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Spring Childhood Poems | Spring Poems About Childhood

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

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Details | Rhyme | |

Garden Helper

I’m out to plant spring flowers 
with little feet in tow.
His eager hands will churn the soil
as gentle breezes blow.
His tender feet will grace this place
and leave sweet prints behind
to create patterns of delight -
his garden art to find.

As temperamental winter bows
to steadfast warmth of spring...
most cherished of my flowers grown, 
my wild one on the swing!

I'm going to the garden
to chase a little boy,
buzzing like a bumble bee...
an afternoon of joy! 

 


Details | Free verse | |

Those Were Golden Days of Splendor

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!


Details | Narrative | |

BEFORE SPRING CAME

Before spring came, in late February
to the blooming and jolly hills 
I ran, breathing heavily and frantically,
touching the perfumed blossoms 
of a solitary, old cherry tree;
and underneath it I sat writing poetry
that hadn't a perfect rhyme and beat! 
Weren't my skills marred by imperfections?    



Canaries and red-breasted robins
flew down and rested on my outstretched legs;
perusing my lines to spot their names,
and when they did, they flapped their wings in gladness!
I could have imagined their joyful words,.
if only they had acquired the gift of speech,
and deeper in their thoughts I would have reached:
to dispel the myth that they had no feelings...



After my short poem was completed,
I reached for my harmonica to play my favorite classic tune;
and being surprised by the paleness of the fading moon,
I dedicated that happy melody to her not to let her despair:
by waving my hand to make her farewell less sad, while I whispered,
" Silent moon, eternal companion of every poet,
what's beyond the realm of this universe?...
Tell us more of those invisible suns and planets! "
 


Before spring came to the dormant valley,
the mountains' peaks allowed the sun to melt their snows,
to create gushing torrents to feed its water to the dry and cracked soil,
which needed rain instead of harmful frost;
and I drank the freshest water and washed my sweaty face,
while fighting off the bees' stubborn rivalry!
That spring has come again to dress herself with incredible splendor,
and this discontent and wishful heart desires nothing more than being there!  


My theme is: Happiness In Childhood


Details | Free verse | |

Cold Spring Street

Cold Spring Street

When I was young
I could walk far on sidewalks
For it was a different time then.
Corner to corner
Across the busy avenue
Up Prospect Hill and down the long street.
But when I was late to return
The walk seemed longer
The street was longer and
Shadows were pasted on the houses I passed.
The Hill became a mountain that
Made me skip down, maybe run
And the Avenue was lined with endless cars 
Blaring headlights
Going fast
The sidewalks now had big trees
With darkness around the sides
That caused my eyes to jump
As I walked faster with beating heart
Sweating
With a short run
I reached my corner,
Now my door.


Details | Personification | |

Pure Imagination

I sat on the toy store shelf, feeling all bottled-up and unwanted.
The kids prefer to play with video games, these days,
rather than being outdoors with me.
Then one day, this little girl grabbed me down from the shelf
and begged her Mommy to buy me.
She took me out to play as soon as we got home.
The spring day was so bright as I met the sun for the first time.
I could not contain the joy that I felt
as she unscrewed the lid and dipped the plastic wand
into the soapy liquid. She brought the wand to her lips
and gently blew out a line of iridescent bubbles.
I felt so free, floating through the air with my new friends.
Her giggles of delight were the sweetest sound.
She dances as we swirl around her. Pure imagination takes over
as she pretends to be a fish in a bubbly underwater world.
I will never forget the wonder that was in her eyes.
The wind caught each one of us, taking us on a new adventure.
She runs to try and catch me as I drift up and away from her.





Written by: Kelly Deschler
May 20th, 2014


Details | Sonnet | |

MEGAN'S HIT - the Baseball Sonnet

      MEGANS HIT - the Baseball Sonnet
There on the deck, I took a practice swing
tormented in the possiblity--
then hope was dashed--I found no hope to bring
up to the plate, when Ump cried out, "Strike 3!"

