Stunning spring is my favourite season
She swirls her skirts and drapes the garden in her finest clothes
Dressing the naked winter trees and bushes with bright brilliant foliage
Spring showers us with confetti of pink cherry blossom petals in the warm breeze
Gently opening the eyes of the snowdrops, crocuses and daffodils
They crane their necks from the melting snow and smile sweetly
Creating colour and scent in our glorious gardens
Shadow Hamilton - Seasons Poetry Contest
~awarded 1st place~
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.”
Copyright Harry J Horsman 2000
has long died;
she comes to pass.
across open yards,
blotted white -
then, one last
escapes with might
to southern breeze.
transform with ease.
slowly brighten -
in budding delight,
they sleep no more.
soft to touch,
in wake of warmth
and bubbling sounds
of children’s laughter.
Under a hearty sun,
bare feet and legs
long to lilt
as passion follows
out to taste the open air,
waiting for night
to kiss in the flush
of descending moonlight –
as shooting stars
sleep no more.
last sparks in the fireplace
cool, no longer needed
to kindle romance.
I soften to the touch
of spring dew,
the joyous music -
fresh falling rain;
taking her time
to seed waking soil
until she voraciously
like a lost love –
a restless gypsy
on a journey-
she sleeps no more.
Spring dresses earth
in liveliest colors…
and I smile,
Overwhelmed with the beauty
touching my soul
and sun showers falling
on sweetened dreams.
autumn is here.
of the rain
and blossoms spring.
the snow shapes
the crisp cold
ices the wintertide.
the sand sculptures
a childhood summer past.
the seasonal airs
stimulates the senses
and the memories they carry.
in the glee,
in the hopes and dreams,
in the human spirit,
lives the miracle of life.
voices in every pitch
deep and resounding,
of echoes and whispers – uncut.
Any Old Poem Will Do - Contest
For Skat A
Entered: August 29 2014
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
(a Salute to Howard Moss)
Although it is not yet warm,
we have shoved to the backs of closets
snow-boots, gloves, and woolen scarves,
locked tire chains and ice scrapers
into trunks of automobiles as if
tomorrow the first bloom appears.
Oh, stiff wind blow, hold back snow,
whose flakes unwelcome gust
while hearts claim lilac scent.
Oh, pale moon, come, lend your light.
Oh, songbird, drop your sweet notes here,
while old men's hats sail past
and girls push down their skirts—
with both hands—as purses cling
on hunched shoulders and hair-strands
blow against cheeks.
What is this howling wind
and who brought this mournful song,
this wild, feathered up-surging
as if tomorrow the world upturns.
We've shoved our gloves,
our boots and scarves behind
the racks in backs of closets,
locked away the sacks of salt,
and scoured the ground for signs
of hyacinth buds or crocus flush,
while old mens' hats sail past
and girls hold down their skirts
as purses sway and hair-strands
whip against their cheeks?
And though it is not yet warm,
there is the mystery of spring.
Days and nights of hibernation
within the clapboard walls,
winter winds have eased
and only the sound of rain peals
upon the storm glass panes.
The desire to go out, to run, to scream
is strong, yet, on the rain taps a tarantella.
The parting soil unbound from icy grasp
permits the spear of crocus and of daffodil
and though the rain drones
an accompaniment with the clock
sleep does not come.
Knots of lassitude untwine
as child-like upon the open porch I stand
reaching upturned palm into the falling rain
watching as it strokes the waking ground.
Cleansed are we all by sky and rain and wind
rain on, bless the ground, let Spring begin.
that wonderful sound;
Your beautiful noise
Your fantastic gift
Those Were Golden Days of Splendor
Rushing clear water splattered over the rocks
melding into a huge spraying white foam
The sounds made sent heavenly tastes to my ears
the sight pierced my heart with love's stab
Stab that melds heart to a gentle Soul
a sweet pain born again and again so happily
Fast running stream in my mind's eye endures
stamps images with a clear splash of life
Just a swift stream from my youthful forays
days spent exploring Nature, the world anew
Memories time stamped , precious cargo aboard
faces of family waiting home for my return
Rushing water, a life in a bubbling brook
A memory, a love , a mental picture I took!
Robert J. Lindley, 08-26-2014
note: Looking back at the greatest time of my life.
I was ten years old, rambling the fields and woods
like a roaming gypsy on the prowl. My father was still alive,
my mother young and in good health and best of all my
baby brother was two years old, destined to live 12 more years.
A happy family of 11 children and two parents. Life was good!
Uprooting the dreams
time sows the seeds
And clouds shed tears
of April rain,
while winter wanes
and spring abounds.
Fleeing far flung
start heading home.
And on the winds
of open sky,
try new found wings.
usher in the
first days of warmth.
And tulips flaunt
their waxen bells,
atop stalks of
Mother Nature gaily poses,
dressed in spring’s majestic splendor.
