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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A Love Spring
So Spring warm weather upon with you watch
bloom flowers: Tulip, Orchid, Cherry ect..
That awake Springtime beautiful blue sky
With me, feeling of peace with Spring
Pollen of the flowers trees everywhere
To let you know the Spring coming
Green grass with flowers fill us with joy
Outdoor full of activities
Spring gently warm our souls
To the Spring 's love within you and me forever.
poem by Natasa Tocuc
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Spring's Accomplishments
Spring brings with it a warm, gentle breeze
Along with the trees sprouting their baby soft leaves
Gently tapping the ground are the soft showers
Bringing around soft, springtime flowers
Now here they come, the butterflies and the bees
Attracted to the gardens and newly awakened trees
The trees emanate such a calming scent of sap
And the birds nestle down for a peaceful nap
As Easter approaches, the sunshine gets stronger
And as spring continues, the days get longer
The spring goes into a deep slumber
And who takes over then? It's summer!
poem by Caroline Bulleck
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The Early Spring (Rondel Prime)
The early spring brings new flowers again
while twittering birds fly past in a flock,
at the sight of humans cry in amok,
hide in their nests in the seeping cold rain,
while on the road daily joggers do train,
timing themselves with the far off clock.
The early spring brings new flowers again
while twittering birds fly past in a flock,
some on the ground peck and cry out in pain,
others flutter above ships in the dock
while the big waves does them up and down rock
while the spray, rust and salt marks does decks stain.
The early spring brings new flowers again
while twittering birds fly past in a flock.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Paradise Found
The azure, clear sky above me
With its fiery eye staring
Down at an early morning scene:
A house sparrows warning alarm
Of my close approaching footsteps
Seemed to awaken the other
Residents of the forestland:
A gray squirrel pops his head out
From behind a maple tree trunk
To investigate what the noise
Is all about, and then disappears.
Dewy heads of dandelions-
Like miniature suns- light my way
Along this path to paradise.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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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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First Day Of Spring
I know today's the first of spring.
I wonder what the spring will bring?
I know it will bring blooming trees
and pollen that will make some sneeze.
I know it will bring lots of flowers
to stir our senses and feelings for hours.
I know it will make the earth come alive
and bees and wasps building a hive.
I know it will start the ritual of love
and an increase of cloudless skies above.
I know it will bring springtime rain
that will end with rainbows that can't remain.
I know it will make me happy to see
the warmer days and tranquil sea.
What I don't know is what I will do
if springtime wishes don't come true?
poem by Edwina Reizer
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What Spring Brings
I enjoy what Spring brings.
The freshness of the air,
Supplied by the budding of leaves on trees.
A warming of a breeze that once could freeze.
The brightness of flowers,
As extended daylight hours come.
This rebirth witnessed is welcomed.
I enjoy what Spring brings.
And what that means as Winter melts.
A commitment seems to be given,
To all living beings.
As Mother Nature delivers.
An evolution of beauty,
Slowly growing upon us to know.
How valuable we are to God.
And how this is bestowed.
I enjoy what Spring brings.
The singing of the birds.
The blue of the sky,
And the grass so green.
The laughter of children and the innocence of it all.
The presence of promise...
A remembered frost seemed to have stalled.
I enjoy what Spring brings.
Appreciating I do...
The giving Spring brings with its offerings.
The kind only this time Spring can bring!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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September's Brought The Spring
The golden whistler whistles on the gray gum tree
And lyrebird in good mood for mimicry
And magpie piping in the morning gray
And currawong tell rain not far away.
I love the hills of Sherbrooke in the Spring
When wattles bloom and all the free birds sing
The voice of yellow tailed black cockatoo
And spotted dove utter his mating coo.
The rhododendrons flushed with bright pink flowers
And the trees look greener after cool spring showers
September brings with it rich greenery
And nest building birds prepare for family.