I was the last to bat--in this last game--
just oh for three, my record said it all!
And in the dugout, faces all the same,
the looks of gloom! Just waiting for my fall!

I took my place, right up there to the plate.
Out on the mound, the picher grinned at me--
as if he hoped to make my swinging late,
or throw me one--I couldn't even see!

    He'd walked a batter, waiting on first base,
    to tie the score, if we'd get in the race!

                    II.

"No girl can hit!" I heard the catcher call,
and echoed from the bleachers was the same,
we made our stands, the umpire cried "Play ball!"
(the umpire was my Daddy, in this game.)

I gripped the bat, the windup came too fast!
As did the ball, but where it should have been!
"Strike one!" the umpire yelled at last--
The fastest ball that I have ever seen!

"She'll never swing!" the catchers words for me--
then threw the ball out to the pichers hand!
While out on first, my runner waits to see
if I can swing, or only make a stand!

   Right in my face--the picher scouled a bit--
   while I choked up--and readied for a hit!
   
                   III.

All set to hit--I made it then my dream!
and came the ball--I could not swing at that!
"Strike twoooo!" the umpire made it scream,
then said to me, "You've got to swing the bat!"

The bat it weighed a hundred pounds or so;
"She'll never swing," the pichers eyes did say,
With that he gave his very best, I know!
I glued my eyes--as it screamed straight my way!

I never saw the hitting of the ball!
but won't forget the cracking sound of it!
Nor know again the feeling of it all
of this my very most important hit!

   The sound it made--that ev'ryone could hear--
   a batters dream--but pichers' greatest fear!

                   IV.

The ball soared hard and high past second base!
then seemed to drop so slowly from above,
as quick as I could get us in the race,
I watched it bounce right off the fielders glove!

The tying run was just ahead of me!
Ole "Never-Steal" now ran like not before!
And right behind, fast as my feet could be 
I gave my best! And then I gave some more!

The crowd gave out the seasons wildest plea!
As I yelled to the runner just ahead,
with all the grit that I could find in me,
"I'm going in! And if you stop--you're dead!"

   Ole "Never Steal" was giving all he could
   and on his heels--I made my promise good!

                V.

We saw the ball come by as rounding third!
Not once a hesitation in it all--
and as the umpire watched without a word--
he swept his arms, to make the tying call!

The score was tied--third baseman set to throw--
now ready at home plate, the catcher stood--
and through it all--my only thought was GO!
but if I did--I'd have to make it good!

I knew the ball was thrown down to home plate!
The catcher poised, and glued where he should be!
I had to slide, and heard the ball hit late!
"She's SAFE! She's SAFE!" my Daddy yelled to me!
        
    Now layed to rest--our coaches greatest fear--
    the only game we won--throughout the year!
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet


Details | Verse | |

Wildflowers

Standing out in a field alone, a little white flower named Daisy longed for someone to share her world.
One day a blue flower named Bachelor Button entered her world they became friends.
 She knew by his name that he was not the propagating kind, but that didn’t stop their relationship she called him BB short for best bud.
The seasons of Spring & Summer they enjoyed the sun, laughed in the rain and held on fast in the Fall.
Winter came it was long and hard they were both covered in a blanket of snow, not knowing whether they would ever see each other again or even survive .The snow fell     then came the ice, this went on for months.

The Sun shone brightly the first day of spring. A few days later warmth of the sun melted the snow, Daisy popped up .
 I’ve been waiting days for you to come out, said BB, they both chanted hooray!
The snow was completely gone in a few days, the birds started building their nests , bugs were crawling around ,butterflies began to visit the two flowers. I wish there were more of us Daisy said, to BB.

They laughed as the sun and wind blew through their leaves.  Then it started the sun and rain took turns until one morning the air & field was filled with the smell of flowers.
 
