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Spring April Poems | Spring Poems About April

These Spring April poems are examples of Spring poems about April. These are the best examples of Spring April poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Haiku | |

1 Cherry blossom haiku

Sakura breathing...
along an old stone footpath
children are laughing


Details | Rhyme | |

Spring

I'm finding flowers,
I'm seeing the sun.
Hip Hip Hooray!
Spring has begun!

Let us be happy.
Let us cheer.
Look outside,
Spring is here!

Rabbits and squirrels
And deer will play.
Spirits of rebirth
Rule the day.

It makes me smile
To see the butterflies,
puffy white clouds,
and pretty blue skies.

Gardens start growing.
Birds will sing.
Oh thank you God
It's finally Spring!



casarah.altervista.org


Details | Verse | |

Langue d'oc, a Micro-Paradelle

Your love song lapsed into ancient French that April day.
I only understood the words of spring and heartsore
lapsed. Only love and heartsore, I understood your ancient 
words of the spring-day song into that French April.

You fabricate my pauses into repetition, silence speaks
of ages strung to rhyme in love’s difficult service
you strung into pauses in service to ages. Fabricate of
love’s repetition, rhyme speaks my difficult silence.

We practice tedium of vows till language breaks apart.
As if art should aim at science, rigorous, quantitative,
rigorous language breaks tedium. Science vows a part of 
quantitative practice till we should aim “as if” at art.

Till we lapsed into language. As your ancient ages only
fabricate quantitative French strung to that difficult
practice, science speaks of tedium and understood rhyme. 

The spring in service of love’s rigorous vows. April 
pauses, heartsore. You and I, apart. If love should aim 
my words at day, repetition breaks into silence of song.


Details | Rhyme | |

Went Fishin'


Submitted to the "Gone Fishin" contest
------------------------------------------------

Trollin’ the islands at Texoma,
It was April, 1964.
New rod and reel in hand,
I’d NEVER been fishing before.

A Garcia 2510T casting rod.
The reel, a Mitchell 301,
Plus hand-selected worms and lures…
I was ready to have some fun.

My teacher, a master fisherman,
Had fished all over the earth...
From trout in Austrian mountain streams
To sea bass just west of Perth.

He showed me all the basics,
Including how to tie a lure.
“No snaps. They’re no good.
Tie’em on…just to be sure.”

He made me practice casting.
“Take aim with your rod’s tip 
Take her back - ten, eleven, twelve, one;
Smoothly return to ten… with just a little flip.”

While I practiced the casting motion,
He said, “Large Mouths will be jumpin’ bugs.
Water’s bubblin’ with Sand Bass spawnin’.
You’ll know the difference if one gives you a tug.”

As we drifted around the islands,
He said, “I think you’re ready.”
So, I picked a lure, a pretty Heddon;
And tied her on.  My hands were steady.

Yellow with black dots and a weed guard. 
A streamer tail and double treble hooks.
Who knew if she would do the job,
But I liked the way she looked.

As I tied her on, I looked around
For a likely place for my first cast.
Magazine pictures always showed weeds
In the background of a striking Bass.

So, I picked a reed bed in the shallows;
Threw my first cast, watched her fly.
What happened next was the stuff of dreams.
We couldn’t believe our eyes. 

About eighteen inches before she lit,
A monstrous Large Mouth erupted from the water.
My teacher screamed, “Holy Mary, Mother of God!  
Kiss O’Reilly’s Ugly Daughter!”

When the Bass broke water, it scared me. 
My whole body jerked and shook.
So sudden, so silent, it seemed like slow motion.
Until I heard him screaming, “Set the hook!  Set the hook!”

When the big Bass scared me,
I must have set the hook.
The tussle was on, long and hard.
This fish didn’t want to be cooked.

My lack of skills prevailed, however,
As I finally reeled him in;
I grabbed him by the lower lip,
Like I’d seen Don Wallace do, time and time again.

“Oh, my God”, he murmured as he weighed the Bass;
“Jeez.  Over thirteen pounds....Thirteen pounds, two.”
He took out his Polaroid and laughed, 
“I’ll take a picture of this fish... holdin' you.”

He snapped the picture of me holding the Bass;
On the back wrote the date, the length and weight.
As he turned to put the camera away……
Get ready.  This is the part that’s great.

