Plum Tree Poems | Examples

On A Sunday Afternoon in The Garden

bright yellow throats 
trumpeting a sunlit joy -
daffodils

drowsy afternoon -
day dreams scented
with white magnolia

plum tree -
silhouetted in sound
by buzzing bees

Evening Observations

Evening Observations 

orb spider -
trying to stitch together 
this broken world 

midnight -
the dead plum tree
blossoming stars 

the evening
deepening my silence -
I let go of words

how fragile -
to be set adrift
in such a vast still

late evening -
a spiders web  
has caught my curses

The plum tree and the boy

In the center of the city,
There was a plum tree
Whose flowers were in bloom;
White and rose
They attracted the attention
Of whoever walked by;
In the morning a girl,
That was walking by the tree,
Took her camera and began to make photos;
Later on a mother with her child,
Was passing by
And her child was pointing at the tree;
The mother took the child in her arms
And he began taking
Some flowers from the plum tree;
Any passerby that passed by.
The plum tree turned their heads
And looked
At its white and rose flowers;
In the middle of the day,
A young couple stopped
And sat by the plum tree;
The boy took some little flowers
From the tree,
With care not to harm the tree.
And gave the flowers to the girl,
Who was sitting,
Admiring the beauty of the plum tree;
Time after time
Would be heard voices,
Of the people who seeing.
The plum tree would say to each other:
»Look this plum tree is in bloom now!»
«Look isn’t it beautiful!?»

The Now Continuum

Line of inquiry:
“since thoughts speak in past tenses,
drop mind, rely on senses,
embracing and releasing,
pain pangs and pleasure pleasing” by Unseeking Seeker

I can see God’s hand in all around me:
the sweetness of dawn’s pink; the dusk’s bright sky;
my loved ones’ faces; pets and my plum tree;
mountains to my east and birds that freely fly.
And in my grand kids’ voices I can hear
their joy and sorrow too. God gave me this
that I might comfort them when I am near.
In taste and smell, oh, there is such bliss:
good food; the whiff of flowers on the breeze.
I must embrace my senses, taking part
in using them to grow them with more ease
and feel both using touch as well as heart.
Thus, Now Continuum I do employ,
resulting in my mindfulness and joy.

A Feeding Robin- Haiku 1

spring time morning sun
   	  feeding robin on plum tree~
	                  silence of strollers

April Hiku

"When the old plum tree blooms, the entire world blooms" - Dogen
   
                                with blossoms bursting
              my plum tree basks in sunlight . . .
a song bird’s sweet trill

Fantasy Among the Flowers

As I sit in sunbeam pearls,
My gemmed dragonfly visits, noon.
Warm regards from red, butterfly world!
Purple birds' sing summer tune.

Fairy and dragonfly visit,
sitting on my silk sunflower.
Joy and magic of the hued minute!
Birds flit the plum tree bower.

Ode To Fruit Friends

I was despondent that I had to leave them.
Moving two thousand miles away, it was
unlikely that I would ever see them again.
They were trees, but it seemed somehow
They knew that we would be forever apart.

The lemon and orange trees stood strong
on opposite sides of the backyard. The
Santa Rosa plum and another plum tree
of a different variety graced that same yard
along with a Rose of Sharon in between.

Two tall palm trees rose high in the sunny
Sacramento sky. Two nectarine and two
peach trees lined the eastern border of the
property.

Eight fruit trees. Seven offering nothing but
sweetness, and a lemon tree producing the
best-tasting lemons. And we were leaving
'Bitter-sweet' behind, unable to explain.

If lemons could talk, they would have said,
"Take me with you"!  If they could utter words,
the plums, the peaches, the nectarines, the palms,
and the Rose of Sharon would have pleaded with us
saying, "Please don't go?"

But we moved away, and our dear Fruit Friends
became the possessions of the new property owners.

Zen

Quote: "In zen we don't find the answers. We lose the questions." ..zen philosophy

Beneath the plum tree by the Zen pond's side, 
Its vivid hues reflected in the water's glide, 
Autumn leaves, a kaleidoscope in motion,  
Swim with carps, in a colorful perpetual devotion. 

The optimist gazes, sky-bound, feeling free,  
As leaves brush top of the tree, a sight to see,  
But the pessimist sees inspirations wane,  
Leaves wither, decay, in autumn's refrain. 