Daisy and BB looked at each other and asked what kind of flowers are these ? they’re not white like daisies they’re not blue like bachelor buttons. They did not know the birds and bugs carried the seeds from the two of them and the caterpillars buried them under the soil.
The seeds from the new flowers were then carried by the winds many miles away, they landed in fertilized gardens and flourished, although they faced danger everyday. 
as they were called WEEDS ..
 The Gardener pulls weeds out of the garden so they don’t choke the flowers, which cost a lot of money and require lots of maintenance.

However there was a Gardener who saw her friends spending hours weeding their garden , that they didn’t have enough time to admire and enjoy the labors of their love
So she set out to give a home to all the weeds ,she provided a place where they could fit in and multiply, they required no maintenance, rain provides their water .

The best part of all is their beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
 Ask my granddaughter-- What are those flowers in the garden ?
  She will answer "WILDFLOWERS " their parents were Daisy and BB


Details | Concrete | |

The Four Seasons

There are four seasons in a year. Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter. In the Spring time, you can enjoy the outdoors and go for a walk. And look at the trees turning beautiful colors, you can also enjoy raking the leaves into a big pile and jump into them. We also know the New Year is coming with Winter. Winter is a cold month with snow, now the children can play outside in the snow. And everyone else can enjoy the snow also.


Details | Sonnet | |

Megan's Hit

        MEGAN'S HIT
There on the deck, I took a practice swing
tormented in the possiblity--
then hope was dashed--I found no hope to bring
up to the plate, when Ump cried out, "Strike 3!"
I was the last to bat--in this last game--
just oh for three, my record said it all!
And in the dugout, faces all the same,
the looks of gloom! Just waiting for my fall!
I took my place, right up there to the plate.
Out on the mound, the picher grinned at me--
as if he hoped to make my swinging late,
or throw me one--I couldn't even see!
    He'd walked a batter, waiting on first base,
    to tie the score, if we'd get in the race!

                    II.

"No girl can hit!" I heard the catcher call,
and echoed from the bleachers was the same,
we made our stands, the umpire cried "Play ball!"
and then I vowed to get us in the game!
I gripped the bat, the windup came too fast!
As did the ball, but where it should have been!
"Strike one!" the umpire yelled at last--
The fastest ball that I have ever seen!
"She'll never swing!" the catchers words for me--
then threw the ball out to the pichers hand!
While out on first, my runner waits to see
if I can swing, or only make a stand!
   Right in my face--the picher scouled a bit--
   while I choked up--and readied for a hit!
   
                   III.

All set to hit--I made it then my dream!
and came the ball--I could not swing at that!
"Strike twoooo!" the umpire made it scream,
then said to me, "You've got to swing the bat!"
The bat it weighed a hundred pounds or so;
"She'll never swing," the pichers eyes did say,
With that he gave his very best, I know!
I glued my eyes--as it screamed straight my way!
I never saw the hitting of the ball!
but won't forget the cracking sound of it!
Nor know again the feeling of it all
of this my very most important hit!
   The sound it made--that ev'ryone could hear--
   a batters dream--but pichers' greatest fear!

                   IV.

The ball soared hard and high past second base!
then seemed to drop so slowly from above,
as quick as I could get us in the race,
I watched it bounce right off the fielders glove!
The tying run was just ahead of me!
Ole "Never-Steal" now ran like not before!
And right behind, fast as my feet could be 
I gave my best! And then I gave some more!
The crowd gave out the seasons wildest plea!
As I yelled to the runner just ahead,
with all the grit that I could find in me,
"I'm going in! And if you stop--you're dead!"
   Ole "Never Steal" was giving all he could
   and on his heels--I made my promise good!

                V.