Were I a bard born with the gift of rhyme
I'd write a song for Sherbrooke in Springtime
And I'd sing my song that some might wish to hear
Of Sherbrooke in September of the year.
The yellow robin singing in the wind and rain
And the sky turn bright and the sun shine out again
And in Sherbrooke woods the wild and free birds sing
And September's come and brought with it the Spring.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Under The Hues
From my chair by the window,
there are many things I can see.
Through the gap between the houses
on the other side of the street,
a glimpse of a harbour
with small boats tugging at their moorings
trying desperately to be free
while silhouetted under the moonlight.
Beyond the harbour lies the city
with its urban sprawl.
Thousands of stories about lives
whom under its umbrella live.
From their peaceful days
and the ones carpeted under continuing squalls.
The new and the old
share the same spotlight.
The yellow streetlights
make poor imitation suns.
Their protracted idea of no shadows
only dims the light on some
in the early morning hours.
The streets are quiet and bare
and for a few hours,
cars lie asleep outside their homes.
The story goes on and on
under the hues of each day
and lives change.
Some for the better and some for the worse.
Some call it a rat race
while others call it their home.
Regardless what we call it,
within it, life goes on.
1 March 2009
poem by David Harris
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Golden Daffodil's
Oh, what joy my eyes behold
To see such beauty there unfold,
And my heart with pleasure fills
When sun from ebbing winter days
Bring forth the Golden Daffodil's.
Lovely flower, majestic king
Who God awakes in early spring
So cloth'd in all your golden hue
No flower on the garden scene
Is as beautiful as you.
With silent voices and knodding heads
Gayly dancing in swirling beds
Your beauty in the garden spills,
And lifts the lonely hearts of all
Oh, Daffodil's, Oh, Daffodil's.
Dazzling in your sunny place
You fill the garden with poise and grace
Your smell is sweet, your color bold,
And for the often pensive mood
You are the flower to the soul.
All too soon under an early spring sky
Leaves will yellow, crumble and die
Sweet flower that we long to stay
Slips away in peaceful sleep
To stir our hearts another day.
By
Richard Netherland Cook
poem by Richard Netherland Cook
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Where Have All The Robins Gone?
Where have all the robins gone?
They've left and gone to soon
Their empty hollow loving nests
are stilled against the moon
A Spring that was, has come and gone
The worms have dug down deep
Summer's warmth has left the earth
Fall's harvest here to reap
I beg the Winter stay away
To cruel and cold for me
But nature has it's purpose
Rest now......then you will see
Spring returns the Robin's breast
Lost in fields of flowers
Growth anew abounds on earth
The wealth of fresh Spring showers
© 2008 (All rights reserved)
Nighttime
When the evening shadows fall
I know the nighttime's come to call.
It does what nighttime does the best.
It gives us time to be at rest.
It banishes all the daytime scenes.
It allows us to feel what nighttime means.
It means it's time for quiet thought,
peace of mind which can't be bought.
It's time to let yourself unwind.
It's time to leave all cares behind.
It's time to rest your weary head.
It's time to creep into your bed.
It's time for starlight and moonbeams.
It's time for silence and sweet dreams.
But for some the nighttime is their day.
They work the nighttime to earn their pay.
They start their night with the rising sun.
They go to sleep when the night is done.
So when the evening shadows fall
they are not in tune with it at all.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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There Is No Swan Song
in my world
where the sun always shines
every morning in the islands of the Pacific
there can never be a swan song
there will always be some chirping of fledglings
in the nests in the trees
there is nothing that lasts
there are only those firsts.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mind’s Eye
In the early morning hours,
I go out and sit beneath a tree,
just me, myself and I
listening to the dawn awake
within my mind’s eye.
I hear the blades of grass grow
and the chattering of roosted birds
as they awake to another day.
All the life that begins to stir
as the sun reaches for the sky.
The nighttime hush explodes with sounds
as all living things awake
from their slumber of the night before.
