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Spring Dream Poems | Spring Poems About Dream

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

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

Dandelion Dreams

This poem has been deleted due to possible publication.


Details | Free verse | |

Spring's Sweet Reality

She wanders to a dream, a place Where weeping willows brush her face Beneath the branches bending low She's walking where a garden grows Grass gently sways, as cool as glass And timid blows the warming breeze, That fetches shining hair with ease With wisps of gold, which fly astray, Like meadow flowers, in yellow maize A melody of larks, that sing Of promised spring....of pastel things An amber sun, a basking glow, Who ambles by and whispers low Of meadows green and rainbows too How much she longs to bask again To warm a face so pale of skin But then, once more the threat of chill Upon a cheek, a breath of ice And snowflakes land upon on her lash They startle cold, like morning ash, A northern wind that stings her eyes A thief will snatch her scarf away, And thus her dream has gone astray And once again her dream has died Yet distantly, there lies in wait, A springtime place, a promised fate A path beneath the willow tree, Where sun peeks through the velvet haze Where flowers bloom and meadows grow, And larks sing lovely lullabies The earth will wake, to be a dream A dream with sweet reality
____________________________________________________________ For Francine's Contest: "Winter Begone" 1/23/12


Details | Villanelle | |

Dreaming Of Spring

Dreaming Of Spring

Myth is the breath of memory
Fables of spring's awakening
Things are watching we cannot see

Here in the garden’s  treasury
The magic of spring is hastening
Myth is the breath of memory

Colors  to spark a rainbow’s envy 
Every meadow and glade adorning
Things are watching we cannot see

Flowers  dancing in reverie
Bluebirds and butterflies on the wing 
Myth is the breath of memory

Spring is  transforming dormancy
Now as days  are brightening
Things are watching we cannot see

Painting  a picture of harmony
At last a result for all our dreaming
Myth is the breath of memory
Things are watching we cannot see

Suzanne Delaney



Details | Verse | |

We Dream And Wait


                              Sweet dreams can be made of honey
                                   Do you dream about honey
                                          it can mean wealth
                                   Do you dream of marmalade
                                         it can mean disease
                                       Do you dream of syrup
                                  it can mean pleasant surprises
                                    Do you dream of dandelions
                                it can mean happiness and spring
                                    Are you dreaming of spring
                                 .... it will come, it is on the way





30.03.2013
A-L  Andresen :)


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Hunting for Spring

We’re so tired, of winter’s, snow and ice,
For too long, we have been, within our house, winter’s price.
Why won’t you come, to visit us, and sing?
Where we’ll be touched, by your sun, so heartily, beaming.
Oh where! Oh where! Are you, our sweet Spring?
We need you, so very longingly!

We saw you peak out, for just one day.
Then you quickly, and suddenly, ran so very far away.
So we did a Rain Dance, and danced in the cold.
Without your shinning brightness, all we got, was cold snow!
Oh where! Oh where! Did you go, our sweet Spring?
Why did you run, so very far, with your blessing!

We sought the Groundhog, that he ask you, to come back.
But he was burrowed, deep beneath, all the snow, and ice pack.
He wouldn’t open his door, as we knocked, true and hard.
He refused, to even come out, as he denied the pleas, of this bard!
Oh where! Oh where! Are you, our precious, sweet Spring?
We beseech thee, to please come back, to me!

The trees want to bloom; their sprouts are ready, to collect.
Our hearts are there beside them, under this winter, and it’s effects.
We’ll sit here, dreaming of the beauty, only you can affect.
We’re hopeful, can’t wait, but now at March’s mercy, and redirect.
Oh where! Oh where! Did you go, our sweet Spring?
Our hearts and souls want to be warmed by thee!

What? Dragon and I see you! We rejoice my friend!
Our hearts, like the trees, are beginning, to warm again.
The snow is leaving; all is greening, before our eyes.
We beg you, to please stay here, solidly, close by our side.
Oh where! Oh where! Did you go, our sweet Spring?
At last! It doesn’t matter! We have you back, and all that you bring!

Written for my good Friend Jack Ellison.


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 | I do not know? | |

My Wishes are Simple





My Wishes are Simple


My wishes are simple,
my desires few,

to gaze upon an ocean,
and marvel at a solitary drop of dew.



My wishes are simple,
my dreams not too grand,

to feel the waves teasing my tired feet,
with no footprints left in the cool, wet sand.



My wishes are simple,
my thoughts serenely gentle, calm,

my heart resting beneath a swaying palm,

healing my being, caressed by nature's soothing balm.