We saw the ball come by as rounding third!
Not once a hesitation in it all--
and as the umpire watched without a word--
he swept his arms, to make the tying call!
The score was tied--third baseman set to throw--
now ready at home plate, the catcher stood--
and through it all--my only thought was GO!
but if I did--I'd have to make it good!
I knew the ball was thrown down to home plate!
The catcher poised, and glued where he should be!
I had to slide, and heard the ball hit late!
"She's SAFE! She's SAFE!" my Daddy yelled to me! 
    Now layed to rest--our coaches greatest fear--
    the only game we won--throughout the year!
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet


Details | Rhyme | |

Spring Is Here

Oh! the wonderful time of Spring is here.
Can you smell the flowers in the air?
The leaves are green and flowers in bloom
yellows and gold and lavender too.

The birds sing a lullaby and whisper stories
of days gone by. Love and laughter is the best
medicine they say, so bring on the sunshine
and in our garden, lets play.

Harmony colored butterflies sway into the wind
they cast off and away through the days end. 
Catch one dear Ma would say, it will bring luck
on a rainy day. 

Apples and oranges round they go
handful of love and laughter will grow.
Spring is the time of all that's new,
come and see me and I'll share it
with you.



Details | Rhyme | |

My window of time

Looking through the lattice like grid                                                                             One pane springs forth the budding greens                                                                      flowering colors, an early sun so vivid                                                                              As seasons change, so the reflective scene                                                                        Viewing next pane but not quite the same                                                                    greener a child dives into watery sheen                                                                          to cool himself from the suns hot flame                                                                         As the next pane turns a little frosty,                                                                            greens leave for the coming golden and reds                                                                   A light rain dances on the lake, geese are lofty,                                                              as times change, yet wings of beauty are spread                                                         Icicles drip in the window, cold has returned                                                                    but the white shimmering lights remain                                                                       The woven snowflakes and a child turns                                                                         glides across the lake spins the last pane


Details | Burlesque | |

Suburban Spring

Suburban Spring	
(4.15.10)


	Springtime fills the air, 
			like laughing gas.
		(Or maybe more like whiskey.)
The suburbs are drunk on the nectar of it's dawn.
	Middle-class houses 
			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.
	After dinner, 
                     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.


Details | Rhyme | |

Water From the Stream

I remember the cabin by the lake in the wood
and Grandma giving us buckets, telling us we should
walk up the creek to get some water from the stream.
Remembering it now is almost like a dream.

No electricity, no plumbing, no water at hand
but we thought it the prettiest place in the land.
In spring we got water not far from the door.
As summer progressed we had to walk a little more.

By August the spring barely flowed at all
so we'd follow the stream, though we were quite small.
Alone in the woods with a bucket each,
following that creek 'til a pool we'd reach.

Filling the buckets, then back down the hill.
This was our chore, I remember it still.
We'd pick wild flowers and try to catch frogs,
taking too long as we walked along logs.

Every morning two buckets of water we brought.
These were for drinking, lake water was not.
Lake water was boiled and used for cleaning up.
The only one who drank it was the cocker spaniel pup.

The stream was the run-off from melted snow.
Down the mountain it ran, to the lake below.
Fast and furious , the winter through
but gentle and quiet by summer it grew.