I just sit in silence
as my mind’s eye listens to it all,
the waking of another day
for one and all.
24 May 2009
poem by David Harris
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Sunday Suitor
Meadow floor, ocean view
Laying on thatched dandelions dressed in dew.
You bathe me with nature's flowers
Growing wild after a Spring shower.
Robins sing a romantic tune
Under a blue moon. My lip bathe you into exaltation
Perched robins peer, delighted in our copulation.
Squirrels scurry from their nest
While our hearts rest.
Forever my Sunday Suitor.
poem by Cindy Brazil
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A Rose-Bud By My Early Walk
A Rose-Bud By My Early Walk
A rose-bud, by my early walk
Adown a corn-enclosèd bawk,
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk,
All on a dewy morning.
Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled,
In a' its crimson glory spread,
And drooping rich the dewy head,
It scents the early morning.
Within the bush her covert nest
A little linnet fondly prest;
The dew sat chilly on her breast,
Sae early in the morning.
She soon shall see her tender brood,
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood,
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd,
Awauk the early morning.
So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair,
On trembling string or vocal air,
Shall sweetly pay the tender care
That tents thy early morning!
So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay,
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day,
And bless the parent's evening ray
That watch'd thy early morning!
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Spring Time Is Coming
Beautiful Spring is coming,
Ah, yes, will soon be here,
For the clear bright sun is shining
All human hearts to cheer.
One the brightest gems of nature
Is the orb that o'er us shines,
And o'er the wide creation,
It'll shine to the end of time.
The birds will soon be singing
On shrub and bough of trees,
Their notes will soon be ringing
Out, forth so merrily.
They love the merry spring time,
Those little birds we love,
They love the pleasant sunshine
That comes down from above.
We can hear them sweetly singing
From early morn, till night.
They make music in the woodland
Those little birds; so bright,
We should dearly love them,
Those little harmless things,
And when we hear their music,
We know that it is spring.
Ah; it's pleasant in the springtime,
All nature seems so gay.
Bright flowers in the sunshine,
Sweet fragrance can display.
The hills, and dales, and meadows,
So beautifully covered o'er;
With natures richest verdure,
The green grass, as of yore.
The winter will soon be over,
With its cold and chilly winds.
It is sad and dreary ever,
Yet its dying, free from sin.
Now the springtime is coming,
Ah, yes, will soon be here.
We will welcome in its coming
In this glad new year.
poem by Julia A Moore
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Evening Song
WHEN all the weary flowers,
Worn out with sunlit hours,
Droop o'er the garden beds
Their little sleepy heads,
The dewy dusk on quiet wings comes stealing;
And, as the night descends,
The shadows troop like friends
To bring them healing.
So, weary of the light
Of life too full and bright,
We long for night to fall
To wrap us from it all;
Then death on dewy wings draws near and holds us,
And like a kind friend come
To children far from home,
With love enfolds us.
But when the night is done,
Fresh to the morning sun,
Their little faces yet
With night's sweet dewdrops wet,
The flowers awake to the new day's new graces;
And we, ah! shall we too
Turn to the daydawn new
Our tear-wet faces?
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Robin
Where is the robin?
Where is the spring?
Show me your sweet red breast
that surely will bring
the warmth, the warmth.
I need to feel the warmth.
Let me see that worm pulled
from beneath the ground.
Listen with your cocked head.
See what you have found.
Hope springs eternal
for spring is on its way.
Mr. Robin Red Breast
I know you've come to say
Springtime is here.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Spring Has Sprung
Spring has sprung
With the abundance
Of blossoming flowers
The feel of affection
With kindling of love
When two souls meet
The spring bring such delight
In the early morning light
With hearts of satisfaction
Spring brings sweet smells
Of lily of the valley
Where the green grass grows
Where the water flows
And children are playing
With fun and laughter
One would say that
Spring has sprung
With such loveliness
That can only be felt
This time of year
With such an exhilaration
poem by Scott Austin
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