For Her flowered gown’s dappled with
purple pigments and puce pastels.
Tepid Chinooks melt virgin snows,
that fill meandering rivers.
And form long, lazy loops that snake
across emerald green prairie.
A golden sun imbues its light,
with a sense of hope and magic.
And gilding the edge of darkness,
dawn heralds its resurrection.
A watermelon horizon,
marks the birth place of a new day.
And pink cotton candy clouds float
above ribbons of vermilion.
Reminiscent of paradise,
the wildflowers are all in bloom.
And atop gently swaying stalks,
gaze up at indigo skies.
Weren't we partners in everything?
Didn't we talk, study and sing?
Weren't we innocent?
Weren't we kids?
Why aren't we so anymore?
Why each has a life?
Why each has a door?
Weren't we there together?
Weren't we enjoying spring and summer?
Why aren't we so today?
Why can't we have fun and play?
Why can't we share our talks and say?
Didn't you promise me to be my soul?
Didn't I feel shocked and suddenly fall?
Don't you remember... anything at all?
We aren't partners...
We aren't... at all!
April's last Flowers
I was watching carefully
The last stems
Of April's Red flowers
Which were spreading their beauty and smile
Unconcerned with the destiny
That after April
There would be almost no such flowers
Of red Lily
For another one year.01
The flowers were smiling
As if, it makes no difference to them
Whether, they would be here or not
When the hot winds of summer
Would try to wither and make dull
The beauty and grace
Of every human face
As often they succeed in withering
The beauty of flowers and life
That exits and breath
Without the love drops of life giving water.02
The last flowers of April
Were also unconcerned
That they would shrink and would get dried
By the heat and dust of summer
In the days to come
When the scorching Sun would
Burn the Earth, Sea and Water
To create the wonders of rains
For thirty lands and sky of the earth.03
What a great way to live life
In these smiling last flowers of April
Alas! If only humans can understand
How to live a life with the pleasure of love
And get lost forever
Without the worries of tomorrows.04
The flowers were enjoying
Every moment of their existence
With the butterflies and black bees
Which were hovering on them
Since day one
And were trying to please and praise them
To win their hearts
Like men praise and please the women
When they want to attract and win their heart. 05
The hovering butterflies and bees too
Were trying to show their love
To all the beautiful flowers of April
Before the alluring beauty of these flowers
So that these alluring flowers
May allow them to come close and kiss them
In the flowering season of spring.06
Every time these symbols of love
The black bees, butterflies and
Even the little black tiny bird
Were coming close
To kiss and to touch the petals of flowers
They were charging with a new energy
After getting the love drops
From their beloved red flowers
And they were flying
More and more high in the sky
Perhaps to touch the those lofty heights
Which can only be seen
When nectar like love drops
Creates its magic on these searching lips
Filling it with the energy of love
Which get reflected in every new flight
Of these beautiful creatures
When they fly from one flower to another. 07
And I was watching silently
With a Camera in my hand
The last of these April flowers
To catch the glimpse of
Any of these memorable moments.08
Their silent game of nectar and pleasure hunt
Continued in that bright sunlight
As more and more new creatures
Were coming to please and to win their beloved
Standing there with its ravishing beauty
So that, they may welcome them
With a smile and beauty
And may allow them to taste
The nectar of these red beauty and love
Which starts pouring it's magic
With the approach of April
In spring every year. 09
Ravindra K Kapoor
Kanpur India 2nd May
as the wind
within my soul
my poetic thirst
as the wild daisy
upon my face
I twist and turn
the springtime rain
to greet my heart
with each breath of beauty
as I impart
in crystal showers
as I fall back
to paint the day
from the rumbling clouds
I am taken away
as the wind
this poetic birth
Clean spring wind
tickles my every pore;
soothing my inner tempest with
Powerful and tender,
like a lovers kiss -
with my earthy skin;
my motionless frame -
exploring my body
with its ancient mind -
searching in vain for the secret
of my existence –
a secret stayed –
We rejoice in each-others abilities -
for a moment,
we are one.
Him of the sky;
I of the earth –
a moment on no time’s horizon...
two lovers of spring,
exploring the unknown…
Slowly rising sun peeks over treetops
causing them to blush when their nakedness is revealed
Only the apple tree is dressing yet in anticipation of spring dances
Green leafy buds appeared overnight to adorn uplifted limbs
Grass lengthening and greening by the moment
displays its need for a trim
Daffodils planted randomly and profusely through the yard
by a previous owner are exploding in a riot of yellows
Unseen birds chirp happily tweeting a new day’s greetings
A woodpecker furiously hammers at an oak stump beside my house
Sleek black feathers contrast with a snowy white belly
and vibrant red crest on top of his head
An owl hoots mournfully in the distance
Each hoo-hoot fainter than the last
as it settles down to sleep after a long night hunting
A night of hunting oh where are the rabbits I watch in early mornings
They hop playfully into view crunching through last year’s leaves
A doe and her fawn watch from the far edge of my yard
Waiting for me to finish my coffee and this poem
And vacate my front porch so they can breakfast at the birdfeeder
(I have a pot of fresh coffee perking on the stove and comfy chairs on the porch. Come visit, sit a while and enjoy the morning with me)
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!
