A Freak of Spring
At any other time of year
It might have passed, but Spring is queer.
He says somethin' - I dunno
Somethin' nasty. I says, 'Ho!'
'Ho, yourself!' he says, an' glares.
I says nothin' - only stares.
'Coot!' says he . . . Then up she goes!
An' I land him on the nose.
It was Spring, Spring, Spring! Just to hear the thrushes sing
Would make a fellow laugh, or love, or fight like anything.
Which mood called I wasn't carin'; I was feelin' fine an' darin';
So I fetches him a beauty with a lovely left-arm swing.
Ben Murray staggered back a bit an' howled a wicked word
Which gave me feelin's of great joy . . . An' that's how it occurred.
'On the sawdust!' yells old Pike,
Gloatin' and bloodthirsty-like.
'On the sawdust with yeh both!
Truth to tell, I'm nothin' loth.
I peel off my coat an' vest.
Murray, with his rage suppressed,
Comes up eager, pale with spite.
'Glory!' shouts old Pike. 'A fight!'
It was Spring, glad Spring, an' the swallows on the wing
Made a man feel kind an' peaceful with their cheery twittering.
As I watched their graceful wheelin' with a pleasant sort of feelin'
Old man Pike pulled out his ticker, an' the mill-hands made a ring.
There was gold upon the wattle an' the blackwood was in bud,
An' I felt the call for action fairly sizzin' in my blood.
Murray comes on like a bull;
Both his eyes with spleen are full.
Let him have it - left an' right. . . .
Pike is bustin' with delight. . . .
Right eye once and left eye twice
Then he grabs me like a vice. . . .
Down into the dust we go
Bull-dog grip and short-arm blow.
It was Spring! Mad Spring! Just to feel him clutch an' cling
Told me plain that life was pelendid an' my strength a precious thing.
On the sawdust heap we scrambled, while the fellows yelled an' gambled
On the fight; an' Ben loosed curse-words in a never-endin' string.
Oh, I glimpsed the soft sky shinin' and I smelled the fresh-cut wood;
An' as we rolled I pummelled him, an' knew the world was good.
''Tain't a dog-fight!' shouts Bob Blair.
'Stand up straight an' fight it fair.'
I get end-up with a grin.
'Time!' yells Pike, an' bangs a tin.
'Corners, boys. A minute's spell.'
'Good lad, Jim! You're doin' well,'
Says the little Dusty, Dick. . . .
Murray's eye is closin' quick.
It was Spring, sweet Spring, an' a man must have his fling:
Healthy men must be respondin' to the moods the seasons bring.
That sweet air, with scrub scents laden, all my body was invadin',
Till each breath I drew within me made me feel I was king.
'Twas the season to be doin' - fondlin' maids, or fightin' men -
An' I felt my spirit yearnin' for another crack at Ben.
Pike bangs on his tin again.
'Time!' he roars. 'Get to it, men!'
I come eager, fit to dance;
Ben spars cautious for a chance.
With a laugh I flick him light;
Then - like lightin' comes his right
Full an' fair upon the jaw
Lord, the purple stars I saw!
It was Spring, wild Spring! When I felt the sudden sting
Of a clout all unexpected, I was just a maddened thing -
Just a savage male thing ragin'; battle all my wits engagin'.
Instant I was up an' at him, an' I punched him round the ring.
I forgot the scents an' season; I lost count of time an' place;
An' my only aim an' object was to batter Murray's face.
Pike is dancin' wild with joy;
Dusty Dick howls, 'At him, boy!'
I am at him, fast an' hard.
Then, as Murray drops his guard,
I get in one, strong an' straight,
Full of emnity an' weight.
Down he goes; the fellows shout.
'One!' starts Pike, then. . . 'Ten - an' out!'
It was Spring, gay Spring. Still were swallows on the wing,
An', on a sudden, once again I heard the thrushes sing.
There was gold upon the wattle, an' my recent wish to throttle
Murray, as he lay there groain', was a far-forgotten thing.
