Springs Splendor
The nighttime air baptized the earth
with a fresh, clean renewing dew
admitting the seasons rebirth
bidding ‘old man winter' adieu.
The sun emerges warm and immense
casting a golden illumine
adorning springtime's resplendence:
yellow daffodils flowering
in meadows and dandelions'
their tiny sunburst dewy globes
drizzled about in disunion;
each claiming its own abode
amidst ground ivy and clover
nurtured by a gentle zephyr.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Springtime
Spring brings the red-breasted robins
To fill the early morning hours
With their cheery chirrs that beckon
The sun to waken the flowers.
Dewy heads of dandelions
Are first to stir from nighttime sleep
Like little yellow rising suns;
And from the trees in nests are cheeps
From newly hatched robin fledglings.
On the dew-covered grass below
A parent thrush struggles, tugging
At a worm lodged in its dark hole
While silent shadows fade away
And springtime births another day.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Her Lips Are Copper Wire
whisper of yellow globes
gleaming on lamp-posts that sway
like bootleg licker drinkers in the fog
and let your breath be moist against me
like bright beads on yellow globes
telephone the power-house
that the main wires are insulate
(her words play softly up and down
dewy corridors of billboards)
then with your tongue remove the tape
and press your lips to mine
till they are incandescent
poem by Jean Toomer
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A Dream in Winter
When all the daisies and daffodils
are buried deep below,
and summer's but a memory
hidden 'pon the drifting snow ~
'tis there beneath the whitened glow,
in a bed of greenest green,
that lives the dreams of springtime hue
with a gleam of emerald sheen.
When all the trees are bared and bent
against wintry winds that blow,
and spring is but a wistful sigh
'pon the branches that bow low ~
'tis there within the boughs so wide,
in a bed of greenest green,
that lives the buds of springtime hue
with a gleam of emerald sheen.
When roses fade 'pon winter's morn
as their petals flee on frosty breath,
and thorns are left to sadly yearn
in their bed of beauty's death ~
'tis there beneath those roses grown,
in a bed of greenest green,
that lives a vision of springtime hue
with a gleam of pastel sheen.
When winter brings a world of white,
a wonderland of icy glow,
and ends the seasons of green, and gold,
hidden 'neath a field of snow ~
'tis there the sleeping earth awaits
in a bed of springtime green,
sighing softly through winter's chill,
'pon a dream of emerald sheen.
poem by Hazelmarie Elliott
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The Verdant Lands of Spring
(from the title of an NLP anthology) Spring rains begin, to refresh the land,
An' beautiful spring flowers begin, to make their stand,
Orange pink blue yellow and every pretty color,
Decorating the hillsides, in a truly rich splendor,
Making their appearance, after cold winter nights,
And the cold wind that to me, seemed really a fright,
Yet now everywhere, it's turning luscious green,
An' beautiful spring birds, will soon be seen,
Now sweet peas blue bonnet flowers an' daffodils,
Are coloring an' dotting the meadows an' hills,
An' springtime can last as long as it wills,
An' I'll never complain o' the fresh spring rains,
That refresh an' green up, the lovely hills an' plains,
An' meadows for sheep an' cattle an' stallions alike,
An' am getting myself ready, for a long fiel' hike,
An' there will be calves an' lambs, an' colts very soon,
And plenty of grass and plenty of room,
As the verdant lands of spring, burst into bloom.
poem by George Kick
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Winter Sleeps
Let winter fall in nature's bed.
Plump springtime's pillow for his head.
A flowered spread to tuck him in ~
to warm the seasoned chill within.
May roses climb to hide his chill
and chase the golden daffodils
away to play within life's stream ~
and not disturb the winter's dream.
Sweet violets share your purple hue.
Tiptoe 'cross the emerald view.
Amid your petal's scented breath
now winter sleeps ~ in nature's depth.
Morning glory do be strong
and when the sunrise comes along ~
nod your head with lullabyes
upon the bed where winter lies.
Sweet peas and forget-me-nots
planted in those bedded spots ~
don't giggle cause you're in full bloom.