The autumn moon, its silver light cascades,  
Galaxies, stars, in its gentle tirades,  
The universe contained, in tranquil grace,  
Even a plum leaf's fall stirs the quiet space. 

What is the sound in silence's domain?  
Who listens to its whisper, its refrain?  
The peaceful heart hums, a silent song's plea,  
Yet ponders, who hears its melody free?

Ready to be Swallowed

A giant road is emerging. My sandy path 
is ready to be swallowed. Gambol, amble, 

ramble, saunter, stride… My way knows
a variety of my gaits. This is a stamped 

path in my gene as an elephant corridor. 
It’s open for the rat snakes, mongooses,

cats, and men. When I lose my way, no 
one will come to me. The machine claws 

won’t shiver when they pluck my black 
plum tree on the wayside. My silence 

will be deluged by the motor cacophonies.
The hullabaloos will petrify the birds and  

my poetry. The tortoise lying on the grass 
with its head inside serenity is unaware of

the imminent doom. Already molded 
in loss, I can keep up my sangfroid.



First published in The Literary Hatchet (issue 30).
The first prize winning poem in the Poetry Nook Weekly Contest.

The Beheaded

I go to bed at three,
I usually wait beneath the plum tree,
That tree is useless like my name,
You and I are in a blissful game!

You are too sweet for me,
Never lived inside me as if you were a great flea,
You are too weak for me,
Never spent a day without thinking of me!

But do you care who I am?
Do you know what it means to be my charm?
Are you my affluent appetite?
I am never your desired guide.

I am the master of manners to you,
I was not willing to sacrifice my mind for you,
You are always ready to make a voyage with me,
I never think of you that we can be a cherished memory.

My coffee never turns cold when you are sitting beside me,
Sleep tight until the sun rises in your daydream,
You do not need to discern what's inside my head,
I am on another trip just before you wake up and call me the beheaded.

Just A Few Of Plants I Like

Forsythia shakes her golden plumb.
Plum tree dances in her wedding gown
And Barlett pears soon to put on a display.
Some daffodils still wear their spring crown. 

How I miss my beautiful pale pink rose
Once upon the garden gate trellis ran.
Delightful fragrance a sensuous balm
Oh! To see you there once again.  

Brambles started to grow upon the trellis.
Choking out your beauty my dear friend
Once the aroma lifted my downed spirit.
I did not want our relationship to end.

Zen Pond

The plum tree over the Zen pond,
reflects in vivid purple colors in the pond,
The scattered colored autumn leaves,
swim in the water with colorful carps with perpetual ease.

The optimist sees the sky is the limit and feel free,
as they watch fallen leaves touch the top of the reflected tree,
The pessimist visions the inspirations going downhill,
as the leaves wither and decay in the autumn chill.

The autumn moon covers the pond with its silvery light sheets,
The sky, galaxies, planets, stars and moon all reflect in its soothing bliss,
The whole contained universe is so calm, quiet and peaceful,
That even a tiny falling plum leaf creates concentric hubs of terrestrial upheaval.

What is the sound of silence?
Who is hearing this sound?
The peaceful heart sings its inaudible melody,
But always wonders, who is that hears?

Date: 5/1/2023
Up to 20 lines poetry contest
Sponsor: Sotto Poet

The Kite

Thin flares of magenta flap tantalizingly
From the top of the backyard plum tree.
The kite!
Dad made it for me only yesterday!
How was I to know it would trick me
As soon as I got to fly it by myself?
It had seemed so live and laughing!

I've climbed up as far as I can go.
The branches are getting thin.
Up close, 
I can see the broken bones
Sticking out, the skin torn, 
Stuck through by twigs and branches.
The wind keeps teasing at the thin red tissue.

I want to rescue it from torment.

The Plum Tree

The mothers spread a plum stained blanket
under the tree,
and lay the babies down,
patting their backs.
They listen for the sch,
dedh, t-te sounds 
of plums dropping through leaves 
and hitting the ground around them.
Then they stand 
and gather up the ones-
Soft, some slightly split, bursting- 
The perfect ones and eat them,
plum juice staining their mouths
and fingers.
They laugh
and spit the pits away,
like the boys do.

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