En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Real Hope

Spring proceeds,
despite the cold
Pacific winds.

Storms that should have
blown through months ago,
now come lately,
blustering that late is better
than not at all,
and gather clouds, complaining of the hour;
they huddle and decide to get it over with
all in a day, and squeeze
fountains out of the
heavy April air.

This is the moment!

At last the iris arises,
sleek, and slender, and plain
curvaceous head,
concealing glory

‘til rain all finished,
the sun having drenched
time and emerald space
with his golden flame,

the flower unfurls,
and stirs to nectarine passion
courteous bees, and
lingering birds.

poem by Steven Federle
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April, Dear April

April, dear April, I beg you come soon –
And bring your sweet primroses too.
Let them join in with the daffodils’ play,
As skies offer sunshine anew.

April, dear April, my blessed spring child,
Ornate in your yellow and white,
Teasing the birds into trilling their songs
And dancing to music of flight.

April, dear April, come enter my dreams
And rid me from cold winter chills.
Banish the rain and those blustery winds
And warm up our countryside hills.

April, dear April, I know you can’t stay -
You have to move on ‘till next year.
And though I shall cherish the glory of summer,
You’ll always be my month most dear.

From: Succumbed to Thinking by Mark Raymond Slaughter, lulu.com
Copyright © Mark Raymond Slaughter 2009
All rights reserved

April April April April
April April April April
April April April April

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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April Rain

The April rain, the April rain,
Comes slanting down in fitful showers,
Then from the furrow shoots the grain,
And banks are fledged with nestling flowers;
And in grey shaw and woodland bowers
The cuckoo through the April rain
Calls once again.

The April sun, the April sun,
Glints through the rain in fitful splendour,
And in grey shaw and woodland dun
The little leaves spring forth and tender
Their infant hands, yet weak and slender,
For warmth towards the April sun,
One after one.

And between shower and shine hath birth
The rainbow's evanescent glory;
Heaven's light that breaks on mists of earth!
Frail symbol of our human story,
It flowers through showers where, looming hoary,
The rain-clouds flash with April mirth,
Like Life on earth.

poem by Mathilde Blind
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Songs Of The Sky

In a sky of layered clouds,
dawn becomes a rainbow,
moving through the spectrum
toward the day.

In a sky of always blue,
no clouds ride the wind:
the sun burns brightly,
high and hot and long.

In a sky of may grays,
clouds crash, explode and roar;
rain-filled winds sweep across the prairie.

In a sky of many blues,
clouds dance on the wind;
and endless and quixotic
Rohrschach test.

In a sky of always gray,
no clouds seem to move;
overcast blots out imagination.

In a sky of cold, cold blue,
gray clouds scrape the treetops;
harbingers of winter storms to come.

Beneath a sky of darkening gray,
the prairie grasses rustle
on the small, forgotten farms
of what could've been
and was.

In a sky of mottled gray,
cold rains fall, now and then;
the seasons struggle
for control of April.

In a sky of broken gray,
cold winds precede the rains;
and before long
the darkened clouds re-gather.

In a sky as clear as glass,
and blue from top to bottom,
sultry days of August
slowly drift into September.

In a twi-lit noon-time sky,
this annular eclipse
leaves us just a
ring around the moon.

In a sky of many clouds,
sunset's an inferno;
ablaze, in this,
my father's final twilight.

In a sky that slowly burns,
the clouds of fire fade
and leave a darker beauty
to hold the night.

poem by William Kruse
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Holy Saturday

Storms pass, winds subside
life abides.

See how the cottonwoods trees
spread new leaves,
fill the blank sky with
emerald sheen
as waving vines praise
the living spirit
of spring,

for soon the shrouded sun will flame
through constraining mists
and in glory rise to complete
this forgiven world
and set it free.

poem by Steven Federle
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A Song Of A Spring-Time

TOO rash, sweet birds, spring is not spring;
Sharp winds are fell in east and north;
Late blossoms die for peeping forth; Rains numb, frost blights;
Days are unsunned, storms tear the nights;
The tree-buds wilt before they swell.
Frosts in the buds, and frost-winds fell: And you, you sing.

But let no song be sweet in spring;
Spring is but hope for after-time,
And what is hope but spring-tide rime? But blights, but rain?
Spring wanes unsunned, and sunless wane
The hopes false spring-tide bore to die.
Spring's answer is the March wind's sigh: And you, you sing.

poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Patty of the Vale

'A weedling child on lonely lea
My evening rambles chanced to see;
And much the weedling tempted me
To crop its tender flower;

Exposed to wind and heavy rain,
It's head bow'd lowly on the plain;
Hand silently it seem'd in pain
Of life's endanger'd hour.