The cabins at the lake are updated now
with electricity and plumbing but I remember how
two eight year old girls went for water each day.
Their chore done before they headed off to play. 




~~~Francine Roberts~~~
        04/06/2011

for Constance's 'Write Me a rippling Stream'
         contest


Details | Ballad | |

Spring Surprise

Who remembers, is it only me?
When March had drizzled, and April fooled us...
But a morning in the month of May.........

We'd spread upon a kitchen table 
Paste made of flour, scissors, borrowed
paper, crayons of rainbow colors 
Pretty paper doilies and….
Mama letting little hands
Create surprises, of cone shaped fans… 

The memory shrugs so many years 
Where innocence, was cut and shaped
Into bright-sprigged paper cones
Accomplishments, each of our own

   On May the first, a small bouquet
   We would rehearse, a verse to say
   To spread come spring, then run away



Then quickly running out the door
To pick spring beauties, one by one
Fresh Lillies of the Valley, wildwood fern, 
Gathering them, heavy on their stems
Sweet and fresh as morning dew, 
So filled with springtime, filled with bloom

Then paper cones were flower filled
Small bouquets of sweet perfume
Then down the dusty road we trudged
Side by side, with grins of pride
No greater pleasure as a child
The thought of bringing someone smiles

       On May the first, a small bouquet
       We would rehearse, a verse to say
       To spread come spring, then run away

Timid knocking on a door
 “Surprise...Surprise! Look what’s in store!”
Our little legs now running fast, 
And down the road, quite out of breath
Behind a tree, where we would hide
And watch them find this flower prize
Must not....get caught.....must not get caught!
And we were taught
That bringing gifts to make them sigh
Was worth a lot !! Was worth the thought
A thoughtful way to light their eyes

      On May the first, a small bouquet
      We would rehearse, a verse to say
      To spread come spring, then run away 




_________________________________________________________
2/19/14


Details | Free verse | |

Spring Showers

Rubber boots and rain slickers
Snow has all but gone
April Showers mean
Puddle jumping happy children

Miniature tidalwaves
Enveloping trails of mud
Pioneering young explorers
In Playgrounds
And Schoolyards

The smallest child understands
Rain and sun equals flowers (Mother Nature's Algebra)

But 
For now
Mud Bogging

In rubber boots and rain slickers

March 27th, 2013

For Spring Showers Contest


Details | Free verse | |

Last Sonnet



Hither I stand, at crossroads,
And then I gaze, at the yonder end-
The vague horizon from where I began;
And all that I may ever deem
Is that- my days
Have been a waken dream.

Hither I stand, at the edge of my dream;
Then I wonder, at the depth of my trance-
An adventurous journey through the wondrous woods;
An idyllic stroll through the vicissitudinous meadow;
And from the final station as I depart,
All that I can ever say, is that
Perpetuation has been a rouge
Of fleeting phases of my life.


Suyash Saxena 
St. Stephen’s College.


Details | Free verse | |

Spring Sours

From within the frost frozen bare boarded shed with its loosely hung zee braced door agape, the spring light peeked. Warming the woodsheds King pine planks, toasting the ten penny nails, popping the planks to a toe-stubbing height. Door slamming dashes barefoot through the obstacle course of cord, tinder, rake and hoe, to the semi attached outhouse. Drawers half down, butt bitten by March’s wind, the two holer waits, lye bucket at the base. Curled, yellow-brown, newspaper pages from 1890, the shade of Uncle George’s pipe stained teeth, wiggle in the wind; as do I when an updraft attempts to speed dry my bottom. I make a half-assed mad dash to the kitchen door. Half way there I stop awestruck at the gapping door to the kitchen garden. Raspberry red, tit tipped rhubarb buds and stalks, warmed by the sheltered spring sun set my mouth to drool. So stands, a waylaid girl child in transit.


Details | Pastoral | |

The Gift of May

When March had drizzled, April faded
One morning in the month of May.........
Children gathered, 'round a table

Making paste of flour, water, 
guidance from a loving mother
with pictures drawn in rainbow colors 
Pretty paper doilies landed
In the hands of lassies, laddies
Creating prizes, cone shaped fans… 

Then, quickly running out the door
To pick spring beauties, one by one
Fresh lillies of the greenest valley, 
