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Dark Spring Poems | Spring Poems About Dark

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

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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 | Iambic Pentameter |

quaternity

so far the days of singing rays
have come to meet their sullen end
twixt nights of joy with hidden ploy
a sweetly tone, they do offend

O gasp! the serpent true must strike
O gasp! the lustful raging psych
whose cares are lost forever long
roaring out, O hear my song!

now mute...peace...whist...still
ideas soon drain, decisions fill
a mind at pace with thoughts that spill
float soundlessly thy solstice chill

the misty seep, foreboding reap
emotions run amok like thieves
for darkly cast, a favored past
along is lain misguided leaves

-Sam Robinson

 Iambic Tetrameter


Details | Lyric |

Nature's Sigh

The Black butterfly waves away her adorations
All she seeks is seclusion, subsuming slave to mortification
The Dear Air is all she can breath, captive of imaginary dreams
The Beacon resonates, but the hope isolates
The Wasteland's silky fingers caressing the virgin's face

So she is now, the covet of the damned
Programmed to every victim's pain
Carrying the weight of every sorrow
Drowning in wrongs she does not know
But paradise is at loss; she must go

Nature sighs after the bite
All my hopes fading
Don't look at me with those sorrowful eyes
How do you know exactly what I'm feeling?
I'm just the ghost flower passing by
And you can hear nature's sigh


Details | Verse |

The Eves of May

Maelstrom, O thou devil 
Slither past last March then unto April
Into the eves and ides of May 

Thou cannot hide, but thou wilt try
To disguise thy age old blackness
Forsake what once were brighter skies
Stranglehold; sane extraction

And the spills of night
A new tone deafness
Burning oil; sentiment molasses 
Bringing storms that cloud minds human and fragile 

Spheres of moonlit halos
Become, no more than serpent spies
Peeking through faultlines of life
Dancing about to the madness limbo

One lost soul...
Shipwrecks against a sea
And there too does the twist of tango
Eyes of the deep; tentacles, touching me

Elsewhere, the raven flies repetition
Into glass windows
Blood stains upon a faceless mask
Drowns out the cries and the conscience

Of feathers blacker that lie strewn
Are the questions I have asked 
And the answers I cannot have

Let slip feigned breath of man beneath
A gargle from the cold tunnel brine
What's left surrenders alter to its evil
And nothing is, to evermore survive

And the eves and ides of May 
Are Saran gas upon a mass of land
Men of desparation hunger 
Eating flesh of man much meeker

And thou wilst not again
Glimpse thy rival sun
Nor when it comes, goes 
Or finality, when it finds its done

Inspired by the madness of Poe
That which is locked within us all


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 |

Cold Fingers

I look out my window
No longer white and fluffy 
The snow has turned a sickly gray
Much like my mood towards this season of death
Tired of dark clouds and cold winds
The birds are wise to abandon this desolate place
I dream of sunshine and blue sky
Running barefoot across green grass
Smelling the fresh scent of spring breezes
Lazy days of summer accompanied by young lovers
For now I am a prisoner in a cold land
Wrapped in my blanket staring out at the gray
Nothing seems to warm the coldness that has invaded my soul
Old man winter has stolen another day 
I wait and I wait
Time seems to move in reverse
Is there any escape?
Yes
I go to my computer
Warm weather awaits me
Just a click a way
Visions of spring dance in my head
I can cheat on winter
Escape cold fingers
I can fly away to some exotic warm land
Run through Sun drenched waves
Drink umbrella drinks
I can follow those clever birds
I long for this escape
Just four hours away
I arrive at the airport bags in hand
Feeling oppromistic
Then comes a storm
Old man winter refuses to release his icy grip
I look out the airport window
The snow covered runway is pure white
All flights cancelled
A block of ice where my heart used to be
How I long for spring

Winter Be Gone Contest
Poem written January 27th for your contest.


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 | Free verse |

Oh Sojourner

Oh Sojourner

By Ingrid Showalter Swift

 

Oh Sojourner
 
Walk among the tall lithe pines as they sway 

beneath

subtle hues of lavender’s dusk 

Reach your illuminas fingers 
with polished nails a-glittered 
in crystal-ed gold and diamond sight 
out and into this thrusting long light
         …Searing a golden pathway from sky into dark walnut and pine and lines of 
these byways ..only angels and devils alone ...dare tread

This forest is a barrier thin enough to breech
so teach me!.....I plead of you.... 

with lips blazing ... the need to speak volumes…like  heat rising 

Make me  a lit oiled lamp on a tall white post 
singing out ...streaming out into the streets gray toned and grayed with the 
beating 
of the merciless weakness ...of humanity 

lead me to hope….. yet still more
and pray

daring out …the dark night 

yearning for just yet another... lilt hearted singular spring day to awaken within 
the gates of this immortal town
held aloft by bone cavern and pale flesh tenting

Let  light green springs erupt from me once more 
and flow through all I meet 
like the river shows the leaf to the ocean and then to the shore once more


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 | I do not know? |

BACKSTREETS OF PARIS - Monsieur L'Vampyre

BACKSTREETS OF PARIS -  MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE
One spring and sunny day I set my sight
behind my darkened lenses, feigning night,
so I might stroll in my own way
and see what's life in light of day,
my thread put to my back, I travelled light;

when Paris comes to all its greenery,
there's not a sight that means so much to me
as flowers holding to the hair
of Mademoiselles out ev'rywhere,
and laughing children, that's how life should be.

The beat of Paris leads a steady pace
and if you stop, you're holding up the race
there's not enough time in a day
to walk all of Champs Elysees
and so you miss the smile of ev'ry face.

But there are places few would care to go
with streets so narrow, darkness is the glow,
where yesterday's not in the past,
but here and now, and here to last,
with cobble stones laid many years ago;

a world of silence, far from natures care,
a place of echoes, snapping here to there;
the signs of life flow past your feet
and to the Seine, just down the street,
but leaves its scent, it's with you ev'rywhere.

This is a time, more than a place to be,
the soul of Paris few can ever see,
the very secrets of her heart,
where light of Paris had its start,
and left here for the very likes of me.

You hear her whisper in the mid of day,
or you might hear a concertina play,
but all that's Paris surely lies
right here for you before your eyes,
and it's the dream Parisians want to stay.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet


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