Sycamore Poems

(1.)
As Eager Sun Rose, Rewarding Its First Bright Gifts

As dawn woke, uttering shining of its first rays
Night's darkest veil vanished into whispering winds
Rooster's clear crow, signaling a wonderful day
Full of life, with golden treasures love's truth portends
Bliss a'flowing as our...Read More

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree—
A belle crooning nature’s glee,
Splendorous as seasons’ glory.

A ballad of resplendent spring
In stanzas cherry-blossom pink
Uplifting moods of lovers
Lost in heart-shaped leaves
Fluttering soft lavender breeze
Arousing romantic appeal
In fuchsia hues of...Read More

Whispers from a golden sycamore,
it willingly dispenses green leaf secrets to us souls in autumn phase.
Branches creak but somehow never break despite the brittle onslaughts from an ever changing volatile environment.
Sagacious  watchdogs for all seasons whose edges blur with...Read More

I

Just like their love of fifty years
That they held very dear,
The lilies and the irises
Looked radiant that year.

They had no need to prove their love,
Just a knowing glance instead
And a gentle squeeze when holding hands
Beside their flower bed.

When both felt...Read More

I am,

the Cherry, my graceful beauty reminds all that life renews with fragrant  spring blossoms
the Birch, thriving by the river of life
the Dogwood, dazzling all with my shades of color
the mighty Oak, standing strong for my loves
the Elm, with...Read More

Reindeer herd - heard clattering

Rangifer tarandus kept
this deep sleeper awake
cavorting, deer ring
escapade haint fake
dreamt only a smattering while

Santa did shimmy and shake
with ho...ho...ho...
no worry mate - everything's jake
resonating resembling thus Spake
Zarathustra jollity did quake.

Yours truly (i.e, me)
awoke with rapture
forty hooves...Read More

Sycamores certainly speak French, cypresses - ancient Greek, the Old Testament's olives are bilingual: they speak Hebrew and Aramaic. Birch is a Russian tree though growing in Canada. So small and frail (they wither abroad), already gone into a winter...Read More

In the evening looking out my back door
The magic begins
Can you feel the adrenaline?
Spider woman is weaving dream catchers to lore.
Fairies are dancing like their ancestors did before.
The elves are sweetly playing their mandolins.
In the evening looking out my back...Read More

You love your purebred. I'll love my 
Whatachamacallit.
I wonder how he came to be at our back door?
I must admit
He is exquisite
For something I've never seen before.
You love your purebred. I'll love my
Whatachamacallit.
Darling he's a misfit that will fit
Right in...Read More

It was after the defeat at Camden,
in the fall of 1780,
British Major Patrick Ferguson
sought to exploit Britain’s victory.

To secure South Carolina’s countryside,
he marched his loyalist forces forward,
threatened the men beyond Appalachia,
said he would lay waste with fire and sword.

He believed...Read More

The waxing moon is a dull potato sack
Over the shimmering bean green waves

Wanting to die is a communion you take daily 
Pain is the wafer, lethargy is the wine
Life and death, two curved sinuous lines in the sand

I sink under...Read More

If I may quote from Joyce Kilmer's poem "Trees" a line:
(His poem "Trees" is an all-time favorite verse of mine!)

"I think that I shall never see, a poem lovely as a tree!"
(I suppose there are few who with that lyric...Read More

The words I want are crisp and clean
Fresh and white
Daisy sweet

They float through the eye of the sycamore trees
They glide on top of the rivers that glance and smile
Their truth and their light

They float down under angels' wings
And they refresh...Read More

~*~
I knew there was a sun
that adorned the sky each day
Fireflies at twilight
in the forests as they play

Daffodils and tulips
found to bloom most every spring
Robins in the sycamore
each morning there to sing

Waves upon the ocean
and a moon up in the...Read More

IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE : XLIII– the Embalmed Mona Lisa in the Glass Pyramid

If you pull a long stymied face
Make certain you peel eyes that do not stray
Or else the faces you make will make-up put out-of-place
Yet the...Read More

Birthing genesis back to We
Falling out as from freedom's favorite tree
Rebirthing Earth wombs warm content
Extending out where gospel time grows bent

Through Creation's prism for network Time
To originally fall from divine sublime
Into rising place of uncultured wandering
Back to exodus from which...Read More

The yellows the greens the golden reds, once again this September morn a cool breeze lingers and shimmering dew drops light a fortress as I peer from my bed. Oregon's peaceful Autumn tapestry again reveals a place where fading posy's...Read More

a sycamore tree
  its branches raised to heaven
      a woodpecker pounds

8/20/19


...Read More

Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 8/17/2019

I

A dwarf rowan tree so close to the peak
that it may seem the destination
next seed with a lucky puff of wind

but from the same hut
where dwarf
from a dwarf a new generation

and the mother of gray fir...Read More

Glaciers moved with determined strength 
in their destinies, pushing and upheaving
boulders large beyond belief
and whatever else stood in their paths
while coursing over and through the earth's crust
scraping into creation a landscape
of mountains, cliffs, valleys, moraines,
dumlins, eskers and notches,
kettle lakes, cirques...Read More

I want to lay under a sycamore tree in the autumn air.
A late afternoon breeze softly brushing across my face,
crisp and cool, laced with the scent of fallen leaves.

I want to lay under a sycamore tree in the autumn air.
Listening...Read More

Kinfolk pleading with me say "John"
"Keep dancing with the devil 
And you'll wind up gone"
There ain't no need to take alarm 
I've got my brand new 
Blue suede dancing shoes on 
Wake up early in the morning 
To get the...Read More

The five fifty nine bus
went roaming by
on route number nine.

Were you on it
I wonder
are you headed

for Toms River terminal
with guilt on your mind
or does the man your meeting

mean more then tears?
The bus has surely reached
West Creek by now

picking up passengers...Read More

Under the sycamore tree..
dance under the shade..
Reflection of the sun beats down..
Music fills the air..
dance to the beat..
let loose and sway..
A soulful melody..

Under the sycamore tree..
Day becomes night..
Moonlight shines..
Brilliant stars gleam..
Music fills the air..
Dancing gracefully while..
Crickets chime in to the...Read More

 La Fête foraine de Scarborough (La Version complète)
 
      For the medieval English poet and Simon and Garfunkel 
-	In admiration -

Allez-vous à Scarborough fête foraine ?
(Sur la côte d'une colline dans le vert intense...Read More