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Spring Boyfriend Poems | Spring Poems About Boyfriend

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

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Details | Lyric | |

Garden Rose

Written August 21, 2013


There's a girl in the garden
She's messing with your rose bed
Plucking weeds out from your head
And watering the seeds in your bed

But where will she wander
When the roses are dead
Will she come back for more
When they turn back to red

She can run all alone
Write this story in stone
On concrete slabs
Of skin and bone


Details | Haiku | |

a kiss of sunshine

a kiss of sunshine pouty crimson horizon cock-a-doodle-doo


Details | Free verse | |

Kiss Me Like Spring

I love your gentleness,
How your hands
Move like early Spring...

When you kiss me,
It is as if I am a dandelion;
All delicate spider-web
Gossamer threads and 
Finespun silk fragility-
Your fingers on my cheek
Feel like the spring thaw,
As if I am ice only just 
Learning how to move 
Like water again...
When you kiss me,
It is with all the warmth,
The tender slowness,
Of early morning sunlight-
When you kiss me,
It is as if I am nearly
As insubstantial as sunlight...

But eventually even a dandelion
Wants to be blown away-
When a frozen waterfall meets
The Spring thaw, it does wake
Slowly, soft as Sunday morning-
It rises up like a roar, plunging
Down through space until
It is pounding like a heartbeat
That never stuttered for 
Even a moment-
The seasons can teach you
That sunlight is anything but
Insubstantial;
It is heat and passion and
Faster than the sound
Of the shifting winds gasping
To keep up...

I love your gentleness,
How your hands
Move like early Spring...

But sometimes I wish
That you would kiss me
Like late Spring-
I want you to kiss me
Like a dandelion on the wind,
Like a waterfall waking up,
Like sunlight burning through
The dawn like passion;
I want you to surround me
And beat down hard like an
April rainstorm- to breathe
Me like petrichor and hold me
Like raindrops clinging to 
Blades of grass, like raindrops
Soaking into the ground
Until there is no closer...
I want you to make me 
Feel like I'm coming to life.


Details | I do not know? | |

Distant African Nights

Those Distant African Nights...


1.


The shadows swayed in your candlelit room,

a cool breeze teasing your bare back,


streaks of lightning forked in the Johannesburg night,

as my hands stroked your hair,

kissing your soft mouth,

holding you,

ever so tight.



2.


You whispered that you loved me,

and I kept silent,


the rain fell, 
shadows danced,
thunder rolled,

the breeze teased your naked back,

you whispered that you loved me,
as my lips found yours,

the rain washed over our tender nights,


lightning and candlelight,

etching poems on your burnished skin,


yet,

a fear gnawed at me,

deep within.



3.


We parted ways,
and you could never forgive me, you said,


now, after numberless thunderstorms,

the rain that falls,


echo the countless tears that I have shed.



4.


You are long gone,

far away,

happy, I pray,


yet the memories persist,

those precious moments shall never, 
ever,

like the Jo'burg rains,
trickle away,

and I wish you well,
for loving me as you did,

for it was I who was not worthy,


then,


and it is I who is not worthy,


now...



5.


You were always true,


it was I who always,

always,

refused to,


to give myself,


completely to you.






Details | I do not know? | |

Your Whisper

You whispered in my ear,
a breathy secret, hushed.

“I love you”, you murmured.

I said nothing,
lost, in your arms,
I found a home. At last.

“I love you”, you said,
I said nothing,
lost in my thoughts,
I found peace. At last.

“I love you”, you said,
words failed me then.

They still do.


Details | Haiku | |

Spring Break


	An evening moment

		Captured to treasure ever....

			Splendor of SPRING break

®  May 16 2010 For Carolyn’s “Sunset Silhouettes” contest


Details | I do not know? | |

The Swaying of the Grass

1.

 

A path leads,

to where wild grass grows,

 

sashaying in the summer breeze.

 

2.

 

Along the path,
lightness settles within,

 

feeling the grass,
swooning,
tickling ankles,

 

swaying to the lilting bird-song,

in a dance of intimate abandon,

 

brushing the remnants of pain away.

 

3.

 

Melodies float across fields of green,

delicately caressing my heart,

 

teasing emptiness to flee,

comforting the mind,

 

to silently be.

 

4.

 

Walking on,
savouring the peace,

 

a momentary respite,
from the burdens of the now,

 

all is quiet,

 

a stillness cradling fractured emotions,

 

the grass in the fields sway,

 

dusk descends,

 

shadows lengthen,

 

nudging dimming light to take leave,

 

of the day


Details | Free verse | |

THE TENDER BEAUTY THAT SPRING WAS

Nothing makes one forget the stillness of a warm noon
more than that memorable stroll
with our sweetheart as butterflies 
gently flutter over us to be admired, making us 
remember the tender beauty that spring was. 


Everything around us emanates joy,
harmony is seen everywhere in this forest, 
but peace isn't the only thing the traveler seeks,
and surely bluejays can arise much curiosity
with their songs that sound good to the ear.


Walk with us on flowery paths, say hello
to the timid squirrels with long, patchy tails;
rosemary bushes are fragrantly sweet... 
to remind all the tender beauty that spring was.


Details | Verse | |

South Bronx

While I'm reading a poem about it on the previous page
the girls come over to visit their boyfriends and dance
in high shoes and perfume. Their legs are strong and their voices high.
And the guys get high and hard thinking about what the girls are like
      behind their eyes.

That says more about me than reality. And it's exactly four lines.
Ken Patchen would say his angel smells sweet and sassy.
I feel the bony fingers of mine who has been working to stay alive.

Enough small poetry. One must conceive of a project --
say a poem about a bridge -- or stop writing
and instead walk over the bridge at sunset and see the city in a nuclear
      war
the clocks, the Watchtower and the docks gone and no smoke.

I still exist but I'm late for my job. I'm dressed well
in honor of true love and Spring which both outlast the holocaust.
The manager cans me with the cold hard eyes of one who accepts the
      rules entirely.

Goodbye to the rows of dead metal desks and goodbye
to those who can take it longer than I.

The guys downstairs do not read poetry and very little prose.
The General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money does not
      occupy their minds.
The sex pistils of the mountain daisy is no concern of theirs
and the man upstairs who plays the horn is less than a curiosity but makes
      more noise.

When I feel like this nothing matters and this is good --
get warm with wine, turn out the lights and turn up the radio --
if only there were a woman who liked the down and out life too.

In the end someone sticks a gun in my face in the South Bronx.
How I got among the fire escapes in the sooty alley I cannot say
but it is one of my earliest memories. Perhaps it is my grandmother
      holding my hand
or one of the clowns. I say drop that fucking gun and he blows me away.