wildwood fern, and yellow daliahs
Gathering the dew-kissed stems
Sweet and fresh as dawn begins 
Filled with springtime, fresh with bloom

Innocence, was cut and honed
Into bright-sprigged paper cones
Accomplishments, each one to own
On May the first, each small bouquet
Ready with the vast array
Of blossoms from the pasture flowers
softly fragrant, gifts of meadows

The paper cones were flower filled
Small bouquets of sweet perfume
Then down the dusty road they trudged
Side by side, with grins of pride
No greater pleasure as a child
The thought of bringing someone smiles

Timid knocking on a door
 “Surprise...Surprise! Look what’s in store!”
The little legs now running fast, 
And down the road, quite out of breath
Behind a tree, where they would hide
And watch them find this flower prize
Must not....get caught.....must not get caught!
And always they were taught
That bringing gifts to make them sigh
Was worth a lot ..so  worth the thought
A thoughtful way to light one's eyes

      On May the first, with small bouquets
      they would rehearse, a verse to say
      To spread come spring, then run away 



____________________________________
Submitted for Isaiah's Contest: THE FIRST OF MAY
4/25/15


Details | Free verse | |

Return to the Womb

Down in to the darkness deep
Slowly and delicately I now edge
In to the warmth so cold and bleak
In to the womb I once resided
In the mother I’d idolized
Wondering what did happen
Wondering what had changed
What had caused such death?
To cause such pain?
Still slowly moving, sneaking, 
I started faintly weeping
Why would we cause this?
Why did we not see?
Still I inch, well tears did fall
Till a light I did spy
Till a sprig I now cradle
Now I see, as I gently stop my deplore,
My mother will forgive
All the hurt,
The hate,
All the people that did denounce,
All she has provided
All that she cherishes
Yet she now grants;
Redemption 
Forgiveness
Unconditional love
All in the loud roar
Of spring


Details | Haiku | |

Carousel

Fast, colors whirl by
In the springtime of our years
Now seems like a dream


Details | Free verse | |

Now I Am Free from My Step-parent

A life of beauty and happiness denied, of innocence 
smothered like a flame, I have always lived; but when 
I hear your lovely voice, my Lisa--

now I am free.

I was dead before I even entered into this world, a
place cruel and without feeling, cruel and without 
the love and understanding I finally know in the rich 
harmonies of your voice, my Lisa--

which sets me free.

Before I could even hope to bloom like a sensual
flower caught breathless and naked in the first, rainy
sunbeams of spring a great evil--the threatening, 
inner hostility of a dark figure overflowing with 
bigotry--transformed me into a joyless 

waste of ashes.

From that terrible moment on I fought all the ugly
and horrible assaults as his unwilling possession, a
gladiator in the arena of his constant abuse and 
myriad threats, subject to his occasional hostile 
looks from 

across the dinner table.

But when I hear your voice and imagine its tender-
ness and compassion as an unearned gift meant for 
me despite him and my child-like self-loathing: 

I feel the love and self-worth denied me, taken from
me simply because it was too easy to not rape from 
a child whose only fault was that he was born 

defenseless and
white.

O Lisa! Because of the music of your lovely voice--
now I am free! Free from my years as a gladiator in 
the arena of his constant abuse and attacks; 

free to bloom like a sensual flower caught breathless
and naked in the first, rainy sunbeams 

of Spring again!


Details | Haiku | |

Life is Like a Maypole

Life is colorful,
Bright, vibrant and always fun
For children and fools.


Details | Free verse | |

simple spring showers from my fathers cabin

Fast, always too fast as it hits the roof
spills , pours over eaves
and the wisteria suffocates

playground jacks
scatter across laughter’s  single
cloud of grey white light.

Arms rest  on a splintered shelf
keeps the life outside,

i press a tiny index finger 
write a coded breath note
against the single pane
                 clutched with water varicose veins;

can it see me smile from my chest
lay its softness across 
                dogwood blossoms

concentrate to hear them feed.
A final kiss of spring clings to her
slip, reveals a true body 
               out of grammar into new flesh;

if I too tilt back my head,
open my mouth,
funnel in rain,
become the springtime blossom,