In the soft blue sky were sailin' little clouds as fine as fluff.
'Wantin' more?' I asked him gently; but Ben Murray said, 'Enough.'
'Well done, Jim,' says old Bob Blair.
''Tis the brave deserves the fair.'
An' he laughs an' winks at Pike
In a way that I don't like.
Widders,' grins young Dusty Dick,
'Likes a bloke whose hands is quick.
Now poor Ben can take the sack.'
But I frowns, an' turns my back.
It was Spring, the fickle Spring; an' a most amazin' thing
Came upon me sudden-like an' set me marvellin'.
For no longer was I lookin' for a wife to do my cookin',
But for somethin' sweet and tender of the kind that kiss an' cling.
Oh, for such a one I'd battle, an' I'd win by hook or crook;
But it did seem sort of foolish to go fightin' for a cook.
Standin' on the sawdust heap
I feel mean an' rather cheap,
Widows? Let the widow go!
What we fought for I don't know.
Murray offers me his hand:
'Jim, you've won; so understand,
I don't mean to block your road . . .'
But I answer, 'That be blowed!'
'Why, it's Spring, man, Spring!' (An' I gave his fist a wring)
'If you reckoned me your rival, give up thinkin' such a thing.
I just fought for fun an' frolic, so don't you get melancholic;
An', if you have notions yonder, why, buck up an' buy the ring!
Put some beefsteak on your eye, lad, an' learn how to keep your guard.'
Then I put my coat an' vest on, an' walked homeward . . . thinkin' hard.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
New Spring
Spring!
Spring! How beautiful is the
Spring! How wonderful is the
Spring! How majestic is the
Spring! How fantastic is the
Spring! How tantalizing is the
Spring! How glorious is the
Spring! How melodious is the
Spring! How joyful is the
Spring! How breathtaking is the
Spring! How uplifting the
Spring! How happy is the
Spring! How magnificent is the
Spring! How colorful is the
Spring! How tasteful is the
Spring! How memorable was the
Spring! How flavorful is the
Spring! How aromic is the
Spring! How sweet is
Spring! How beautiful is the
Spring!
poem by Mario Saboundjian
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Spring Fever
(words & music by giant - baum - kaye)
A little bird, he told me so
He said come on, get on the go
Open your eyes the sky is full of butterflies
The blossoms on the trees stir up the honey bees
Spring makes my fever right
Spring fever, spring is here at last
Spring fever, my hearts beating fast
Get up, get out spring is everywhere
Well if you feel the wanderlust
Just grab a car or hop a bus
In every town theres excitement to be found
So much is happening
Dont miss the joy of spring
The worlds in love just look around
Spring fever comes to everyone
Spring fever, its time for fun
Get up, get out spring is everywhere
Spring fever, its spring fever time
Spring fever, watch that fever climb
Get up, get out spring is everywhere
Spring is everywhere
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spring
In spring
The tender leaves spring
And release the coiled mind to spring
And fling
The thing
That till then did wring.
In spring
The little birds sing
And sling the depressed mind to swing
And bring
Bells of joy
To ring and cling.
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Spring Did Come.
Spring did come,
On butterfly's wings.
On a flitting bird,
And the song it sings.
Spring did come,
When the flowers bloomed,
When it filled the air
With a sweet purfume.
Spring did come,
On the morning's breeze.
Spring did come,
On budding leaves.
Spring did come,
On blades of dew.
Spring did come,
In skies of blue.
Spring did come,
With a joyous ring.
Spring did come...
Welcome, Spring!
poem by Macy Dvirnak
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The Season Of Spring
THE SEASON OF SPRING
the season of spring
weather seems to sing
lovely lovely days
are coming our ways
the season of spring
blooming blossoming
of nature of all kind
let roots unbind
the season of spring
birds unfold their wings
diving high into sky
wish one could fly
the season of spring
careful hearts love sting
reaching out towards others
some persons might bother
the season of spring
nice sound bells ring
new wave new style
faces have on a smile
the season of spring
an new awakening
busy humanity on earth
as if it’s a new birth
listen listen to my words
the season of spring is near
now a look into your lovely eyes
and one can see spring is already here
poem by Morhardt Carmen Mencita Monoi Angel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Murray's Ride
I seldom get to hatin' men, nor had much cause to hate;
To me, it just a foolish game to play, at any rate.
