Long Sycamores Poems

I was a skilled, dedicated CIA agent, helping to preserve national security,
By searching for and garnering information, as silvery rain ensures purity.

Days were spent perusing foreign material, or viewing international news,
Like walking a maze of...

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The sun upon my face blinds me as my boat rocks gently
through the rolling swells that lap against the hull.
The sound of the droning engine mesmerizes my mind
bringing a dreaminess to this bright cool...

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A fresh pink sky lights up the dawn
Heavenly grace soaring across the mountains
Brilliant whisper of silence caressing the pines
Silhouettes of branches dancing on green grass
Romance and wonders falling on flickers of morn

Shadows are lifted from...

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Blond girl on a wheelchair
Eleanor. Motor Neurone her destiny
Purple eyes looking up to the hill terrain
From the shade of her preferred tree

Immobile limbs, travelling dreams
Silent thoughts flowing with the east wind
Up to the peaks scented...

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There was a tax collector chief
Who lived in storied Jericho.
He gave the people scant relief; 
His stature and regard were low.

Zacchaeus was his given name;
His job: to keep the Roman purse.
His title brought him little...

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Accordin'  to my totally unbiased and very detailed research,
Jerimiah Flood pastored the Happy Valley Baptist Church.
From the pulpit he flailed his arms as if fightin' a hive of bees,
Elicitin' "Hallelujahs" and bringin' sinners fallin'...

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Towering sycamores embraced, forming canopies over the streets.
Crime was unknown - (three part-time cops patrolled their beats.)
'Cept for teens in hot-rods who were bent on an occasional toot!
Folks were entertained as cops chased them in...

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Oaks, sycamores and hickories greet me in my favorite woods.
I walk through dappled sunlight, taking my jacket off as I walk.
Down the familiar dirt path, I reach my favorite relaxation spot.
A tiny brook that is...

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The air is turning bitter cold,
the sky a darkened gray.
Trees are now devoid of leaves,
the wind's blown them away.

Soon the flakes of snow will fall,
landscape turning white.
Look across the field,see the deer,
my eyes beheld the...

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~
Dressed in a shade that the sun couldn’t find,
all on a cool summer’s eve
Seeking a scarf only meant to unwind,
wrapped in an untangled weave
Picking a fabric, the color of love,
stitched with a thread of desire
Taking...

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Towering sycamores shaded the court house on the old town square,
And as usual on summer afternoons, hangers-on were gathered there.
I joined them and sat on a bench with a grizzled old man,
Wearing bib-overalls, John Deere...

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On a broad street 'neath spreading sycamores sits a stately dwelling.
Its elegance and surrounding grounds are so very compelling.
Gracious gardens and towering pines enhance its wide expanse,
All girded by a charming, yet sturdy, white iron...

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The chestnuts are in full flower while the sycamores are humming with bees,
Meadow grass is knee deep and full of flowers the dog rose climbs up a post,
And the cowslips sway gently like the sea...

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It rests 'neath spreading sycamores on the small-town square,
A venerable old relic of the Civil War affair.
The sun casts a fleeting glint as it rises anew each dawn,
On the brass barrel of the cannon on...

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The chestnuts are in full flower and the sycamores are humming with bees,
Meadow grass is knee deep full of flowers, the dog rose climbs up a fence,
The cowslips sway gently like the sea in the...

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By chance, I found them, there...
Three pressed leaves, with brittle veins of delicacy
Tucked between the pages 
Of a tattered book of poems
Overlooked and gathering dust, 
A cover worn, with broken spine
It had your names, an...

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Cresting the rise, a glare in his eyes.
Squinting as sharp shards of sun
reflect off the river.
His gloved hand instinctively shadows his face.

Dust in the wind, talcum powder thin
coating, caressing, coloring
grass, leaves, cowboys and cattle
all shades...

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the moon swoons in enfolding arms of sky -
a glassed-out world I cannot touch,

seen through pain and this pane
my four sycamores, sick to the core and wanting more

than the moon-smitten sky is willing or able...

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Pearley Kirkland

1901-1914

Riding double one day 

In musty Sycamore Canyon

With Dewey Hicks on “Belle,”

His old cranky mare,

We watched the stubborn ascension

Of the sultry sun,

Through the cloak of sycamores and willows there,

And transmitted from his mouth

To my...

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`Twas night I walked this beaten path
Were trees flooding either side
Sycamores, dogwoods, oaks and bushy ferns
All radiant in their springtime flare
She caught my eye with her saddened cry
The willow over there.
   Stepping off...

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Outside my window 
 the lemon grass sways in the wind
 and the heart shaped leaves of the winding morning glory
 fold their hearts in half hiding in the sunlight.
The yard is strangely quiet, 
...

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taciturn springs rising
from within the quarry 
of deep earth's wisdom
urging lyrical waters to transpose
while held like singing seas of living reveries
of history and infinity
misting to meld with rainfall dreams
Falling like ancient messages
into the orchard of...

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The clouds drape low, 
shrugging blue mountain shoulders,
melding with ghostly river mist
ascending in specterous vapor trails
salted with primordial tears.

Between stately mottled sycamores 
and aged medicinal white oaks,
slippered phantom figures glide,
clad in hides of deer and...

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Each night sheds its cloak
    morning sun rises
    touching the tree tops
    slow and steady easing forth.
it drapes the earth
    soft and warm...

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In the beginning
There was love,
the countryside kind of loving
where we laid out in an old hammocks
under the shadow of the sycamores tree,
feeling that cool breeze on our face
it was just a little taste
of the country...

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