If winter wakes ~ 'twill be our doom.
Beneath spring sun ~ may winter rest.
Sleeping deep in garden's nest.
Alas, sweet warmth flows warm and mild ~
awaiting now sweet summer's child.
poem by Hazelmarie Elliott
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Break Of Dawn
A trio of warblers jargon
a madrigal in harmony.
Their polyphony awakens
a slumbering dawn from darkness
while white dewy daffodils, like
saintly daughters of charity,
bow before the paragon sun.
A gentle zephyr diffuses
its collection of fragrances
from the myriad wildflowers
it encountered on its journey
eastward; sojourning, perfuming,
impregnating the morning air
with its sweet, volatile essence.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Four Seasons
First snowfall this morning.
Ground covered in white.
Flowers have died.
Birds are in flight.
End cycle of life
Death turns into birth
Old becomes new
Renewing our earth
Seasons, like Jesus
Restoring the dead
The blood of the Lamb
And breaking of bread
My seasons, have changed.
I've lost my old ways
Pure white I now sit
From the One whom I praise
I Fall to my knees.
In winter I died.
In spring, I'm reborn.
Summer; alive.
He waits til our fall,
And then helps us rise.
His death for us all,
We see through His eyes.
He is my four seasons.
His will is my goal.
After my death,
He breathes life in my soul
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Thank You
Rescued from gutters of days of past-
I breathe in the fresh essence you bring...
Lingering within our blue sky veiled world-
Filled to overflow with the rebirth of new Spring-
Tiptoeing myself through the daffodils-
Embracing myself in green tendrils enhanced by loam-
Surreal views of cascading waterfalls...
Aware that i am at last finally home-
Ever near in the sun kissed emerald vale-
You continue to cleanse and warm my frail soul-
I with clear visual green eyes-
No longer in need of braile-i am out of my dark hole...
Enchanted and reborn 'neath-
The Willow Tree-
Baptised anew in your forgiving arms-
Forever your presence embraces me-
A shelter you are from lifes horrendous storms...
And very near 'neath the butter rays of your sun-
The tulips and violets-they sway-
Rhythmically in the lilting zephr's-
Releasing fragrance- in all flowering May...
So Thank You Again my Beloved Savior-
For finding my lost and ignoble soul-
And allowing me one more Springtime life-
Upon borrowed time-my spirit now glows!
poem by Theodora Onken
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Home Thoughts from Abroad
April in England–daffodils are growing
By every wayside, golden, tall and fair;
April–and all the little winds are blowing
The scents of springtime through the sunny air.
April in England–God, that we were there!
April in England–and her sons are lying
On these red fields, and dreaming of her shore;
April–we hear the thrushes' songs replying
Each unto each, above the cannons' roar;
April in England–shall we see it more?
April in England–there's the cuckoo calling
Down in her meadows where the cowslip gleams;
April–and little showers are softly falling,
Dimpling the surface of her babbling streams;
April in England–how the shrapnel screams!
April in England–blood and dust and smother,
Screaming of horses, men in agony.
April–full many of thy sons, O Mother,
Never again those dewy dawns shall see.
April in England–God, keep England free!
poem by Norah M. Holland
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Adieu! Our Guest Birds
Adieu, our guest birds, adieu!
Adieu, till the next year!
Next year when you'll bring the scriptures of your flight
We would be waiting for you on the lake shore
Earth would feel the return of love
With the soft touch of your silk-soft feathers
But verily till the next year
The waters of the lake will have
The uncouth growth of sedge
Winds will carry the thick sediment of
black dust and smog
Sharp saws of new roads
Would have cut down fields, grassy meadows and thick forests
Into bits and scraps
The hunting seasons will intensify their intrigues.
Adieu! Our guest birds, Adieu!
Till you visit us again the next year
We'll celebrate the sorrow of your return.
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Midwinter Spring
Cloudless sky big and blue,
pale yellow sun warms clear air.
Now comes a new day;
a new season begins,
where winter has been.
