A Flower for April in June
As I was
slipping down
those stony roads,
this red April
flower
caught my eye.
It stood apart
like a general
among the army
flowers.
I looked again and thought,
Red was not accurate.
It was more
crimson.
Like blossom blood.
A speck drowned
in green.
Bathed in
golden noon,
this red April
flower was
dancing in
June.
poem by Angelica Dela Cruz
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An April Joke
Oh, it was a merry, gladsome day,
When the April Fool met the Queen of May;
She had roguish eyes and golden hair,
And they were a mischief-making pair.
They planned the funniest kind of a joke
On the poor, long-suffering mortal folk;
And a few mysterious words he said,
His fool's cap close to her flower-crowned head.
Then he laughed till he made his cap-bells ring,
At the thought of the topsy-turvy Spring.
''Tis a fair exchange,' he said, with a wink--
'It is!' she said, and what do you think?
The flowers that should bloom in the month of May
Every one of them came on an April day!
And they looked for April showers in vain,
But all through May it did nothing but rain!
poem by Carolyn Wells
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April Flower
Bloom for me,
My April flower.
Show your beauty,
I'll take a gander.
The wind scatters your scent
Giving me the feeling of heaven.
You're the perfection i've dreamt,
The one that i've chosen.
Bloom for me,
My April Flower,
And let me see,
Your petals that matches no other.
I know you're not mine
And you did not grew for me
I can only see you again this time
Unable to resist fate's cruelty.
Bloom for me,
My April Flower,
Though we're not destined to be,
Stay in my heart and take shelter.
In my heart, you will not wilt,
You will eternally bloom..
Even if i am burdened by this guilt,
and love is my certained doom.
Bloom for me for the last time,
At least i can call this moment mine
Ignore my reasons that doesn't rhyme,
Show me your beauty that i can't define.
Bloom..for all eternity..April Flower.
poem by John Paul Ang
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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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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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Young William And Young April
Young William and young April
Met in the park one day.
Young William said to April,
'Why did you come this way? '
Young April said to William,
'I thought I might see you.'
Young William, then to April,
'It's funny, what you do.'
Young April gave to William
A sweet, young childhood kiss.
Young William said to April,
'Don't bother me like this.'
Young April stood in silence,
Not knowing what to do.
Then young William turned away.
Young April, torn in two.
Young William said, 'Don't follow me.'
Away from her he fled.
April then, sat down and cried,
And wished that she was dead.
William never came again.
At least, for many years.
Fearful that young April still,
Might be there shedding tears.
William walked the park again.
It seemed just like before.
Wondering if he might see her.
Young April, there once more.
Young William never noticed.
The roses hid it well.
The place they found Young April.
The place she used to dwell.
poem by Greenwolfe 1962
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Lillian
I. PROEM.
This was a sweet white wildwood violet
I found among the painted slips that grow
Where, under hot-house glass, the flowers forget
How the sun shines, and how the cool winds blow.
The violet took the orchid's colouring,
Tricked out its dainty fairness like the rest;
Yet still its breath was as the breath of Spring,
And the wood's heart was wild within its breast.
The orchid mostly is the flower I love,
And violets, the mere violets of the wood,
For all their sweetness, have not power to move
The curiosity that rules my blood.
Yet here, in this spice-laden atmosphere,
Where only nature is a thing unreal,
I found in just a violet, planted here,
The artificial flower of my ideal.
II. CHRISTMAS-EVE.
April-hearted Lilian,
April with our love began;
Winter comes, but April violets
Linger on.
So the fancy of an hour,
Born of sudden sun and shower,
Braves the winter, and has blossomed
Into flower.
poem by Arthur Symons
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The Birth of Spring (Constanza)
April graces us with showers,
As cold snows melt, their wintry scene
Is changed to many shades of green.
From tender shoots, soon, Spring flowers.
Apollo's face is golden fair....
The scent of spring is in the air.
As blossoms float down from bowers
When gusts of April breezes blow,
They spread below like golden snow.
I delight and watch for hours,
For truly at this time of year
I feel God's presence dwelling here.
Blessed and touched by divine powers.
The joy of springtime here on Earth
Is felt with every flower's birth.
April graces us with showers,
From tender shoots, soon, Spring flowers.
As blossoms float down from bowers
I delight and watch for hours,
Blessed and touched by divine powers.
poem by Connie Marcum Wong
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Always Marry An April Girl
Praise the spells and bless the charms,
I found April in my arms.
April golden, April cloudy,
Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy;
April soft in flowered languor,
April cold with sudden anger,
Ever changing, ever true --
I love April, I love you.
poem by Ogden Nash
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April Is In The World Again
April is in the world again,
And all the world is filled with flowers-
Flowers for others, not for me!
For my one flower I cannot see,
Lost in the April showers.
I cannot wake her, though I sing,
And all the birds, for her dear sake,
Fill with their songs the wintry brake;
Ah! could they make her rise again,
What resurrection would be mine!
Is she too tired to help the sun
And all the little stars to shine?
poem by Richard Le Gallienne
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The Falling Flowers
In the beginning I saw your smile…the unwithering flower…
I was dancing onside of thousand blooming flowers…
The bud’s fragrance was overwhelming silently.