I’d watched Don Wallace ‘catch and release’.
He always did that on his show.
“This fish put up a good fight.” he’d say;
“Now it’s time to let him go.”

Yes, as my teacher put away the camera,
I held the big Bass by the lower lip and tail
And ‘swished’ him in the water,
Making sure his gills would not fail.

My teacher turned and saw what I was doing
Just as I let the big Bass go.
This, too, was like slow motion
As I heard him screaming, “NOOOOOOO!”

“Why would you do that, Lad?
Do ya know nothin’ at all?
A fish like that... on your very first cast?
Well...Lad, that fish goes on the wall.”

“Well…he’ll be here next year.” I said with a smile,
“And even bigger, I’ll bet.”
He said, ”You’ll make a fisherman, Lad.
It’s not for the fish that we fish…

but for the great stories we get.” 

I still have that lure…and the rod and reel.
Still in their bags and boxes, just like new.
I thought about selling them on eBay,
But 50 years later, they have sentimental value.

You see…I’ve been invited to go fishin’ several times
By golfin’ buddies and other friends;
But for some reason…I really don’t know why…
I’ve never gone fishin’ again.

They say, “Truth is stranger than fiction.”
And I believe that is a fact.
I hope you enjoyed this bit of truth and,
In the meantime…..”Ya’ll come back!”


Details | Free verse | |

The Storm

And the storm calls to me in ways you'll never understand
A gentle call that urges my soul forth
The lighting guiding a path for my feet to walk
Between the stones and ash of all that once was
I stand in the echoing silence of the rain 
It drops down upon my skin like the blessing waters of heaven
Soothing me, lifting the weight from my body 
I feel at once as if I am home
Standing amid two dimensions 
Caught between two skies - here and there
The night wraping around me in warmth
The gentle wind lifting me off my feet
Drops from the clouded moon washing away my body
and I am left just a soul, an essence 
The storm calls me forth from beneath my roof
Beckoning me into its depth 
I stand among the reeds in the basin 
They dance and sway as if welcoming me
And I sway with them back 
Caught up in the power that charges the air
That threatens to sweep me away 
If the ground will just loosen its hold
The thunder rumbles a low welcoming growl
And I get pleasently lost within it
I am so small compared to its vastness
I close my eyes and succumb to the skies wishes
Rising higher until my feet no longer touch the ground 
My fingertips touch the liquid color of the stars
A sigh drifts from my lips
There is no need of thought to stay afloat
There is no demand to breathe in air
No crushing weight upon my chest
As my lungs struggle to survive
There are no struggles here
I make my bed on blackened clouds
And give in to the call
The storm has claimed me as its own 
It was such a struggle to stay upon the ground
When the storm would call me home


Details | Heroic Couplets | |

Waiting For Spring

Since spring forgot to come and winter stayed,
My garden is untilled, seeding delayed.
A sodden March ran damply through each day.
I hope for April to remove the gray.

Each April is reserved for tulip tours.
The brilliant colors are delightful lures.
The tulips are attracting avid fans,
While other crops fill in as also rans.

Our valley is a beauty in the spring,
But spring is not here yet and that’s the thing.
We pray the sun comes out and is on time
For merchants to attract the tourist’s dime.

So now it’s up to April to perform
To give us days that are spring like and warm.
So tourists can find  beauty and some fun
And I at last can get my yard work done.



Details | Ballad | |

The Butterfly Whisperer

As we wander the meadow we disappear
into the sun-lapped fields.
There's a scent in the air so sweet and clear
and plenty of flowery yields.
Listen for the sound of Spring's delights
and welcome back each creature.
On outstretched arms butterfly alights;
we admire each colorful feature.
Slowly it flits and flies away
only to widen it's wings.
Back it comes to flutter and sway;
In the distance a hummingbird sings.

There's a scent in the air so sweet and clear
like the nectar in each flower.
Sunshine and new life brings us cheer;
Spring delights in it's power.
Butterflies are wandering free;
landing on outstretched arms.
They're a beautiful sight to see
we whisper to their charms.
As we wander the meadow we disappear
into the arms of April and May.
Singing out so sweet and clear
we glory in each longer day.