But it kills the hard thought in you, an' forgiveness is complete,
To see the man you hated once a maimed thing at your feet.
We'd had a meetin' at the mill; the boss had said his say
The good old boss, who stints himself to find the men their pay
He told us, fair an' honest, he was up against the game
Unless he got the timber out before the Winter came.
I'll say this much for decent men - an' decent men they were
They saw the game that Murray played to give the boss a scare.
We saw he'd pay near anything and Ben would do him brown;
But a fair thing is a fair thing; so we truned Ben Murray down.
A truck was waitin' in the yard, full-loaded for the trip.
Just an easin' of the brake-rope was enough to let her rip
For half a mile or more down-hill along atrack, rough-made,
To where the horses wait to haul her up the other grade.
The talk was done, the numbers up, the boss had won the day,
An' we were ready to go back an' earn our bit of pay;
When Murray in a mad black rage, goes on to rave an' shout.
'You're sacked,' the old man tells him plain. 'I've had enough. Get Out!'
For close on half a minute I expected Hell to pay;
But Murray glares around the mill - then turns an' walks away.
He stops beside the loaded truck; an' each man in the mill
Watched Murray with a sidelong look; an' each man wished him ill.
I knew Ben Murray for a gab; I knew him for a fool
A decent man enough at heart when he was calm an' cool
Wild rage had hold on him that day, an', maybe, madness too;
An' scorn in me changed to dismay at what I saw him do.
He sprang behind the timber load an' leaped up to the back;
He loosed the rope to start the truck upon the down-hill track;
An' if he meant to jump or stay no man will ever know.
'If I go out,' Ben Murray yelled, 'this is the way I go!'
'Stop that mad fool!' howled old man Blair. 'He'll wreck the track below!'
But now the truck had gathered way, an', as we watched her go,
Ben Murray, with the brake-rope slack, cursed us with all his might.
She took the curve behind the huts, an' then went out of sight.
. . . . . . . . . .
We found him near the wattle-clump, down in the little creek.
His head was by a coral fern, an' blood was on his cheek,
An' blood was on the wooden rails, an' he lay very still,
The man who half an hour ago had meant to boss the mill!
'He's livin' yet' says old man Blair. 'Boys, we must do our best.
Lay hold there, Jim, an' you, young Dick, an' heave that off his chest.
Man, but he's crushed! The crazy fool! Now treat him gently, lad.'
'The track ain't damaged much,' says Pike; 'but, gosh, he's got it bad!'
. . . . . . . . . .
Red stains were on the wooden track an' on the sunlight ground;
A wagtail twittered by the creek, an' hopped an' fussed around;
The Laughin' Jacks were wild with mirth; but very still he lay,
As we took poor Ben Murray up an' carried him away.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Salute To Spring...Spring Time The Best Time
Spring in my step
Spring in the air
Spring!
Spring!
Lingering everywhere.
Spring fever to follow,
But I don't care,
Spring, for new journeys,
I'll meet you there!
Where?
By the garden gate,
You silly thing,
It's an invitation to frolic
So let's begin to sing.
It's Spring!
Written first day of Spring 2010
Dorothy Alves Holmes
A Poet Who Loves To Sing
poem by Dorothy Holmes
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A Spring
(not the season)
A spring
A perennial source of inspiration
about it
we have loads and loads of information
and that
we have as our scriptures
to depict that
we have made our sculptures
we call all these.....
our rich heritages from our ancestors
WHERE IS THAT SPRING....
A PERRENIAL SOURCE OF INSPIRATION
Have we lost sight of it due to our pride?