That moment, I felt it in the town of wind with calm breeze.
Every tear and smile has a beginning and ending.
This time, my unwithering flower is falling down onto my tainted road…
The song of storm and fire take away all of my unwithering flowers.
The fragrance, the flower’s colours…everything is melt vastly.
Inside the locked remorse, I find a falling flower.
Inside the cold guiltiness, I start dancing and plant the flower.
This falling flower, I plant it…on the empty soil named despair.
This falling flower, I water it…with my tears named blood.
poem by Mizushi Hikari
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Look at this!
I saw a flower and it was gray.
I noticed the sun was out of the way.
Clouds were in its way.
But then it got sunny again,
and the flower was blue, purple, green, yellow,
clear, and yellow.
It was a pretty flower.
I looked at it and I told my mom that she should come and see
the beauteful flower and she thought that it was too.
The flower was very very very very very
very very very very very very very very very very
very very very very very
very very very very very pretty. And I looked and I looked.
And this is a very long poem,
Like a long day of thinking of good ideas to write this
really really really long poem.
Good-Bye forever!
This Flower
This Flower
This flower with petals so soft to touch
Cradles nature's portal
Where waves rise
and sweet ambrosia falls
This flower with petals so delicate and refined
Lay at the entryway of an open vessel
Waiting with a velvet whisper
to be filled with the seeds of nature's life
This flower with petals so tame and silent
Begs the onlooker to experience it's hiddenness
And after one look, one taste
She has caught her prize
1 April 2008
The Rose of Midnight
The moon is now an opening flower,
The sky a cliff of blue.
The moon is now a silver rose;
Her pollen is the dew.
Her pollen is the mist that swings
Across her face of dreams:
Her pollen is the April rain,
Filling the April streams.
Her pollen is eternal life,
Endless ambrosial foam.
It feeds the swarming stars and fills
Their hearts with honeycomb.
The earth is but a passion-flower
With blood upon his crown.
And what shall fill his failing veins
And lift his head, bowed down?
This cup of peace, this silver rose
Bending with fairy breath
Shall lift that passion-flower, the earth
A million times from Death!
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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The winds April cloak
The wind shall wear his April cloak
So all the flowers will laugh and poke
To see his dancing sprig of spring,
Admiral-on a butterflies wing.
Beneath his feet trees bow newly green,
Little clouds whiten on the glowing sheen,
for all the world is healthier in an April wind
Or so the chirping nestling sparrow's sing.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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The Dead Flower Bed
The Dead Flower Bed
The Dead Flower Bed
A Flower Loves
Eye saw the flower bed as eye walked bye it looked so empty after storm has come, on close inspection there was three plants still thriving there in hopefullness and love, whiteflower looking all better, one purple flower plant blossoming, and a forelorn dandylion
without seeds but steadfast in his love in the center of the flower bed between the daughter and his love, after bad weather gone.
Love remains the flowers fade but love still stays even inside the dead flower bed. A flower loves.
poem by Charles Hice
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April's Away.
All too soon the countryside,
Now fresh greened and sprouting more
Than spring, looks out for wider
Room, shakes it's newborn blossoms
Then ushers April to the door.
And April's away.
No longer teenage, Flora's
Grown maturer now, slightly
Deeper hued, flowers adorning
Every late spring bough, while
April, already pale, turns white,
Then April's away.
Heated by more ardent sun,
Hedgerows must have stronger feed.
Palid from work early done
April leaves, - makes way for May
To ensure Flora has her needs
Now April's away.
31.Why did you do this? [Acrostic]
Wafer thin wings floting above me
Hovering about for a moment free
Yearning a flower to drink nectar sweet
Dancing in the air without any feet
It sees a flower, so swoops down to see
Discovering you, it comes to tell me
Yearning to see a flower dat can dance
Obviously i come, and go into a trance
Unknown of the thorns it has on itself got
Dropping a bit of blood, the thorn, oh I forgot!
Obliterate the wounds, i must fast
Time flies as i rush home at last
Hurriedly cover the wound and run away
Imbicile i was, forgot roads, the mind sways
Surely the flower was here, but where did it go? ? ?
One question the mind asks time and again,
It refuses to let go, however large be the pain
Why did the flower hid itself from my way?
Or did someone take it very very far away?
poem by Harshvardhan Pandit
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April
April, April,
Laugh thy girlish laughter;
Then, the moment after,
Weep thy girlish tears!
April, that mine ears
Like a lover greetest,
If I tell thee, sweetest,
All my hopes and fears,
April, April,
Laugh thy golden laughter,
But, the moment after,
Weep thy golden tears!
poem by William Watson
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Song
APRIL, April,
Laugh thy girlish laughter;
Then, the moment after,
Weep thy girlish tears!
April, that mine ears
Like a lover greetest,
If I tell thee, sweetest,
All my hopes and fears,
April, April,
Laugh thy golden laughter,
But, the moment after,
Weep thy golden tears!
poem by William Watson
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A tree that doesn't flower in April, won't flower at all.