale sunshine of a springtime morn,
As fresh as the dawn before it was born,
Such creamy clouds, grace a deep blue sky,
After the midnight of rain has passed by.
Plum purple blooms, leave scented traces,
As...

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Grandma’s Old Oak tree

No backyard trees do I remember,
Tho cottonwood and mulberries lined street and walk,
So for this purpose one I’ll adopt one from
Grandma’s backyard for this poem’s talk.

A round old oak, too big to...

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Brother and I borrowed a ride.
Upon a hay baler machine.
We balance ourselves with iridescent eyes,
On fresh cut blocks of green.
Three by three the layers are stacked,
Tightly bound with sturdy string.
We sprawl on our sides watching...

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Each year I plant an herbal garden 
very near a stand of mulberry trees
and every Spring when they're in bloom
they attract butterflies and honey bees.

This morning, as I tended the sweet basil,
a young Monarch landed...

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They love the leaves—the butterflies,
mulberry for their eggs,
a home and caterpillars' feast,
where adults rest their legs.

Their beauty drawn—the butterflies,
mulberry for their dance,
where beauty mirrors beauty well,
even with fleeting glance.

With weather harsh—the butterflies,
mulberry their shelter,
through chilling...

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For my water god I entered the wetlands.
Fog was increasing and me becoming incoherent.

The swamp throws a high tide of rolling wave
I lift the burden of bones and take a plunge in darkness.

The holy moon...

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For my water god I entered the wetlands.
Fog was increasing and me becoming incoherent.

The swamp throws a high tide of rolling wave
I lift the burden of bones and take a plunge in darkness.

The holy moon...

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