Long Mulberry Poems
Long Mulberry Poems. Below are the most popular long Mulberry by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mulberry poems by poem length and keyword.
Mulberry-leaf-munching moth pupa
spins silk to make the cocoon
for its transformation into its adult form
as a winged moth.
Pupa in the cocoon is
excited it will fly soon
Ten more days to go
It will fly and go
Joyous and happy it lays
Dreaming of future days
Heartless man picks it up
Drops it in boiling water
Takes out its threads
Makes clothing out of it
It is boiled alive for money and clothing!
People pay huge money buy, flaunt silk clothes
No one thinks how the cloth is manufactured
Even those who do, don't care about the silk worm
Why are humans so heartless
To kill instantly and eat is understandable
To boil alive for clothing, earning ??????......
All those who extract silk from silk worm should be boiled in hot water
And their body parts used for unnecessary purposes
Maybe then they will understand
Or maybe still they won't!
For humans are by nature most heartless of all living organisms
Our heartlessness knows no bounds.
Our selfishness has no limits.
We get back what we give state scriptures
For all that humans are doing what they will get back
I shudder to think
God please give some humanness to humans
27.03.2021
Note : According to PETA aproximately 3000 worms are killed to make one pound of silk. Say no to silk.
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.
Each needle is forever lost
In some remote haystack.
A child close examines dirt
And sees the wonder of the stars.
Collects the neighbors spiders
In his mother’s pickle jars.
Such life these precious moments
Meant to be the essence of existence
Lived by you and me.
A tree really meant to be climbed
Born of purpose, just as we
Who, in the shallowness of youth
Are meant to climb, heading into sky
Leaning on a rising trunk
To gaze through leaves
Contemplate the spots of snot
Remaining on our sleeves
Searching for treasures
Seeking the perfect mulberry
To complete a perfect day.
Purple or red, green and growing,
Tiny spearlike tips of black;
Phonograph needles set to track
Sweet music from the grooves
Of any hungry tongue
Windowpane reflections
On each juicy surface shining
Growing ever larger
As it closes to your mouth.
Could this one berry fill us now?
How many can we eat?
Each one more beautiful
Than all the rest.
Each one the best.
Finger ridges purple stained
Like contours on a map.
Fingerprints of criminals
Stealing berries
From the neighbors tree.
The mulberry fell to its knees;
in Smith-Gilbert Garden, it prays,
near the moss-stone steps;
and I look on, in curiosity.
It was an oddity, but I learned
of its plight. In sorrow, we make
it right, a great fall onto infrangible ground.
Like a bonsai tree, twisted.
Listed, like a ship at storm,
but sailors will never use nets,
to cast, for silent butterflies;
In July, they gather.
Hereby is Summer magic,
buzzing bees, buckeyes, swallowtails
and painted ladies (sailors swear by them).
Yes, all the prayers needed.
Unimpeded, the mulberry fell,
whilst fluttering wings that disappear
in season’s cold, bring merriness,
there’s little hope for thee.
Still, we visit the treasure that bows,
climb the steps, for a further glimpse.
This garden is where I stroll
among the butterflied tree.
Spellbound inside a castle of light
Twinkling stars on tapestries outside
Emerald horses flying in ecstasy
Plum mulberry sunset curling in violet sunrise
Galaxies ensnare bubbling stories at nights
Blushing clouds flying to waterfalls of dew
Where ancient scars dissolve into void
And God will bless our innocent souls
This picture of heaven since I was a child
Remained with me until I stepped outside
The road I traverse reminds me of home
Amid the existence I strive to create
Splashes of peach in a tranquil courtyard
Lyrical verses in melodies of chirping cuckoos
Grandpa's armchair boasting as my grand throne
Grandma brought cookies bubbling with love
Mama's cushioned disdain entwined secret praises
Daddy took me far into parallel universes
Your sheepish smile at my naive questions
Wrapping me in your blanket of divine love
The stories we created under the starlit roof
Windows reflecting Jasmine bushes swaying to bedside
That corner behind the ancient mahogany tree
Where leaves rattled in rain and breathed under snow
Turned pale and crimson at our clicks of words
On laps of dewdrops seeping scintillation of years
Exploring distant lands to delve deep into minds
A land I dream of cocooned with bliss
The palatial abundance of being together
With memories I cherish and days to celebrate
Is nothing less than the heaven that exists
In clouds I believe afterlife will be like this.
May 24, 2020
Heaven Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Regina Riddle
Winner: Third Place
It was minty fresh spring and all undulating, grassy hills turned green.
Flowers emerged in sweetest perfumes, crowned like beauty queens.
It was audacious, ancient April, the month of melodious, ample rain;
Of changes here and anywhere, of bold tapping on the windowpane!
Lime green dazzled in rich orchard, as fern green graced wild wood.
Little Kayla loved vivid, peach sunshine, the kind that makes life good.
All had witnessed the fall of the sun, on cherry sunset, night of nights.
Later Kayla dreamt of friends coming; like rare purple martin in sight!
When winter's ferocious fling ended, forlorn snowman waved goodbye.
Then family came in stylish finery, in flip moments of fuchsia butterfly.
Kayla lived in the house of sunlit greenery, with plants in every room;
As dying sun pledges soon returning colors-laughter from the tomb.
In sanguine Mother's scarlet gardens, Kayla played with all her sisters;
On the street of songbird scat, of windblown leaves, like hued twisters.
Neighbors' porch lights burned all night, under the full moon of nectar;
And nightingale songs entered dreams, of the sunny noon of pleasure.
'Gold of Kinabalu' orchids shone with wealth, in days of fancy flowers;
As 'black velvet petunias owned the night, after the butterfly encounters.
