I do not know?
From bright colors even the brightest blond turns grey.
Grown men now stand.
Were once young children did play.
The once new cover.
Is now tattered and torn.
time has all but erased the oaths once proud men had sworn.
The field now overgrown still haunts memories of the blue and grey.
Old worn headstones markers of were they'll forever lay.
No bell to ring no voice shall call.
The ghosts of the past erased by spring summer and fall.
The old porch stands hidden by a overgrowth of vines.
Now blank are the boards that once were painted signs.
The blood followed swiftly from the wound of the past.
To forge a path to a time that could never last.
Gone is the tree that once stood so very tall.
Forgotten by time
So is the legend of spring summer and fall.
Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2009
Play The Radio
Get Up And Dance All Night Long
Music Heals The Soul
Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012
Springtime fills the air,
like laughing gas.
(Or maybe more like whiskey.)
The suburbs are drunk on the nectar of it's dawn.
are starting to dance.
(Or maybe they're just wobbling.)
They vomit whole families onto their lawn.
I watch them the same way dogs watch TV:
Confused and intrigued,
with a slight urge to pee.
The father cuts grass,
like a sleepwalker.
(Or maybe more like a zombie -
Ravenous for cheap beer, instead of brains.)
A six pack later,
he starts washing his car.
(Or watering his driveway.)
He's spreading on wax so he's set when it rains.
The mother kneels in dirt,
tending the garden.
(More like digging in a sandbox.)
Her spade is rusty. (Figuratively, at least.)
A sunset later,
she cooks family dinner.
(Or maybe orders some pizza.)
(If every mouth is fed, she can call it a feast.)
I watch them the same way dogs watch TV.
The son plays war games,
dying for fun.
(Or maybe more for practice.)
He whines about fruit drinks, as well as the heat.
A full pitcher later,
tweaking on sugar,
(Or maybe just corn starch.)
the war escalates, 'til its time to go eat.
The daughter makes a picnic,
inviting her toys.
(Or maybe not.)
(Her plastic spread can only spread so thin!)
After the tea time,
she's off picking flowers.
(Or maybe weeds.)
(As long as they're pretty, there's a vase that they'll fit in.)
They gather, as a family, at the table to say grace.
They hold each others' hands and say, "Amen."
(And proceed to stuff their face.)
The dog sits by the boy -
Loyal and true.
(Or maybe just hungry.)
He drools as he stares from the corners of his eyes.
he offers to help with the dishes.
(Or maybe he demands it.)
The boy sneaks him a bite. The dog is not surprised.
Bedtime comes soon after.
The kids are sent to brush their teeth.
(Or maybe just to run the sink.)
They put on their jammies, and to bed, they go.
After tucking them in,
the parents watch TV.
(Or maybe they just dream they do,
sleeping in its glow.)
The dog is changing channels,
looking for a better show.
Confused and intrigued,
he pees on the carpet below.
Copyright © John Taylor | Year Posted 2010
SPRING IN AIR, LOVE ONLINE 20/02/13
Nowadays , life is so unpalatable and stoic.
So unnecessarily busy and eventfully hectic.
Young folks thus gather in a shadowy discotheque, to kill,
The retreating winter shedding its last chill.
The chirps of the departing migratory,
With massacred green in a concrete urban factory,
Welcomes the spring breeze, and the cuckoo melody tune,
That too so rare,
For a short term vacation, in a vanity fair.
Some emotional fools and roaming vagabond,
Can feel the spring air and reminiscences their fond,
And cry for the past and the long lost love bonds.
Beside them no one dares to mingle,
Their soul with the colour of butterfly twinkle.
No one cares to see the young green boughs,
Dancing in a frolic of crispy air that jingle.
All is there, in the air, except love my dear,
‘Cause love is now confined,
In another little world so secure.
Where there’s no hasty rushing,
No meaningless blushing,
No hassled waiting, no worrying restriction.
Love is just a ready-made parcel,
At a press of a small button.
Love messages, e mails , tweets, face books ,web cyberspace and profile update,
Takes all the bothering responsibility, does all the necessary tete-a-tete.
No need for time taking arguments,
No need for extra commitments.
Sometimes, meetings could be arranged, but
Oh! Never in public park or in a hopeless garden.
It could be in a shopping mall or a cool coffee den.
The gorgeous and the grotty,
All gather at a V-day party.
Those who are privileged,
Share their love with diamonds and wine.
But for others, not a single grape,
Is sour in a vine.
Everything is taken for granted,
Just simple and fine.
‘Cause love can also be shared,
Simply free of cost on line.
Copyright © sangeeta saha | Year Posted 2013
Early I came alive this spring morning,
Shorter was last night, I realize
Gone were those hours of darkness
It’s time for the novice to arise
Looked on the nature with panoramic view
Spread was the greenery around,
In the palms of picturesque mist
The season of spring could be found
Rambled alone along the street,
Vacant was the boulevard
The silence of human kind,
Invoked in me a fanatical bard
Impaled by a ray of sun,
The universe was set to brighten
And in the universe of me,
Was set the soul to lighten
Copyright © Neha Godambe | Year Posted 2012
In the beginning of spring a path was made
In a shady green forest where lovers laid.