Where sorrow has been
a tiny huge shift toward healing,
toward hope.
A new season begins
where winter has been.
Fragile warmth touches chill soil,
tender shoots push toward the surface
seeking nourishing rays.
A new season begins
where winter has been.
A heart slowly opens in tentative inches,
pain still fresh and loud within;
blue sky reaches down.
A new season begins
where winter has been.
The chatter of baby birds
rises on fresh air,
touches the ear, turns the mind.
The heart hears a tiny huge voice consoling.
A new season begins
where winter has been.
(1/2009)
The Seasons Are Like You
The seasons are like you
Flowers bloom humming birds come home everything
Changes but not you you stay the same they must
Leave and you will stay cause you are my winter
Spring summer and fall you stay with me through
The seasons cause you are my winter spring summer
And fall stay with me you have the eyes of winter
The face of spring the body of summer the hair of
Fall because you are like winter cool and calm you
Are like spring beautiful and blossoming you are
Like summer warm and caring you are like fall
Gentle and long lasting cause you are like winter spring
Summer and fall you are my seasons without you I
Am nothing do not leave me I need you careing stay
Please I need you
this is dedicated to savannah
poem by Tucker Lane
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All Four Seasons
With her smile as sweet as a warm wind in summer
Shes got me flying like a bird in a bright june sky
And then just when she thinks that Ive got her number
Brings me down to the ground with her wintry eye
Thats my baby
She can be all four seasons in one day
And when the nighttime comes with no interference
To our warm summer love with all its charms
But like a thoroughbred horse she can turn on a sixpence
And I find that Im back in mistress winters arms
Thats my baby
She can be all four seasons in one day
How will I know?
How can I tell?
Which side of the bed she takes when the day begins
She can be kind
She can be cruel
Shes got me guessing like a game show fool
She can change her mind like she changes her sweaters
From one minute to the next its hard to tell
She blows hot and cold just like stormy weather
Shes my gift from the lord or a fiend from hell
Thats my baby
She can be all four seasons in one day
Watching the weathermans been no good at all
Winter, spring, summer, Im bound for a fall
There are no long term predictions for my baby
She can be all four seasons in one day
How will I know?
How can I tell?
Which side of the bed she takes when the day begins
She can be kind
She can be cruel
Shes got me guessing like a game show fool
If its a sunny day I take my umbrella
Just in case the raindrops start to fall
You could say that Im just a cautious fellow
I dont want to be caught in a sudden squall
Thats my baby
She can be all four seasons in one day
Thats my baby
She can be all four seasons in one day
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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April...A Hopeless Romantic
Rain rings spreading wide
Like liquid blossoms opening
To the rise of April's tide
And if one listens closely
to her gentle wind
and harkens to her showers
One hears April stealing in
To waken
Nascent flowers
Always it begins, as just a gentle patter
A tender touch
to Mother Natures shoulder
As if to say, there's naught to matter
Winter's time is done
No more… will it grow colder
I'll slake the thirst
Of frosted earth says she
And rouse the sleeping seeds
And I'll pay no mind
To what the kind
And even grace the weeds
My dewy touch
My gentle morning mist
Will caress both fields and bowers
Imbued as such
With Springtime's kiss
And the romance of April Showers
poem by David Whalen
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Daydreams
I lie amidst a pride of dandelions.
Odoriferous breaths overwhelm me.
Above, a sea with white wispy phantoms
Silently, adrift, like lost ships at sea.
I close my eyes but still see everything.
For what's perceived is also imagined.
A subtle April breeze whispers.. it's spring!
I smile with eyes still closed then I begin
Soliloquy: I need no gallery
Nor brush and palette to paint that which I see.
All I have seen is stored in memory
And abstract thought can launch this reverie.
I lie still among these yellow flowers
Lost in springtime daydreams by the hour.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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I Prefer the Gorgeous Freedom
I prefer the gorgeous freedom,
And I fly to lands of grace,
Where in wide and clear meadows
All is good, as dreams, and blest.