And and wilt thou bid my bloom decay,
And crop my flower, and me betray,
And cast my injured sweets away?-
Its silence seemly sigh'd

'A moment's idol of thy mind!
And is a stranger so unkind
to leave the shameful root behind,
Bereft of all its pride?'

And so it seemly did complain;
And beating fell the heavy rain;
And low it droop'd upon the plain,
To fate resign'd to fall:

My heart did melt at its decline,
And ' Come,' said I, ' thou gem divine,
My fate shall stand the storm with thine;'
So took the root and all.'

poem by John Clare
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April Rain

April rain has suddenly come,
With a sudden burst from the heavy clouds,
Washing the dust of February draught,
I stood alone, and all alone with a sad heart.

April rain is falling heavy,
With falling ice, and I felt so chilly,
As the rain fall, my tears are falling too,
In this April rain, hence nobody knew.

poem by Desert Life
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Spring Is Arriving

The weather is wet as the old man remember
But two days from now on the first of September
The Goddess of Spring without any commotion
Will arrive in the Land by the Southern Ocean
In the quiet of midnight when most people are sleeping
Through wood and through park and paddock she will come creeping
In the Southern Hemisphere her three months of residency she will be assuming
When the golden flowers on the wattles are blooming
It looks like August will end as it began raining
But about that the farmers will not be complaining
They have had to survive through many a drought stricken Season
And to smile in the rain they have every good reason
To the southern shore the Spring her way silently winging
And in the rains of late August the wild birds are singing.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Springtime Love # 2

Cold winds of winter
have blown far away-
Springtime is now time
and love is today.

Springtime is our time
when mating birds sing-
Our time is love time
and love time is spring

Springtime-
Once in a lifetime
spring comes,
blossoms and then
springtime
moves on forever.
No second spring again.

Kisses and blossoms
and sweet birds of May,
they're to remember
when spring slips away.

poem by Daniel Artemas Harmon
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The White Pearls From Me

as the gray, thick clouds
of Jose Dalman bring forth
the wild, heavy rain and as
the blown mahogany leaves
look for life on the grass
and the plain

as the intensity of the storms
of the Marupay's fierce winds brings forth
the strong pleas of the
workers of the land
proud of the green orchards
asking to be spared

and when the eyes of the typhoon
meet the eyes of the
monkeys and the parakeets and
python

so in me, shall come the arc of the rainbow
the subsiding side, the stopping of the rage, and the
cool white pearls of the morning dew.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Real Enemy...

it is not late
the wind finally knows its enemy
it was not the tree that it uprooted in one of its storms
not the clouds that it had blown with rage
not the sea whose waves it tumbled in a tsunami
not even the boats it sank
not pitying the passengers and crew who were swallowed
its whirlpools have been wrong
upon itself it must know
its winds its own storms
its enemies all
at the
end.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I am cold. Transparent Spring dresses

I

I am cold. Transparent Spring dresses
Petropolis in verdant down.
But like a medusa, the Neva's wave
Stirs up in me a slight aversion.
Along the northern bank,
The headlights speed away.
Steel dragonflies and beetles are flying,
Golden pinpoints of starlight glimmer,
But not one of those stars will kill
The heavy emerald of the water's wave.

II

We shall die in transparent Petropolis
Where Persephone reigns over us.
We drink with every breath the deathly air
And every hour is our last.
Terrible Athena, goddess of the sea,
Remove your mighty helmet of stone.
In transparent Petropolis we shall die,
Where Proserpine rules, not you.

poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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John Day: XIII

DAY was a full-blown flower in heaven, alive
With murmuring joy of bees and birds aswarm,
When in the skies of song yet flushed and warm
With music where all passion seems to strive
For utterance, all things bright and fierce to drive
Struggling along the splendour of the storm,
Day for an hour put off his fiery form,
And golden murmurs from a golden hive
Across the strong bright summer wind were heard,
And laughter soft as smiles from girls at play
And loud from lips of boys brow-bound with May.
Our mightiest age let fall its gentlest word,
When Song, in semblance of a sweet small bird,
Lit fluttering on the light swift hand of Day.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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When the Month of March Comes

When the month of March comes I am astounded
by the summer that is still lingering,
the sparkle, colour and fragrance of flower upon flower,
the fine splendour

of every cup that still opens for the sun,
birds that frisk about in the branches
with days keeping the intensity of summer
while I perceive the first signs of autumn

in the colours of leave upon leave
that starts to fall one by one
and summer is almost finished
while thunder still reports in the late afternoons

with rain pouring down
and one by one the days of summer are curtailed.

poem by Gert Strydom
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An August Morning At Upper Gully

The smoke from the chimneys curled down in the sky
And it's colder and wetter than 'twas in July
And fog o'er the forest a blanket of gray
And darkening rain clouds more showers on the way.