It connected the west side to the east,
And brought together Beauty and Beast.
The path was secret-only for love,
Quiet and secluded, with an occasional dove.
With secrets come whispers-whispers through trees.
Rumors were carried in the voice of the breeze.
Many supporters of this path of pleasure
Made it less hidden-something to treasure.
Blooming spring flowers made a nice décor,
And by summer, the count was even more.
With more and more sins having been created,
The path was forbidden and very much hated.
The rebellious cries in the starlit night
Gave all the wise men quite a fright.
No more eloping, or the mindless riots.
The path became empty; the forest quiets.
Many months pass, and winter nears.
The path is covered with gold and brown tears.
Defeated and hidden by the wisest of men,
The shameful path was never again.
Copyright © Samantha Senft-Greenberg | Year Posted 2012
The sun shines in a friendly glow while the birds sing mating songs, searching for
that lost bond of intimate natural longing. Greenery illuminates the path through the
garden, colorfully decorating the atmosphere with contentment. Leaves drift
beatifically to their resting place in the aura of serenity; wisdom in the blossoms
wherein dastardly royalty is usurped by inane benevolence. Such generosity cannot
freely bandy about when originated from petulant systems of feigned philanthropy.
Evidence mystifies the instituted kindness with otherworldly martyrdom prevailing
over dynamically advantageous disproportion. A youthful sprite exudes sage
harmony that listens intently to ruminated introversion and callously disregards
obnoxious outburst. A twig snaps into seventy equivalent sections; equilibrium
begets solitude among the predetermined assortment. Begin again and sweetly
profound anew. Did it start? Nevermore, with the exception of a shift in the concept
of causality's influence: kleptomania for knowledge and acceptance of besmirched
spirits. Souls pine for an existential seed to spurt roots and permeate the dirty
confinement. Cyclical imperfection trudges through sludge, almost cinematic in its
unveiling. It is astounding in each fresh, yet repitious succession. A song skips lyrical
lust and jumps to instumental amelioration: The symphonic glory of all
encompassing, magnificent, eternal, ascending powerfully and synthetically
descending, original, cooperative, and unorthodox love.
Copyright © James Lockaby | Year Posted 2011
Classically gray day
pre Spring trees
cast in silouhette.
Sitting in shadow
side by side
behind the wall,
one of them
hand above left
knee of the other,
slides palm slowly up.
Heartbeats. Ticktock breath.
Feels flesh soften,
One looks ahead.
The other eyes over,
downward. A parting of thighs.
Mysteries near solving.
Copyright © Don Schaeffer | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
“ Life’s Magic Lantern”
Is my latest book a
Wonderful variety of poetry
In many different poetic styles.
Very inspirational and visual.
Uplifting and enjoyable for
“Just For The Pun Of It”
In my latest Book, a collection
Of funny and clean humor.
All humor is meant in fun,
Not to poke fun.
Laughter for good health
“ For All Tomorrows”
A wonderful variety of poetry,
About nature, inspiration, love,
Faith, dreams, wisdom, fantasy,
Etc, written in different poetic styles
For any age
“ My Candle Kept On Burning”
A biography, true life stories from
Growing up in Vienna during world
War two, surviving many close encounters.
With 46 pictures>
A wonderful variety of poetry, inspired
Form the nineteen sixties living in Los
Angeles when Love was in the Air.
“The Trojan Horse”
A wonderful variety of poetry, inspired
Form that tragic 9/11 day.
All the books on a spring special sale.
You can see the on my web site at
You can order the books at www.lulu.com
Or you can get an autographed copy
With a 15% discount from me,
For more than one book there is
A 20% discount.
My email firstname.lastname@example.org
I donate part to a food bank.
Copyright © Erich Goller | Year Posted 2012
If streets had beats,
Ours would be steady,
Diversity beautifies Mt. Airy,
The veins of life are blue and bright;
Nature revives our lives,
The grace of spring arrives,
I hear the children at play,
Today is pleasant,
Today is positive,
I feel so alive.
Copyright © Melissa Ross | Year Posted 2010
when a flower blooms from the spring grass
when the wind whistles from the crack of the air
when the birds whistles that spring is here
when you fell in love for the first time
when the first snow fall in december
when life wasn't so hard
when you were a little kid
Remember when you learned to......
tie your shoes
ride your first bike
count from 1 to 100
make the right choices
but the memory we learned with us all the time
was learning to Remember
Copyright © karima griffin | Year Posted 2008
I do not know?
Can you smell it?
Oh Northern hemisphere,
Let down your hair my
fair lady,Spring is in
the air down here.
Your Winter is our Summer
Your Autumn is our Spring.
Seasons are celebrated more
so in the Eastern nations
Time for the birds, bees and
Time for Spring-cleaning and
Time for mates,dates and
great races with laces.
A deep forest tree romance.
Time for the Lover's chase
through fields of long grass.
Time to let old sorrows
pass and friends to do a dance.
Spring brings amazing things.
Best of all it brings a scent
in the air full of promise
of new things.
it's a time to let go for new
Copyright © Mariana pavlich | Year Posted 2005