Sycamores Poems

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

 
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 winter morning.
Watching the shore, the...Read More

~

The heavens sing in star dust whispers
beneath the moon’s enchanted smile
While hand in hand we slowly wander
past sycamores in autumn style

The breeze is cool this path a’ winding
so fresh the scent of twilight bliss
Enchanted moments come this season
in shadows dim...Read More

Dry winds now ease towards the south
Their pathways strewn with autumn leaves,
Brown, orange and an amber gold
Lo watched by sparrows on the eaves.

The sun wakes up a trifle late
Thus lets the mist spread out it veil,
Which ambles past the tower...Read More

Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski

If for the orphans of golden autumn
Then only in a country where they dig out
From sycamores, beeches - among ancestors' shadows
Because these constantly dying live.

If hands of the poor fall
Like golden leaves, without the law of gravity
-...Read More

screwball comedy
Kirbys versus Sycamores-
Pulitzer Prize play






Copyright © 2018 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved. 
First published 2018 in Hollywood Haiku via wattpad.com...Read More

What's not to love about a summer day?
Kissed by the sun, the warmth of its embrace
To feel the cleanse from sweat at work and play
While honeysuckle breezes cool my face

With hillsides blanketed in purple vetch
Magenta morning glories and light blues
Imagine...Read More

Listen to the river cane shifting in the wind
The black water twinkles under the moon's leering grin
Listen to the whisper of the sycamores rustling low
While something splish-splashes in the water's icy flow
Come a little closer, and look into the stream
Look...Read More

Midsummer’s eve  

Softly the glow of the twilight is falling
Beneath the moon on a serpentine sky
Creating auras beyond every heartbeat
Whispering down in a mystical sigh

Fireflies dance among shimmering landscapes
Whimsical movements in abstract design
Enchanted visions through sycamores playing
Endlessly infinite stars...Read More

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 naive ears,

I heard the wisdom...Read More

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 of amber beams
Pine trees’ branches...Read More

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

Limousines cruised the circle, like vultures of prey,
stopping, ejecting their catch of the day

We watched from a hillside, a vast world away

Through the trees, down the meadow
is the grand old hotel.
Sycamores stand regal by two quivering ponds.  
Where hosts...Read More

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, 
 no birds flitting about feeding...Read More

Sycamores
 are amazing trees 
 shedding bark like skin 
 removing dry and brittle layers
 to reveal new pristine smooth pale green hues. 

The bark peels and laps over 
 like a tongue languishing,,
 thirsty,, panting in the Sun 
...Read More

You must remember this, the way the young French waiter
pronounced her name, Sarah Vog-gan
singing "April in Paris, chestnuts in blossom,
This is a feeling, No one can ever reprieve..."  And how
on a small balcony in Paris where God spends His
summers,...Read More

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 corner of a lime green...Read More

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 mountain lion.
Down to the silvered...Read More

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' to their knees!

His boomin' voice...Read More

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 living;

a large pitcher of lemonade...Read More

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 in a corner of a...Read More

Autumn brings leaves in multifarious hues,
Time's flow quickly readies us for winter's blow.
Fun days on our patios will soon turn to blues,
As it takes its leisure neath a blanket of snow.

The Sycamores have shed like some molting dog,
And each Crape...Read More

Back in those early precocious days
I walked gingerly in the woods
Down in the south where I found out
Life’s beautiful, bad and good.

Out in the cypress and sycamores
Treading in the tall tall grass
Where wild deer ran in those lovely lands
And I...Read More

Oft' my thoughts drift back through the mists of time,
To my childhood and my humble Indiana home,
Those blissful days of youth so carefree and sublime!
My memories of those blithesome days would fill a tome!

When I hear, "On the Banks of...Read More

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 hot pursuit!

There was a Fourth...Read More