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.
Our mulberry tree, full and bent
Gives berries so sweet, heaven-sent
They grow big and fall
Woodchucks have a ball
Get drunk on the ones that ferment!
The old women sat in a small circle
under the natural, unnatural,
shade of the Mulberry tree.
Weaving their knits;
a sing-song chatter
rising musically
into the hot Cretian afternoon,
past the children
perched
in the branches above
eating the sweet berries.
Soon,
cold December will arrive.
The old women will hang
silently
the pruned, bare, thin branches
with water-filled bottles
forcing horizontal growth.
The shadeless Mulberry tree
will sing.
As strong, cold winter winds
whistle across the open necks;
a sweet random melody.
a mulberry tree
under dark blue/purple skies
birdsong on the wind
red orb descending
midst the hello and goodbye
the wandering hours
evening breeze caress
sun lurks in shadows of night
mulberries so ripe
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
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
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.
Long berries droop high
Above the ditch made sweet with
Grainy edibles.
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