These Spring Free Verse poems are examples of Free Verse poems about Spring. These are the best examples of Spring Free Verse poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
Oh I am but a simple leaf
withering within the gutter
one summer of bliss
now! Just an autumn flutter.
For some; destine to fall
upon stony ground, a part
of life’s infernal gyration.
Yet for those that fall
within your reach, to live
on within your soul!
While limbs that stretch
towards the solstice, create
vivacious veins as channels of hope,
a pledge of foliation continues
to endure what spring has
furnished; autumn expires.
Yes! If we can but learn
from nature’s complex simplicity,
that life be of a cycle
from the seed we are conceived,
then let spring be my beginning
winter my exultant eve!
Let our two cultures
merge as one, the
to become the sustenance;
our transfusion the
Let us breathe the
fragrance of born again;
let each slender limb,
stout body bear our
tenaciousness, each lyrical
leaf our life’s blood.
Let us mollycoddle each
precious tear that falls from a
angry sky; dance gracefully
upon the wind, embrace
on moonless nights, bathe
in summer madness.
Let us hear the bluebell call,
the daffodil pray, the apple
blossom bear witness; the
clamour of the field mouse
the pitapat of the butterfly
the silence of lovers in love.
Let us be sanctuary to the
symbolic songstress, scuttling
squirrel, vulgar urchin;
a fortress for the warrior
a haven for the pacifist
an inspiration for the poet!
The call of springtime
we will invoke,
we will gladly choke;
“This! Obliging old oak.”
The Happy Field and Spring Shower
Hand in hand, we fluttered like two butterflies
among the fragrant flowers of the field
and meandered, singing songs, along a stream.
No agendas to keep to; no schedules to curtail
the pure pleasure that we took
in consuming every lovely hour of our Saturday.
With our picnic lunch, we sat down on a blanket.
Later we lay looking up at clouds.
Transported to the wonderland of our imagination,
we named them fluffy mountain ranges,
bunnies, sheep, and Easter lily petals
until they morphed into lopsided bearded faces,
huge white polar bears and cotton-breathing dragons.
Unexpectedly, the clouds grew dark, and suddenly,
we saw and felt large raindrops splatter on our skin.
We fled our happy field, arriving home - two children,
wet and laughing, just as the spring shower let up.
How were we to know in the springtime of our lives
that the field and the rain from which we fled
I’d one day write about as metaphors for youth.
Written for the Spring Showers contest 3/30/13
There, just beyond the door yard, she wanders
and I, hiding behind the curtain, catch glimpses
before she disappears up the avenue
that winds through the apple orchard.
Each morning I watch for her as she walks aimlessly.
Sometimes she steps across her previous step and spins,
dragging a broken branch she found,
and with her eyes closed---smiles.
On occasion she willingly falls, lying there,
still smiling and staring dreamlike at the branches
now laden with white blossoms and the busy humming of bees.
I wish I could know her thoughts--
but then, I fear they might be of some other love
instead of the wonder of this perfect spring day,
or, maybe she dreams of that love that she hasn't yet found.
Perhaps tomorrow I'll stroll---and say "Hello"?
So sweet a kiss
The murmuring tunes of Spring
In the fragrant breath of night
Hums within my slumbering ears.
Like the whispering trees dancing
In the softest dews descending
From the vapours of the skies
When the soothing night
Was young with the glimmering moon of May.
The poor labouring clouds expanded wide
In the muted distance ripe with coldness
While the storming of the Eastern wind
Drifted through the blossoming fields
Graced by the sultry springs in the lulling hours.
I pulled the weary drapes
When the night grew old with silence
From a crystal window
Mirrored against the dumb fields
Black with the night.
A soft mist exudes the dead wind
Curled around the nodding branches.
Then I stealed away to the vacant spot
Where a crackling fire
Invaded the mournful breath of silence.
Lipsing sounds intrudes the night
Upon the quiet slopes and verdant span
Where the blossoms gently bow
Kissing soft the silver spray
Fluttering in the starry distance.