A spring could'nt be encaptured
A spring could'nt be stored
The scriptures and sculptures were reservoires....
born out of this spring
Just a pride about those....
would'nt bring back the spring.
The scriptures and sculptures are not an ' over ' thing
it was just a ' beginning ' thing
This spring can neither have a beginning nor ending
it is a perennial thing.
WHERE IS THAT SPRING.....
A PERENNIAL SORCE OF INSPIRATION
How do we find this spring
It's just not a common thing
to be found by one and be used by all
Do we need a ' DIVINER ' to divine this spring?
THE DIVINITY IN 'YOU'
HAS TO DIVINE THIS PERENNIAL SPRING ' IN YOU'
' FOR YOU '
poem by Samanyan Lakshminarayanan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Vision
Of things that roam about the bush I ain't got many fears,
For I knows their ways an' habits, and I've chummed with them for years.
For man or beast or gully ghost I've pluck enough to spare;
But I draws the line at visions with the sunlight in their hair.
When a man has fought an' conquered it is good in many ways:
There's the pride in having done it, an' the other fellows' praise;
There's the glory an' the standin' that you get among the men
All their looks are more respectful since I socked it into Ben.
I was feelin' fine this mornin' when I started out to work;
An' I caught myself high-steppin' with a boastful sort of jerk;
With my head a trifle higher an' my eye a little stern.
I thought the world was mine for keeps; but I'd a lot to learn.
Young Dick, the Dusty, wasn't half as cheeky as of old;
The men were actin' friendly-like, but I kept kind of cold
An' distant, as becomes a bloke who's scored a knock-out thump
Till just approachin' dinner time; an' then I got my bump.
It's fine to see your cobbers lookin' at you like the know
You're not a man to trifle with; at least, I found it so.
Ben Murray was quite affable, an' once he whispered me
There's a certain somethin' doin', an' he'll see me privately.
I was workin' at the rip saw, cursin' at my achin' back,
When I saw the blessed vision comin' down the log-year track.
There were others in the party, but the one that got my stare
Was her with two brown, laughin' eyes an' sunlight in her hair.
'More visitors!' growled old man Pike. 'Another city push.
I'll bet a quid they ask us why we 'spoil the lovely bush.'
I hardly heard him saying it, for like a fool I stand,
My eyes full of the vision an' a batten in my hand.
'You gone to sleep?' the sawyer said. 'What's got you mesmerized?'
I start to work like fury, but my thoughts can't be disguised.
'Oh, Jim's gone dippy with the Spring'; replies old Pike an' grins.
I turn to answer dignified; but trip, an' bark my shins.
Next thing I know the boss is there, an' talkin' fine an' good.
Explaining' to the visitors how trees are made of wood.
They murmur things like 'Marvellous!' an' 'What a monster tree!'
An' then the one with sunlit hair comes right bang up to me.
'I saw you fall,' she sort of sung: you couldn't say she talked,
For her voice had springtime in it, like the way she looked an' walked.
'I saw you fall,' she sung at me. 'I hope you were not hurt.'
An' suddenly I was aware I wore my oldest shirt.
'It never hurt me half as much as your two smilin' eyes.'
That's how I could have answered her - and watched old Pike's surprise
'It never harmed me half as much as standin' here like this
With tattered shirt an' grimy hands' . . . But I just says, 'No, Miss.'
'Oh, no,' I says. 'We're pretty hard, an' have to take them cracks.'
(But just to see her sudden smile, made me as soft as wax.)
'You're strong,' she smiles. I answers, 'Oh, I'm pretty strong, all right.'
An' close behind I heard old Pike observin', 'Hear 'im skite!'
That finished me. I lost what little nerve I had, an' grew
Dead certain that I looked a fool, an' that she thought so, too.
She talked some more; but I can't tell what other things she said.
I went all cold, except my ears, an' thye were burnin' red.
I only knew her eyes were soft, her voice was kind an' low.
I never spoke another word exceptin' 'Yes' an' 'No.'
I never felt a bigger chump in all my livin' days,
Well knowin' I was gettin' worse at every word she says.