The currawongs calling the dark birds of rain
And into the station roars the city bound train
And cars on the highway racing to and fro
And down the high woodlands the chilly winds blow.

At 7 a.m. and the temperatures low
And it's cold in upper Gully cold enough to snow
Yet on this bleak morning great beauty i see
Bright yellow flowers blooming on the wattle tree.

Their loud cackling laughter one could not mistake
And they call through the morning just after daybreak
On the higher branches of old mountain gray
The kookaburras herald a cold Winter's day.

Three weeks left in August and Spring is so near
On this perhaps the coldest day of the year
And dark rain clouds gather in bleak morning sky
And it's colder and wetter than 'twas in July.

poem by Francis Duggan
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When April Comes!

When April comes with softly shining eyes,
And daffodils bound in her wind-blown hair,
Oh, she will coax all clouds from out the skies,
And every day will bring some sweet surprise,--
The swallows will come swinging through the air
When April comes!

When April comes with tender smile and tear,
Dear dandelions will gild the common ways,
And at the break of morning we will hear
The piping of the robins crystal clear--
While bobolinks will whistle through the days,
When April comes!

When April comes, the world so wise and old,
Will half forget that it is worn and grey;
Winter will seem but as a tale long told--
Its bitter winds with all its frost and cold
Will be the by-gone things of yesterday,
When April comes!

poem by Virna Sheard
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A Distant Spring

I who love the Spring so well
Shall be sleeping, some glad day,
When her hosts come back to dwell
In their old, familiar way.

I shall live, alas! no more
In some distant April hour,
When the Spring finds wide her door,
Calling leaf, and bloom, and flower.

I shall sleep--but I shall dream
In my home beneath the ground,
And my slumbering heart shall teem
With its visions deep, profound.

I shall know, ere you will guess
(Though with life I have no part),
What new golden loveliness
Stirs within the old earth's heart.

I shall hear the first soft sound
When the Spring is born anew,
And rejoice, beneath the ground,
At the bliss to come to you.

And the dreams that I shall dream,
In that Spring when I am dead,
May arise until they seem
Blossoms white and blossoms red!

poem by Charles Hanson Towne
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An Autumn Scene

The autumn sun shines through the near naked trees exposing recent abandoned thrush nests those months before were hidden from Mans eyes. The lingering colored, crisp, dying leaves precariously cling until late November winds and rain end their brief lives leaving only their scented remains on the ground.

A scorpion sun shines through near naked
Trees exposing vacant, forsaken nests
Where blue robin eggs laid comfortable hid
From probing Mans eyes and unwelcome guests.
The lingering, colored, crisp, dying leaves
Cling to the branches precariously
Until the blustering wind starts to heave
Its gusts from the north unrelentingly.
Apropos of rain it soon will follow
Deluging hapless, defenseless brown leafs.
The wind and the rain display a grand show
Dislodging the leaves whose lives were so brief.
After the lull of the wind and the rain
What’re left on the ground are scented remains.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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Clouds Shall Pass

I see clouds
Whitish and feathery
Cotton white and feathery
Dark clouds, winds gather,

Winds howl, winds sweep the sky
Sun shines, coloured rainbow bows
little rain spatters, clouds,
Clouds shall clear, the sun winks.

poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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For July A Rare Sunny Day

For July a rare sunny day
The sun peep through the clouds of gray
And the nest building magpie does sing
Five weeks from the first day of Spring.

Tiny frogs sing in the watery drain
Swollen by recent heavy rain
And the song of the blackbird I hear
Familiar, melodious and clear.

Late Winter a nice time of year
One knows that the Spring it is near
The birds know it is time to breed
And the call of Nature they do heed.

Mild sunshine with a gentle breeze
And magpies piping on the gum trees
And the magpie larks calling pee wee
In the sunlit park by the sea.

The sun shining in the gray sky
Such a pleasant day for July
The birds sense the coming of Spring
Nature is such an amazing thing.

poem by Francis Duggan
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