Here they rice: the clover clear,
And corn-flower's gentle lace,
And the rustle is always here:
"Ears are leaning... Take your ways!"
In this immense sea of fair,
Only one of blades reclines.
You don't see in misty air,
I'd seen it!It will be mine!
poem by Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok
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Violets...Dandelions and Drought
My Front Yard…in Las Vegas Nevada
A hostile environment
A parched arid place
A Mars-like landscape
A few hardy weeds embrace
Dandelions struggle
For meager existence
Gripping dry, parched earth
With desperate persistence
undauntedly turning
Golden faces to the sun
Asking no quarter…
And Nature gives none
Almost unnoticed
In the early Spring breeze
Small timid blue blossoms
Barely rise to dandelions knees
This is my front yard
In a Drought stricken place
Where a few gilded dandelions
Maintain tenuous grace
As if standing sentinel
Over tiny violets of blue
Shepherds over sheep
Of cobalt hue
Lenticular clouds
devoid of rain
Rolling out of the red mountains
Tumbling o’er the plains
Days will grow longer
Nights will wane
The sun will grow stronger
And swallow the rain
And still the weary dandelions
Will stand strong and true
In unspoken communion
With tiny Violets of blue
Indian spirits, Dust devils
Botanic bravada
in my front yard…
In Las Vegas…Nevada
poem by David Whalen
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Lines Written by the Side of a River
FLOW soft RIVER, gently stray,
Still a silent waving tide
O'er thy glitt'ring carpet glide,
While I chaunt my ROUNDELAY,
As I gather from thy bank,
Shelter'd by the poplar dank,
King-cups, deck'd in golden pride,
Harebells sweet, and daisies pied;
While beneath the evening sky,
Soft the western breezes fly.
Gentle RIVER, should'st thou be
Touch'd with mournful sympathy,
When reflection tells my soul,
Winter's icy breath shall quell
Thy sweet bosom's graceful swell,
And thy dimpling course controul;
Should a crystal tear of mine,
Fall upon thy lucid breast,
Oh receive the trembling guest,
For 'tis PITY'S drop divine!
GENTLE ZEPHYR, softly play,
Shake thy dewy wings around,
Sprinkle odours o'er the ground,
While I chaunt my ROUNDELAY.
While the woodbine's mingling shade,
Veils my pensive, drooping head;
Fan, oh fan, the busy gale,
That rudely wantons round my cheek,
Where the tear of suff'rance meek,
Glitters on the LILY pale:
Ah! no more the damask ROSE,
There in crimson lustre glows;
Thirsty fevers from my lip
Dare the ruddy drops to sip;
Deep within my burning heart,
Sorrow plants an icy dart;
From whose point the soft tears flow,
Melting in the vivid glow;
Gentle Zephyr, should'st thou be
Touch'd with tender sympathy;
When reflection calls to mind,
The bleak and desolating wind,
That soon thy silken wing shall tear,
And waft it on the freezing air;
Zephyr, should a tender sigh
To thy balmy bosom fly,
Oh! receive the flutt'ring thing,
Place it on thy filmy wing,
Bear it to its native sky,
For 'tis PITY'S softest sigh.
O'er the golden lids of day
Steals a veil of sober grey;
Now the flow'rets sink to rest,
On the moist earth's glitt'ring breast;
Homeward now I'll bend my way,
AND CHAUNT MY PLAINTIVE ROUNDELAY.
poem by Mary Darby Robinson
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Hypersyllabic lyric with catalexis (for Mary Oliver)
There’s budding in the springtime;
fruiting in the fall;
flowering in the summertime;
but winter comes to all..
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Song Of Winter
Cool cool winter,
The air is dewy fresh,
In the morning
sweet the sun rays.
Almost darkness,
Foggy wind does blow,
In this winter,
Life does run slow.
Mist appeares all day,
Hide the sun rays,
In this winter,
Very well you can tress.
Wear we warm cloths,
In this season,
Shivering coldness,
Is the reason.
In this coldness,
Under sun we bake,
Many veggies do grow,
And take fruits and cake.
poem by Uttam Biswas
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