An' when she went off with the rest I stood there, lookin' sick.
Until I caught a chance remark of little Dirty Dick.
'What price the widders now?' says he. I answer fierce an' low:
'Were you addressin' me?' I says; an' Dick was prompt with 'No!'
I don't know how I finished up; my thoughts were far from clear;
For, in between me an' the bench, that vision would appear.
No other man chucke doff at me, but by their looks 'twas plain
I'd lost a bit of that respect it took a fight to gain.
An', when the knock-off whistle blew, Ben Murray he came by,
An' says he'd like that private talk, but, 'Pickle it,' says I.
''Twill have to keep til later on.' He answers, 'As you like.'
Soon after that I saw him talkin' earnest with old Pike.
If I'd been right, I might have known there's somehting in the air
By the way the blokes were actin'; but a fat lot did I care.
Swell visions an' the deadly pip was what was wrong with me.
I slung a word to my old dog, an' we trudged home to tea.
An' after, in the same old way, we sits beside the fire,
To have a talk, my dog an' me, on fools an' vain desire.
I tell him I'm a silly chump to thnk the things to do.
An', with a waggle of his tail, he says he thinks so too.
I tell him I suppose she's rich, or so she seems to be;
Most likely some reel city swell - an' he don't disagree.
I says to him the chances are I'll not see her no more.
Then he gives me a funny look, an' curls up on the floor.
But I was slow to take the tip, an' went on talkin' rot
About injustice in the world, an' boiled up good an' hot.
I spouts of wrongs of workin' men an' how our rulers fail.
His eyes are shut, but he just seconds motions with his tail.
All beuaty's only for the rich, all times, an' every way.
The toilers just take what is left, as I've heard Murray say
When he's bene talkin' to the boys about the workers' rights,
An' spoutin' of equality, down at the huts, of nights.
I turned the social system inside-out for my old dog.
Tho' he don't seem much entertained, but lies there like a log.
I spoke of common people's wrongs - especially of mine;
But when I came to mention love I thought I heard him whine.
But I went on, an' said straight out that, tho' I seemed above
Such nonsense once, I'd changed a bit, an' I believed in love.
I said love was a splendid thing! . . . Then, true as I am born,
He rose, an' yawned, an' shut me up with one crook glance of scorn.
It's bad enough to be a bloke without one reel close friend;
But when your dog gives you the bird it's pretty near the end.
Ashamed, I sneaked away to bunk; an' fell to dreamin' there
Of a little brown-eyed vision with the sunlight in her hair.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Country Path in Late Spring
The path of mossy ground nestled
In between maternal hedgerows,
That overgrew atop, dimming down
The brilliance of the day.
Embosomed, a calm-cool vision –
Abstract takes of nature, in
Leaf-spattered green shades;
Stem-speckled brown hues;
Shards of sunlight percolating
Through the random flaws to
Up glittering sprites upon the leaves.
And avian chatter bounced along the burrow,
Smattered by the crosstalk
Of busybody insects;
But outside the green comfort zone,
Other worlds of other sounds of other life
Otherwise gave a hint of
Other dozy goings on.
Hawthorn filled the air,
Filled the nose,
Filled the head –
Pungency had overpowered all –
Gave the late-spring-early-summer haze.
Here and there a break of colour:
Odd bluebells – escapees from nearby woods –
Blue-blushing bell faces glancing down,
Aware of their erectness in the stem;
The flaming wing of red admirals
Broke through a hedge hole to
Break up the calm backdrop,
While flitting blue tits gave
To greater-bodied animation.