There sauntered I
Under the gladsome sky
To pluck a cherry from its stem
Outstretched beneath the sobbing moon
That in the dawning misty hours
That silver orb of light expires
When the sun had greet the day
With a golden sigh!
I feel sad to day
I feel sad in heart to day, to see what is happening all around me
The season of spring is singing the tune of autumn
The Koyals* and nightingales have left without singing,
This beautiful garden and the trees,
Before the spring would have bloom them to sing,
In full throated ease and beauty
They have left the nest and the tree and even the Garden
To see all this
I am very sad to day, sad, very sad in heart
Adieu my friends, you are the birds, who could have sung,
Many more songs and would have given many more dreams,
To those who are still in the garden, in the hope of a Koyal’s melody
But these are the dreams for awaken eyes
And not for those who are sleeping
As day dreams can be put to shape, but the dreams of sleeping eyes
Very rarely get a shape and are often get lost in sleep alone
I feel very sad,
To realize and to see things as they getting all around me
Kanpur India 31 01 2010
*Koyal . A melody singing bird of India (like the Nightingale of John Keats)
Koyal mainly sings in the season of spring.
Winter days so cold and dreary
Cause the soul to grow weak and weary
Ice has covered all the trees
It seems we are in a deep freeze
But Spring is coming to the rescue
Bringing hope and life anew
Blossoms will soon cover the trees
In will come the tropic breeze
Then will come the butterflies
Fluttering as they beautify
Followed by the bumblebees
As birds sing happily in the trees
Winter soon will have to go
As Spring comes in with gentle kiss
Proclaiming to the cold and snow
That winter thusly is dismissed
1 - 20- 2013
She wanders to a dream, a place
Where weeping willows brush her face
Beneath the branches bending low
She's walking where a garden grows
Grass gently sways, as cool as glass
And timid blows the warming breeze,
That fetches shining hair with ease
With wisps of gold, which fly astray,
Like meadow flowers, in yellow maize
A melody of larks, that sing
Of promised spring....of pastel things
An amber sun, a basking glow,
Who ambles by and whispers low
Of meadows green and rainbows too
How much she longs to bask again
To warm a face so pale of skin
But then, once more the threat of chill
Upon a cheek, a breath of ice
And snowflakes land upon on her lash
They startle cold, like morning ash,
A northern wind that stings her eyes
A thief will snatch her scarf away,
And thus her dream has gone astray
And once again her dream has died
Yet distantly, there lies in wait,
A springtime place, a promised fate
A path beneath the willow tree,
Where sun peeks through the velvet haze
Where flowers bloom and meadows grow,
And larks sing lovely lullabies
The earth will wake, to be a dream
A dream with sweet reality
For Francine's Contest: "Winter Begone" 1/23/12
Hark! Don’t forsake me.
Search for me.
Look down low, in the underbrush.
I will be good for you.
Though I’ve been given just a little of our endless world,
I have the glowing fire of raging cordilleras,
The blazing sunsets of Equatorial skies,
The lustrous skin of succulent citrus.
I am orange truth.
The days go by
as I walk around the man made lake,
churning the tides of time backwards
making butter from the gold and brown broth
a solitary wanderers on the same gravel path.
Always a person for whom the flow meant danger
from spring to summer, I walk the scene
with cheery “mornin’s”
popping the insular bubbles
of self imposed
The days go by
as spring returned to my aged step.
The flow lures the weary mind tired of treading water.
Glassine eyes cataract dimmed clear and lift to blue skies.
Familiar faces grin back hooked
on a cheery “mornin’”
Marshaled resources clockwise turn.
Forward thinking, right sided, occasion walks
from summer to fall
popping the insular bubbles
of self imposed
Soft sunlight streams through Nimbus clouds
A sign, a foretaste of coming spring
When hills and fields bring forth rich foliage
From humble green grass to royal heather
Flaunting peacock colors to honor the day
As clouds release their crystalline drops
Lovers’ laughter echoes as they run for shelter
B’neath the old willow tree, they stand; lost in warm embrace
Soon, a hush will fall as sweet jasmine floats
When hungry lips taste the first kiss of spring
Note: For Russell's "Spring Showers" Contest