From April
These days are from April
When spring is coming in
With the dreams of the hill
In green blossoms to win
Hours grow their backyard
From daybreaks rising deep
And from the dim are barred
With blossoms true to keep
Each secret lane of sorrow
Is now in muttered stain
And here is now tomorrow
With their stone and grain
These summer days of April
The song of growing hills
In dreams of silence still
And each new coming thrill
When day and night together
Are like one in each one
In beautiful spring weather
Until those dreams are gone
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Summer’s Now Coming Near
Summer’s now coming near
Nature in its bright giving
Soon again is spring’s year
In the freshly days of living
Ground with new blossoms
In colored shade symphony
Tinctured in fairest bosoms
Whitish and yellow lemony
Easter days impending April
From under snow-white drift
Innovation so much undeniable
In their inventive makeshift
Summer summer‘s soon here
In its delicate scent pleasures
Shining burgeons in its hair
Days of breathing treasures
Now the night is growing thin
In the brightness days ahead
Summer dreams in their spin
With growth in gardens bed
Their Love songs never ending
Tides of variation atmosphere
So much happiness blending
As the new emblems appear
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Don't Go Chasing Shadows
Don't go chasing shadows
When the night is a lion
Into a night that goes
With the last of a lonely ion
The night is in my love song
Thru the dark and mist
All days that touches and long
That yearning have kissed
Day by day left behind
Morning weary waking eyes
To the light day shall find
In the mist of daybreak skies
Don't go chasing shadows
When the night is a lion
Into a night that goes
With the last of a lonely ion
All in heart of the deep
Blossoms growing in spring
What they felt in their sleep
As they turn around to sing
Tomorrow´s awaking call
Feelings torching like lullabies
Beautiful dreams for all
Making love and inner ties
Dreams will never come true
If you keep on going lonely
Never seeing them coming thru
Just being inside of you only
Don't go chasing shadows
Don't go chasing shadows
When the night is a lion
Into a night that goes
With the last of a lonely ion
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Now Summer is Here (from, Lead Sheets in July 2008)
Now summer is here
With moments fair and bright
Beautiful weather in the air
And hope around everywhere
A happy time together
With something new to sing
It couldn't become better
Then again what these days bring
The hours are coming clear
With blossoms growing wide
So much of pleasures near
And everywhere abide
With lovely days of July now
Any love could become true
And open up wishes somehow
Making them again bright new
Now summer is here
With beautiful gardens around
And fragrances in the air
That nowhere else is found
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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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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Spring On April Avenue
When you dont need me anymore
You realise how much you need me
But I just need you if you not need me
Like the spring on april avenue
Words are wounds
And flowers fly
The smell of dew
Spring on april avenue
The electrification
Every leafs pleasure
Every lightbulb waiting underground
Every child rising through life
Because machines are statues...
Spring on april avenue
Theres no symphony
Just a storm in every eye
Snow in their minds...frozen souls
Spring on april avenue.
Theres too much blinding light
Too many wells, and the walls are coming closer
Too many hearts beating our life
But the heart beat for death not life
Like the spring on april avenue
Divorced...forced from heaven and hell...
Air and the earth...Im...Im...
On april avenue.
poem by Not A Dream Choice
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Oh To Be Back Home In Ireland (To Jo)
Oh to be back home in Ireland now that April winds are blowing
And the weather getting milder and the green grass is a growing
And the breath of Spring is in the air and daylight hours grow long
And the skylark o'er the heather sings his merry April song.
Oh to be back home in Ireland the Country of my birth
The Land where I was bred and raised the greenest Land on Earth,
Land of the grassy valleys and scenic heather hills
Of murmuring brooks and rivers and rippling mountain rills.
I have travelled thousands of miles from my home in County Cork
I have been to London City and westward to New York,
I have seen the lights of Paris and the seven hills of Rome
But my heart is always yearning for my Country and my home.
And it's oh to be in Ireland now that April days are here
And the wildborn birds are singing in the Springtime of the year
And the wildflowers are a blooming and new leaves grow on the trees
In the Country I was raised in way beyond Atlantic seas.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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 April Day Near Mushera
Old March is still in April and the wind blows a cool chill
Across the windswept bracken of ancient Mushera hill
And the fields by Aubane river wet where the floods have been
But this countryside looks beautiful in all it's shades of green.