Details | Couplet | |

A RED MOON

Love was as hot as a red moon.
Passion was on fire and was soothed.

A total lunar eclipse occurred on April 15.
The moon was coopery red.

The warmth of her blood was astrologically aligned.
Mother Earth was with her Sun God.

She stood majestically in his eyes.
The core of his being was a deep arousal of desire.

Oblivion Dark Sunshine
Spiritual Poetess

Sought the Red Moon via telescope,
a ritualized ceremony.
________________________/
Sponsor:	Dave Wood
Contest Name: 	RED MOON 
04/14/2014


Details | Tanka | |

Green

Green of early spring Brings freshness to the senses. Scents galore prevail When sunshine defeats darkness And God’s glory reigns supreme. For Andrea’s Tanka me a Colour contest, 11th May. 2013


Details | Ode | |

Early Showing

(Ode to the Crocus)

Before the bud appears 
          	to trumpet winter's end,
before the robin comes 
         	 	to bob-head for his worm,
before my heart rebounds 
         		 from razor's keening edge;

I walk the hidden path 
          	of garden's withered past,
in search of one who dares 
		ignore the blizzard's blast
and peek her cheeky nose 
		up through a snowy nest,

to wink her shining eye,
		at me, as I pass by.
Her flame, within itself, 
		ignites a tiny spark
of joy inside my heart, 
		on which I now embark.


Published LifeWay Press Magazine,
    Mature Living, March, 2010



Details | Haiku | |

April

April time is near
Tax man on the prowl
Pockets empty


Details | Haiku | |

spring s garden

rose beds laid
daffodils astray
flower garden planted for spring
.
____________________________|
Penned April 29, 2014!


Details | Rhyme | |

A Day on the Lakes

It’s a day in April
having a sail on Lake Windermere
lovely views all around
feeling at peace and no fear

The trees and the hills
Look so very green
Reminding me it is spring
With all it’s splendour so clean

Leaving now in the afternoon
to sail back to Ambleside
the sun is out, thankfully
feeling it’s warmth like a newly wed bride

Such a relaxing day
such a joy to behold
such a pleasurable time
a moment forever told

poetgord


Details | Lyric | |

SPRING RAIN IN DOYLESTOWN PA

     DOYLESTOWN SPRING RAIN
I watch the sky begin to fill,
with clouds that roll and pitch until,
all Heaven seems so black and bleak,
then lightning makes a sudden streak,
and blows the southwind to its will.

The air so fresh it brings a high,
as I breath in the falling sky,
and darkened, all of space now seems,
engulfed in thundering that screams,
and makes the world think it could die.

The first raindrops now hit the ground,
the joy of it is all around,
each budding leaf breaks through its pain,
now free to come out in the rain,
and here is love that's seldom found.

Now falling fast and falling free,
blown in the wind that has to be,
the rain sets in and for the night,
a steady rhythm--cool and light,
and lulls to sleep the deep of me.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet


Details | Haiku | |

Saharan Winds

Dunes now flowing
Blow spring air
Sandblasts love ...


Details | Haiku | |

The Old Man in the Small Square

                          The Old Man in the Small Square

                                  

                                       city dirt as mask
                                    eternal season abode
                                    old temples his friends


                                       cloudy shelter sky
                                shuffles to collect dry leaves
                                     rusty hinge calls night


                                     passers-by eyes down
                                 loud crunching, act as pillow
                                     vulnerably wrapped



                                                                          © Shane Cogan, 2013


Details | Couplet | |

I'd gladly sing a song for Spring

I do not write in April, because that’s the month that comes before May.
I do not write in April, because then June would arrive in total disarray!

I do not write in April, now, although I have before this day.
I do not write in April, actually, although with words I’m known to play.

I do not write in April, when there’s ANZAC’s, Easter and Palm Sunday.
I do not write in April, and from that delicate decree I’ll not go astray.

I do not write in April, but exactly why, I can’t quite say.
I do not write in April, and it’s for the best, that here, I don’t betray.

I do not write in April, although I do read papers from my in-tray.
I do not write in April, so you won’t find any papers in my out-tray.
	
I do not write in April, when I’m outside whiling my time away.
I do not write in April, for that fills my insides with strange dismay!