'Limelight hydrangeas' reveled in stardom, as 'love in a puff' went poof;
And chocolate daisies were sinfully sweet, like the invulnerability of truth.
Loving apricot sun the way she did, Kayla disliked drenching, silvery rain;
So, when it showered after school one day, she dashed down Lilac Lane!
She found a refuge, cool and dry, underneath wide, Ada Robinson Bridge;
And she waited for a whole hour, then walked home, past blueberry ridge.
Rich green was the lush grass, covered in precious pearls, which sparkled;
For marigold sun was out once more, lovely as noon eclipse, that darkled.
Mulberry trees dripped spring diamonds, as pretty nature flaunted wealth;
When blue dragonflies were roaring, and pink butterflies drank to health.
Fervent sun shone on the wet roof of Kayla's home, reminiscent of old gold,
Just as a sole sighting is more lovely, than all the stories one has been told!
'Rain on the green grass,
Rain on the tree,
Rain on the housetop,
But not on me.'
Contest: When Summer is Gone
Sponsor: Jcb Brul
1st Place.
"Was it the iris in your heart or was it the whale in my soul?
I thought we were meant to be." ~ the poet
balmy winds stroke my cheeks
soft hands and calloused fingertips
dance their way around my face
tired eyes flutter shut. I feel
waves of oceans with steady currents
a brilliant sun and lemon sand
key lime moss adorning an unbounded shoreline
reflected in coconut pupils,
they are just for you and just for me
when summer is gone,
your touch will not fade
I am the sculpture you pressed life into
the vacant canvas you dyed mulberry blue
though your breaths might,
that love will not falter
and to the young girl who fell asleep counting the stars in your tears,
there will
always be an us
always... be
an us.
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 winds or blazing heat,
no flight helter-skelter.
When hunger strikes—the butterflies,
mulberry their nectar,
for food, for strength, for energy,
their nose, their detector.
For friendship’s call—the butterflies,
mulberry, their best friend,
in loyalty and harmony,
a bond that will not bend.
Here, I scribble a letter
to the rhapsodical rose,
dipping my quill in
stardust that slips
like a violet waterfall
from the tips of
white oak trees.
These marigold
orbs shine with
shimmering streaks
of sugar coated mist,
as I twist my palm
and breathe in
the lavender light
of kismet, while
tender tulips
soothingly sleep
upon the sweet seeds
of nostalgia.
O Mi Amour,
our lambent love
is but a succulent
sea full of stars,
where buttercup boats
sail in emerald
evanescence and
gentle lulls of
champagne waves
kiss those scarlet
shells of secrets,
echoing with
vibrant whale-songs.
Can you feel the
mulberry bluebells
chiming as I glide
on pistachio
plateau of promises?
Am I your soulful dynasty,
just as you are my
star-spun Prince
descended from the eden,
my healer from
charismatic realms and
my last lachrymose wish?
You're a museum
of art for the
moon-shaped chimera
of peonies painted
with hazel silk
and this chameleon
danger holds no
manifestation in
our foreign folklore,
because when
the last dewdrops
dance with sunlight,
holographic memories
of 'You and I',
will forever
remain alive in
the tamarind tales of
watercolor wildflowers.
So, when the
jinxed icicles cut
me with their
silver sword,
spring shivers
in snowy meadows
and the sun sets
along the horizon
of our ruffled story,
you'll always
hear these husky
notes of my
exotic scents
lingering in ivy
laced rains and
falling upon the
graffiti of your
ruby bones.
You'll eternally hear
celestial serenades,
singing in raspberry
language of our
incensed love which
will erase the
acetone sadness
of my unwritten absence
and those crimson
ribbons of violin's ode
will spin our saga
around those
slaty branches
of bitter destiny.
A place called Copenhagen, do you know its song?
Joy and laughter safely ride waves of light.,
and summer days are twenty-five hours long.
Do you still hear the sprocket's cadence and pedals din..
our hearts saying "follow me!" to clamour, and climax in sun,
along the perch fishing canals and Strøget's shops.
You wore Pegasus sandals and a Nørgaard 101 striped t-shirt.,. two sizes too small,
our bikes were true friends, our chains sang in unison,
to the lonely smiles of the raggedy ann town folk.
From the biergarten our parents look on..
sipping Carlsberg Pilsner and Mulberry Aquavit snaps.
Just a hint of sadness hidden behind sunglasses,
they knew that innocent sun too..
Let's sup on ourselves unrepentant,
where no one else can dine.
Your basket holds sweet fruit of existence..
the fresh bread of light in mine.
We'll make a pact to return one day,
where sunshine brightens the May,
and If the clouds turn to grey,
or we're separated by a crowd of strangers..
I'll look for you at the center, searching through the bins,
for what two foolish lovers threw away..
Among Kewpie dolls, sandals & scarves,
clothed déjà vu dreams abound.
Yet true hearts yearn for eternity still,
in Tivoli Garden's lost and found.
With return to summer tree of berries red -
he flashes ‘tween the green scene like a trinket;
celebrant in citrus hues of sunset bled
it matters not if twilight is delinquent
for he wears the molten shades of end-of-day
evening’s pout, in skies of gray, reflects dismay;
a zesty orange-envy oriole brings
for he torches air aflame... a flame with wings.
Susan Ashley
October 5, 2020
(June 7, 2020)
Rispetto lyric rhyme scheme: abab ccdd
Poet’s note: I am lucky enough to have these beautiful summer migrants, Baltimore orioles, return to my mulberry tree and hummingbird feeders each Spring. Such a sweet joy through the summer season! When they depart at the end of August, a piece of my heart goes with them.