The swallows are returning in their hundreds every day
From warm climes of north Africa the deserts far away
And cattle out on pasture fields and though weather glass is low
The Spring has spread her greenery and lush the grasses grow
The weather will grow milder as days of bloom draw near
And the farmer prays that the Summer will be better than last year
His cattle wintered poorly on weather damaged silage and hay
And he tell all who listen that farming doesn't pay.
The birds busy nest building on bush and hedge and tree
And the blackbird whistles proudly proclaiming his territory
I still recall the innocence of a school going country boy
When I thought that every songbird only sung for love and joy.
An April day near Mushera and Spring is in the air
And in the fields and meadows wildflowers bloom everywhere
And though the ground is soggy where the recent floods have been
Old Aubane seems quite beautiful and looking lush and green.
poem by Francis Duggan
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April Music
I'd like to spend
April, sitting on a hill,
With a mushroom for
a parasol and violets
for a frill. And the
wind for a violin, To
play spring tunes,
And the blossoms in
the treetops, For gay
balloons. I'd like to spend
April sitting on a
mound, Watching for
the flowers to pop out
of the ground. With
their green silk stockings,
And new spring clothes,
Trying to look taller
by dancing on their toes!
1993
poem by S./j. Goldner
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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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Those Green Fields Of Kilmeedy
Those green fields of Kilmeedy I do remember still
They meet the gorse and bracken at the foot of Clara hill
A place of peace and beauty with mountains all around
Scarce touched by man's pollution where Nature's joys abound.
Even in summer in Kilmeedy the dawn comes with a chill
But skylark he is piping above the bracken hill
Through Spring and through the Summer he sings all through the day
And I fancy I can hear him o'er mountains far away.
The robin he is piping on flowering hawthorn tree
Across the miles of distance his music comes to me
And dunnock on the hedgerow and dipper in the stream
And song thrush piping gaily on ash by old bohreen.
All through the Spring and Summer the wildering flowers are seen
But green fields of Kilmeedy not always quite so green
In November and December the winds of Winter blow
And January and February bring frost and sleet and snow.
In mid March in Kilmeedy the first wildflowers appear
And weather still quite chilly though days of bloom are near
But April brings her blossoms and leaves behind her green
And May comes o'er the mountain the summer beauty queen.
Those green fields of kilmeedy I see them every day
And I hear the skylark piping o'er hillsides far away
And dunnock on the hedgerow and the dipper in the stream
And those green fields of Kilmeedy have never looked so green.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Spring In Lisnaboy
My many walks on memory lane i enjoy
'Twill soon be Spring again in old Lisnaboy
And though March 1 is the first of the calendar Spring
March can be wet and cold and few songbirds do sing.
But April she comes with her hosts of wildflowers
And the nesting birds sing in the mild April showers
And old Lisnaboy at it's best to be seen
And everywhere looking so lush and so green.
And April will fade to the beauty of May
And the swallows above the lush fields all the day
Will sing as they chase flies with young to be fed
In their mud nest on a rafter of some nearby shed
And at dawn before the sun shines in the sky
The skylark to greet the day upwards does fly
And the hawthorns heavy laden in their blossoms of white
In the full bloom of beauty a beautiful sight.
The bloom of lost youth we can never regain
But i do love my walks on memory lane
And a hark to the past is a thing i enjoy
Fond memories of Spring in old Lisnaboy.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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.
Russell Kincaid
In the last spring I ever knew,
In those last days,
I sat in the forsaken orchard
Where beyond fields of greenery shimmered
The hills at Miller's Ford;
Just to muse on the apple tree
With its ruined trunk and blasted branches,
And shoots of green whose delicate blossoms
Were sprinkled over the skeleton tangle,
Never to grow in fruit.
And there was I with my spirit girded
By the flesh half dead, the senses numb
Yet thinking of youth and the earth in youth, --
Such phantom blossoms palely shining
Over the lifeless boughs of Time.
O earth that leaves us ere heaven takes us!