Nature’s warm narration –
The undertones of life.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
spring nature nature spring; spring nature nature spring
spring nature nature spring; spring nature nature spring
spring nature nature spring; spring nature nature spring
spring nature nature spring; spring nature nature spring
spring nature nature spring; spring nature nature spring
spring nature nature spring; spring nature nature spring
spring nature nature spring; spring nature nature spring
spring nature nature spring; spring nature nature spring
spring nature nature spring; spring nature nature spring
spring nature nature spring; spring nature nature spring
spring nature nature spring; spring nature nature spring
spring spring spring spring spring spring spring spring
spring spring spring spring spring spring spring spring
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Spring Is Here
(rodgers & hart)
Once there was a thing called spring
When the world was writing
Verses like yours and mine
All the boys and girls would sing
As we sat at little tables and drank may wine
Now april, may and june
Seem sadly out of tune
Life has stuck a pin in the balloon
Spring is here, why doesnt my heart go dancing
Spring is here, why isnt the waltz entrancing
No desire, no ambition leads me
Maybe its because nobody needs me
Spring is here, why doesnt the breeze delight me
Stars appear, why doesnt the night invite me
Maybe its because nobody loves me
Spring is here
Spring is here
Spring is here
I hear
song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Spring Song
The cuckoos and the swallows sing the spring song.
They just remind us of spring season.
The cuckoos and the swallows sing the spring song.
They just remind us of spring season.
One more time, I am on cloud nine!
One more time, I am on cloud nine!
To dance Bihu this season…
The cuckoos and the swallows sing the spring song.
They just remind us of spring season.
The spring breeze acts as my heart stirrer
The Red flowers redden my heart’s colour.
The beats of the Dhol cast its rhythmic flavour..
It rightly awakens some sleeping lover.
“O’ brothers, O’ boys! O’ come O’ girls! ! ”
“O’ brothers, O’ boys! O’O’O’ come O’ girls! ! ”
“Lets dance Bihu holding our hands together”
“Lets dance Bihu holding our hands together”.
The cuckoos and the swallows sing the spring song.
They just remind us of spring season.
Different castes and community…
It’s a hallmark of Assam’s beauty.
Keeping aside conflicts of ethnicity..
W’ll give Assam, golden identity..
“O’ spring lovers! O’ O’ O’ country lovers! ”
“O’ spring lovers! O’ O’ O’ country lovers! ”
“In this spring, let us pledge together! ”
“In this spring, let us pledge together! ”
The cuckoos and the swallows sing the spring song.
They just remind us of spring season.
The cuckoos and the swallows sing the spring song.
They just remind us of spring season.
One more time, I am on cloud nine! !
One more time, I am on cloud nine! !
To dance Bihu this season…
(Originally sung in Assamese as ‘Kuli Ketekiye Eenaley Beenaley’ by Dr. Bhupen Hazarika)
(Set to original tune)
poem by Kamal Jyoti Borah
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Spring Can Really Hang You Up The Most
Once I was a sentimental thing,
Threw my heart away each spring;
Now a spring romance hasnt got a chance
Promised my first dance to winter;
All Ive got to shows a splinter for my little fling!
Spring this year has got me feeling like a horse that never left the post;
I lie in my room staring up at the ceiling,
Spring can really hang you up the most!
Mornings kiss wakes tres and flowers,
And to them Id like to drink a toast;
I walk in the park just to kill lonely hours,
Spring can really hang you up the most.
All afternoon those birds twitter twit,
I know the tune, this is love, this is it!
Heard it before and I know the score,
And Ive decided that spring is a bore!
Love seemed sure around the new year,
Now its april, love is just a ghost;
Spring arrived on time, only what became of you, dear?
Spring can really hang you up the most!
Spring can really hang you up the most!
Spring is here, theres no mistaking
Robins building nests from coast to coast;
My heart tries to sing so they wont hear it breaking,
Spring can really hang you up the most!
College boys are writing sonnets,
In the tender passion theyre engrossed;
But Im on the shelf with last years easter bonnets,
Spring can really hang you up the most!
Love came my way, I hope it would last;
We had our day, now thats all in the past!
Spring came along a season of son,
Full of sweet promise but womething went wrong!
Doctors once prescribed a tonic,
Sulphur and moloasses was the dose;
Didnt help a bit, my condition must be chronic,
Spring can really hang you up the most!