will I drown?


Details | I do not know? | |

My Madness, Me

My Madness, Me...


Confined by this straight-jacket,
strapped in, numb and dumbed,
a washed-out, has-been, also-ran,

body, eyes, the equilibrium of mind,
rattling like stones in an old tin-can.


Still, I am, 

I am,

and I am unchained,

my dreams taking flight, soaring,
above these claustrophobic walls,
of synapses, and dungeons of stone,

swooping through green valleys,
taking a detour to savour the joys,

soaked in torrential, evergreen memories,
of a younger man, with passion in his bone.

I am.

My wings unclipped, unshackled, free,

I am, and though I am unable to see,

I am.

At long last,

me...



Details | Haiku | |

Perserverence

Young lilies in spring
innocent, strong willed, fearless
blossom brilliantly.


Details | Free verse | |

Window

In one corner of my room,
That is shaped like a tomb,
There is a window, where I sit
And see my world through it.

I see the rising sun,
I see the melting dew,
I see the blooming flowers,
I see the sky’s changing hues.

Through it
I embrace the fading sun,
I live the joyous rains,
I feel the flowery fragrance,
I walk those lonely ways.

Through it
I float with the summer clouds,
I breathe the winter breeze,
I touch the autumn leaves,
I celebrate the cuckoo’s springtime songs.

Through the window,
I see my world.
Neither the autumn leaves,
Nor the springtime songs;
Neither the winter sunshine,
Nor the summer rains;
Would have been great
Had it not been through my window rails.

Through my window,
I see the world.
In the window, lies the entire bliss;
Beyond the window is only an illusion.

Suyash Saxena


Details | Free verse | |

Spring Child

Spring breezes blowing,
Waving yellow daffodils,
Color of the morn.
Pink cheeks glowing,
Golden curls upon the green,
Laughing at the dawn...


Details | Rhyme | |

Spring Brings Peace

Give me a season....give me a reason...to start anew
It's gonna be autumn soon and the leaves are dropping like dew
Give me a season...give me a reason...to change color
I bet I'd be the color blue....Ohoohooooh... But I'm just a blur
Give me a stairway...teach me the baby steps...to start anew
It's gonna be a tornado...pretty soon and the wind is blowing so true
Hold my hand...hold it tight...give me your trust...give me a sign of contentment
I bet you're the color yellow...like the burning sun....ohoohoooooh...we'll set up a tent

We'll be together at last...the ocean won't separate us...ohoohoooooh no!
We'll be partners at task....the mountains won't make us give up...ooh ooh no!
We'll be together all the time!
We'll be together...no matter what time...
What season...what day...what hour
We both got the power
And we won't cower!
We will blossom up like a flower
And we will be as vigilant as a tower! 

I'll change the season to spring time
Just for you...just for you...
I'll obliterate the darkness and destruction...I'll wipe off the grime
From your hand...from your hand
Our friendship will never cease
And we'll create peace...
Peace in mind
Peace that you'll find
In the Spring time
There is a time
For peace, love and hope
I'll do what you wish and never say "nope!"
Because we'll be working together
And we will conquer!
And we will be stronger!

And we'll create peace...
in due time...we'll have peace in mind
Peace that we'll find
In the Springtime


Details | Limerick | |

Spring Pogo Stick Tricks

There once was a boy with two sticks.
He bounced on both pogos; planned tricks.
One day he fell down
He laughed like a clown.
Then, sprung off; one foot on each stick.

Copyright March 8, 2015
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest Spring Forward 
(Finished too late to enter, though.)
Sponsor Debbie Guzzi

Inspired by my grandsons!


Details | Free verse | |

Waiting For Spring

It's much too cold right now for my taste,
I'd rather be in a warmer place. 
Not huddled under the blanket to keep warm,
No, that is not the case. 

I'm waiting for the day the flowers will bloom again,
I'm waiting for the day the animals will come back. 
I'm waiting for the day a twelve year old like me can play,
The nice warm sun is what I lack. 

All we have right now is all of this snow,
Why can't it simply melt into the ground?
I want to be able to go down the slides at the playground,
And listen to the laughter all around.

But it seems the snow will be around for a while,
So I might as well wait as I cower under a blanket pile.
Yes, this is too chilly for my taste,
So I'll just sit and wait for Spring.