Had I been only a tree to shiver
With dreams of spring and a leafy youth,
Then I had fallen in the cyclone
Which swept me out of the soul's suspense
Where it's neither earth nor heaven.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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April
Puzzling dialogues grow facile,
April is a month of dates,
The cherry-plum blossoms in April,
And for the love it happily waits.
The maiden has a date in April,
Her heart is full of adoration…
O spring! Just you hold me back,
Or else, I’d have left the Creation.
poem by Tsira Gogeshvili
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A Light in My Winter
A light in my winter
For spring dreams to come
Shady darkish tinter
Where my summer is from
A light in white frost
For the blossoming dreams
Those with autumn were lost
In oblivion river streams
Each morning come glowing
With sunshine and day
Through the darkness going
To lead forthcoming way
When rose shall reddish
So lovesome in my bed
To bring in spring wish
Through their colors red
A light in my heart
To fulfill my dark eyes
For blossoms shall start
When there are blue skies
And again summer spring
With each beauty of worth
And birds in trees to sing
Every song of new earth
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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April Showers
It is the season of new beginnings...
Spring removes her winter robe
And fades into rainbows of hope;
The sun shines its headlights into April-
And in the garden the effluent scent
Of multiple blooms delights the nose;
The naked trees are no longer bare
Clothed in egg shell, pink and green.
Now entertaining the sometime visit
Of the butterfly and bee;
Showers are but a necessity
Splashed to chase the thirst away
They are never maudlin weeping tears
But always fall on purpose
For they help to bring
Even more blossoms to May;
Dedicated To: 'Betty'...AKA- - - - - - -
Remembering 1978
August: Seattle Times
And what you said:
'Emily took off like a big bird
For L.A. and Australia
But you had better get your
Umbrella's out as she is
Flying back in the spring...'
I did fly back in the Spring
Of 1979...for my fathers last
Two heart attacks and death.
Heart attack in April and last
One in May... and then he passed!
We will always wonder how
You knew that i would be
coming back in April
When even the doctors did
Not know!
By: Theodora Onken
April 9,2012
poem by Theodora Onken
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The Sun Is Out And Shining
The sun is out and shining and there's warmth in the breeze
And the weather rather pleasant around 21 degrees
And pink blossoms on the fruit trees and the wild birds chirp and sing
on this the first day of September and of the calendar Spring.
The poetess is out walking and a song is in her head
And she will write a poem this evening before she goes to bed
Her dedication to September her favourite month of the year
When Spring spreads her green beauty in the Southern Hemisphere.
The lovely golden whistler his song one can't mistake
In backyard on the mirror bush he whistled at daybreak
I'd like to think he piped for Spring though naturalists tell me
That the only reason birds sing is to defend their territory.
The sun is out and shining and Spring is in the air
And blossoms on the fruit trees and parks and gardens wear
Their green cloaks of September and there's warmth in the breeze
And the weather temperatures quite pleasant around 21 degrees.
poem by Francis Duggan
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All Her Days
All her days are softly going by
With some dreams to be forgotten
Like clouds that are always in the sky
Only to drift away and be forgotten
Sunshine and rain each day sunshine and rain
Life is sometimes a dream rising high
With every opportunity coming to be
Or some loneliness that cannot die
Only to become an inside part you and me
Sunshine and rain each day sunshine and rain
There are dreams that cannot be hidden away
In the mirrors of glasses that make a day
Every love song
is rising in high
With the times
that come with new spring
And its hopes
with the dreams still lie
Bringing worth
to recollections of old gone thing
Sunshine and rain each day sunshine and rain
*(Thanks go to the late John Denver, for his song ‘Fly Away’, for without, this could not have happened) .
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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A Well-Worn Story
In April, in April,
My one love came along,
And I ran the slope of my high hill
To follow a thread of song.
His eyes were hard as porphyry
With looking on cruel lands;
His voice went slipping over me
Like terrible silver hands.
Together we trod the secret lane
And walked the muttering town.
I wore my heart like a wet, red stain
On the breast of a velvet gown.
In April, in April,
My love went whistling by,
And I stumbled here to my high hill
Along the way of a lie.
Now what should I do in this place
But sit and count the chimes,
And splash cold water on my face
And spoil a page with rhymes?
poem by Dorothy Parker
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