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
Aquafirs miles away in my mind
with springtime sun
lapping upon the
shores of my memory
movements to my legs
to music echoing in my limbs
5th. Symphony catapults me out the door
into glorious sunshine
dormant for months (seems like years)
staring at boulders
basking in the sun
touching bark on trees
grooves of my
smelling the earth dug up with my
sifting my life
turning my face
towards the sun
warming tidal planes
in my mind
recalling the ebb and flow of
upon this land
marking my scent in
the woods (as men do)
tracking the sun as
it moves across my day
as earth releases
pausing to lay
down in prairie grass and nap
refilling all my
I have still to travel
I have still to travel...
© All Rights Reserved
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.
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.
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
Frigid, knife-edged winds from the northwest
sweep down like hungry raptors on
pewter gray skies. Feral eyed, keen on destruction.
Late May. Sullen skies discharge sleet and glacial,
stinging rain. Threatening each newly exposed
green leaf and sprout. Frozen rain. Unrepentant.
People, startled by the velocity of a winter-spring
storm put the parka back to work. Vibrant summer
birds topple dead from their refuge or tree limb.
Daffodil, crocus, and lilac suffer the slow suffocation of ice.
Hedgerow and tree leaf are burned by ice' frozen fire.
The sun, moon, and stars hibernate for days.
Frail light and little warmth. Bleak optimism.
Grim moods darken. Wildlife endures.
An emerging cycle of life has been altered.
Days are lived in half-tone and sepia.
The sky makes no act of contrition.
The unseen parallels, the lands, ice and cold
north of the Arctic Circle visit their wrath upon us,
erasing much of a slate-gray board of life.
A new and boundless spring is cast aside.
Souls pray and await warmth and golden light
to renew and reincarnate a missing 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
Winter blues are passing, making a place
for the healing Spring showers
the softness of their touch
soothes away the deep grooves of weariness.
The pleasures that spring showers bring
mending not just our needs also the needs of nature.
The tender green shoots of the spring flowers
nosing their way out of the soil, to feel enriched
by the sprinkling softness of a shower.
Animals also enjoy the warm shower,
using their tails as back brushes.
Watching all of these things bring
peace and happiness to me.
To walk in the rain along a sandy beach laughing
at the antics of the birds,
spreading their plumage like a ladies fan.
Best of all Spring showers means hope -
washing away the winter gloom
So I lift my face to the rain,
to look to a renewed hope, to Spring.
Penned on March 26 2013
Contest of Russell Sivey
After a soft spring shower last night, the air was washed clean
And saturated mother earth brings to life nature's bounty
Wisteria, Jasmine, and Azeala's scent wafts perfuming the cleansed air
Last night's accompanying thunder and lightning
Brought nitrogen that restores green to grass, plants, and trees
Now renewed shades of green dot the rolling hills, dashes of soft color those spring greens
A gentle zephyr stirs the leaves refreshed from the moisture and rich nitrogen air
Now hidden within the once barren limbs a tiny bird's nest nestled with care
Soon baby birds will emerge to feast on seeds nourished from this spring shower
A gentle spring shower is a blessing for man, earth and beast
Refreshing, restoring, and nourishing so all will be able to eat
Spring showers put in store water to carry the earth through summer's heat
Out on the porch to enjoy air washed of pollen, cleansed, and refreshed
And hear the birds sing at their very best
Last night's soft spring shower assures their life will be blessed__
Sponsor: Russell Sivey
Contest: Spring Showers
Written this twelfth day of April 2013
You wiped me out
I was exhaled by that indigo storm.-
You stared at me with
A frown sown to your forehead
As I lay on your fingertips.
Like dust in a dark old attic,
You disposed of me
To spring clean your life.
They bring new life,
Revive the old,
Wash away the snow.
These showers make me happy,
When I am sad,
They water the plants,
Both good and bad.
My favorite thing about them,
Is they hide all my tears,
They wash away the pain,
Of all my years.
I don't like these showers,
When I want to go outside,
Because when it rains,
I have no place to hide.
They say spring is paradise.
Will I think so too
as my lips get paler
and fingers paper thin?
Flowers - all of them
like the tissued kind
sold by valorous veterans.
Will poppies ever turn
to lilacs and carnations
before these fields turn
brown in fall?
in the eye of the poppy;
no wonder their smells
I know the blossoms
mortal hint and
collect each fallen petal
for my basket.
©Kathryn McL. Collins
May 24, 2004
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