All alone, the partys over,
Old man winter was a gracious host;
But when you keep praying for snow to hide the clover
Spring can really hang you up the most!
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wistful Days
What is there wanting in the Spring?
The air is soft as yesteryear;
The happy-nested green is here,
And half the world is on the wing.
The morning beckons, and like balm
Are westward waters blue and calm.
Yet something’s wanting in the Spring.
What is it wanting in the Spring?
O April, lover to us all,
What is so poignant in thy thrall
When children’s merry voices ring?
What haunts us in the cooing dove
More subtle than the speech of Love,
What nameless lack or loss of Spring?
Let Youth go dally with the Spring,
Call her the dear, the fair, the young;
And all her graces ever sung
Let him, once more rehearsing, sing.
They know, who keep a broken tryst,
Till something from the Spring be missed
We have not truly known the Spring.
poem by Robert Underwood Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To His Lady
(Who asked a Song in Spring)
WHY do you bid your poet sing,
Who has no mind to song--
Who only wants to see the Spring,
Long sought and tarrying long?
The shivering, dreary winter through
My song enshrined my vow;
If then my songs were sweet to you,
Let me be silent now!
Have I not duly sung, my dear,
Your goodness and your grace?
Now that your rival, Spring, is here,
O let me see her face!
The hedge is white with buds of May,
The fields are green with Spring,
Oh, give your bard a holiday:
He does not want to sing!
He wants to listen; all alone,
He wants to steal away
To hear the ring-doves' tender tone,
And what the thrushes say.
He wants to hear what can't be heard
When you and love are near--
The sweet Spring's soft and secret word;
Oh, let him go, my dear!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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An Early Day in May
May soothed
– sensual breeze caressing.
Snug, she cooed in floral chroma;
Gave artistic license – dressing up
Pubescent fields, teenage woods,
Jaded lanes; embellishing
Craggy watersides.
Warmth was kind – sun tempered,
Lifting life; erecting bluebell swathes
For good measure: late-spring treasure.
At hill’s base
A mirrored lake, brooding,
Bathed in halcyon haze –
Yet hectic life scurried,
Spurred on by procreational drive,
To see it all survived another year.
Back home, garden tulips flared,
Thrust aloft on rigid stems, and
Under day-time brilliance,
Open goblets, clustered,
Sought out heavenly guidance –
Lauding hallowed Tulipa gods.
May is Nature’s intermission –
Bridging April’s go-ahead
With hothead June.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
s pring spring spring spring spring spring
spring spring spring spring spring spring
spring spring spring spring spring spring
spring spring spring spring spring spring
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Spring Is
Spring is birds singing their heads off
Spring is a beautiful season full of color
Spring is the constant war between the sun and rain
Spring is the light at the end of the long winter tunnel
Spring is the season that brings back life
poem by Kristina Lybbert
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Spring Song
A BLUE-BELL springs upon the ledge,
A lark sits singing in the hedge;
Sweet perfumes scent the balmy air,
And life is brimming everywhere.
What lark and breeze and bluebird sing,
Is Spring, Spring, Spring!
No more the air is sharp and cold;
The planter wends across the wold,
And, glad, beneath the shining sky
We wander forth, my love and I.
And ever in our hearts doth ring
This song of Spring, Spring!
For life is life and love is love,
'Twixt maid and man or dove and dove.
Life may be short, life may be long,
But love will come, and to its song
Shall this refrain for ever cling
Of Spring, Spring, Spring!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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A Spring
I so liked Spring last year
that's the time I've met you dear.
Thrushes began to sing everywhere
like the music you love to hear.
I still like Spring this year
because I know you're still there
like an angel who's always near
and a friend who really care
I love Spring for simply it is Spring
a season for a new beginning!
9th April 2009
poem by Jazlle D. H.
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Spring And You
there was spring and love and you and hope and joy
spring is gone and you went away and every thing passed
there was you and spring
spring will come again and again
you never
then there never be spring again after you
poem by Nadiya Mossadegh
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