I do not write in April, for I’ll not wear a wreath like a gloomy lay!
I do not write in April, but I’ll cheerfully whistle down your way.

I do not write in April come whatever, come what may.
I do not write in April. I do not write in April I say!

I do not write in April, but I’d gladly sing a song for Spring to stay.


Details | Lyric | |

The Tansy and the Tarragon

The tansy and the tarragon are sprouting in the lawn;
I can smell their pungent fragrance in the dewy after-dawn.
The crocus and the daffodils are prancing up the hill;
Their dresses all a-shimmer and their bodies never still.
The happy little bluebird is flitting all about
To find the perfect property to hang his shingle out.
The tulip swords are shining in the early morning sun,
And I thought I saw Br'er Rabbit havin' him some rhubarb fun.
It's spring and spring is glorious; brings the child right out of me. 
Makes me want to dance at midnight 'neath the budding apple tree.

April 10, 2014


Details | Haiku | |

the wait is over

warm wind on bare arms
shy grass reaches for the sun
hibernation done


Details | Terzanelle | |

The Blossoms of Spring

The Blossoms of Spring
By David E. Siegel, copyright (c) 2013
 
How sweet are the blossoms of spring
with delicate scent fill the air
They truly are 'fit for a king'.
 
Their petals are dainty and fair
as I look on them with amaze
with delicate scent fill the air.
 
I quietly think as I gaze
"Each different, but always the same"
as I look on them with amaze.
 
Their lives are so brief, what a shame
like snowflakes that melt as you touch;
Each different, but always the same.
 
Some single, and some in a bunch
but all of them fragile and soft
like snowflakes that melt as you touch.
 
Now detached from the branch and aloft
How sweet are the blossoms of spring
They are all of them fragile and soft
They truly are 'fit for a king'.
 
-DES April 2013


Details | Free verse | |

Season Of Shorts

The day is brrrry.
I stay inside, drive everywhere I go.
Longing for my birthday,
Groundhog's Day,
and all that comes after.
The melting, the warmer winds,
the lengthening days, 
the things that bring
the depressed spirit back to life.
Window-staring,
watching the layered, coated people
walk shivering on the sidewalk.
It's almost time.
The season of shorts will soon arrive.

1/22/2013


Details | Rhyme | |

As My Eyes Devour Spring

As spring is born it bursts forth it's green,
as the living woods look so fresh and clean.
I sit by myself and I close my eyes,
listening to the birds as I breathe in a deep sigh.
The birds they sing a song just for me,
In a world so clam they sing a sweet melody.
Seeing the trees of every shape and size,
as they bask in the sun from the early morning rise.
Golden is their bark so rough and strong,
as their graceful branches are so lean and long.
Woodpeckers are pecking for their morning meal,
an inner peace God allowed me to feel.
I gaze off into the distance and spot patches of green,
a wonderous beauty of God's holy scene.
Winds blow through the pines as their needles sway,
as the whispers of nature seem to take me far away.
New growth is popping out from under last falls fallen leaves,
as the sun beams down energy to earth's plants it feeds.
Slopping country side as far as the eye can see,
as a red tail hawk flys so wild and free.
Scouring down at the sight of a new fresh meal,
as the stench of it's prey is enticed to appeal.
God provides for his creatures big or small,
he never fails to give or in need if we call.


Details | Triolet | |

Fruitless Buds (Expanded Triolet)

Stars adrift on wicked laughter 
dance amidst these April nights. 
Fragile, pristine alabaster 
stars adrift on wicked laughter. 
Tumbling, twirling falling faster 
asterisms cool and white. 
Stars adrift on wicked laughter 
dance amidst these April nights. 

Buds bow down to frozen masters 
claiming spring as if their right. 
What becomes of fruits hereafter 
buds bow down to frozen masters? 
Timid petals face disaster, 
tumbling dead from Winter blight 
Buds bow down to frozen masters 
claiming spring as if their right. 

Just how long can Jack Frost factor
bleaching Springtime from my sight?
Bitter cold still claims the pastures,
just how long can Jack Frost factor?
What can thrive 'neath icy plasters,
viscous tombs, cocooned delight?
Just how long can Jack Frost factor
bleaching Springtime from my sight?