Details | Verse | |

The Tree and I

The Tree and I 

I met a tree today while walking under cloud ridden skies.  She was a young oak past her sapling age.  Her bare branches, still in winters hold, stood stark against an evergreen backdrop.  I felt her loneliness seep into my being, so I slipped over and gave her a hug.  I whispered to her, “I know lonely too”, and heard an audible sigh within her wind swept branches.

a young oak
stands bare in winter's keeping---
brown carpeted ground


After a length of time, undetermined, I slid to the ground and leaned against her trunk.  I was content to keep her company for a short time on such a dreary day. Nowhere else did I need to be.  No one else did I need to see. So, I leaned my head gently against her rough bark and as we both shared a quiet moment of contemplations. 

a woman sits
at the base of a tree---
cloud laden sky

Eventually I felt the cold and damp seeping into my skin and I shivered. The young oak felt this and spoke to the breeze in her highest limbs. She asked it to blow the clouds from the face of the sun so that we could both enjoy the warm rays… and so it was that we were both sun kissed on this early morning day. 

clouds drift
away from the sun---
a girl smiles

This soon became a daily ritual, loneliness drifting away with each visit. She listened to me, as I listened to her, and time flew more quickly by.  Spring arrived before we knew it as the young oak beamed with her new buds. It seemed our visits now became less lonely, filled as we were with the awakening of Mother Earth. 

new buds
on a young oak---
birds singing

I shared with her and her with me, throughout the winter’s days. We laughed together and wept together during the longest of lackluster days.  A friendship formed of kindred spirits that helped chase the blues away.  With spring’s awakening, our confidence gaining, we rejoice in the birth of each new day.    

green grass
returns to the lawn---
daffodils bloom



All Rights Reserved @ Debra Squyres 2013
Form:  haibun  (mixture of prose and haiku)


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 | 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


Details | Haiku | |

Dream Season

spring dream
a rooster stirs the stillness
into dawn
 
calmness . . .
jogging into
the spring dawn
 
hot spring bath –
the nibbling fish
tingle my skin
 
waterfall
I photograph
its mist of spring
 
train pane mist
she rubs on
the other side
 
spring rain
the scent of green in
the dawn breeze
 
february full moon
the beach tides deepen
the voice of children
 
spring moon
the scent of jasmine
spreading in the night


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? | |

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 | Rhyme | |

cycles of love

my mark is fresh like snow in air
brisk and mist will crisp on hair
fists ball up from risk to care
whisper and stare but all is fair
love and reason, flow like seasons
the endings blending and quite seeming
parts of hearts, tho awake or dreaming
half is seeing, the other believing
eyes align and beats will sync
eyes a line for heat to sink
taken quickly for a fall
lovers stroll through memories' hall
echoes stir sight and scent
my senses flight keeps suspense
until logic teaches what it meant
all good things come to an end
summer lighting longer days
more hours to burn for lovers lay
precious tokens we hope to stay
from constant change or parting ways
spring into action to save those astray
a few more years can cost a pay
with lives and sacrifice displayed
perhaps tomorrow will be okay
years can fly like clouds in sky
feelings revealing what to decide
and just like that were back to try
to love the same until we die


Details | Free verse | |

Eternal Spring

With each stone,
A certain size,
A distinct color,
Water flows gracefully
Over each backbone of the brook.

Along the brook,
The water is pristine,
Yet calm and quiet,
Rolling over stones
And pebbles, the water streams into
A natural spring.

The spring dwells
Eternal life,
Once drank,
Life everlasting.
Offering life after passing.


Details | Rhyme | |

A WINTER MORN

Hushed nature stood reserved,
with no'ne to appreciate its beauty,
but placed for ages, preserved
and for ages following its duty.

When at the brim of verdant plot
some reaper, move at range
to charm but to depart
with sublime thought exchange.

With many unseen flowers
blush, shiver, and dies
peeping for someone from its bowers
and spread beauty, serenity, charm and flies.

Conserved water flow on its rugged path
and leave its lively mark
Each day as Sabbath
With reflected gleam of golden arc.

The grace of the lily swan
as it flies above heaven
above this mankind dropping and wan
between sun rays all seven.

The small plant which shiver at night 
just sooth their soul with silent sun's gleam 
and all new born plant which might 
have died, now sleep deep, and innocently dream.

Bad and good are juxtaposed ones,
if one prevail the next one wait
if good is present you cheer and dance
and if bad, you curse but your fate.

Good sooth the soul
as winter sun after dull night
and bad effects all
as in summer afternoon, a yellow sun bright.


Details | ABC | |

A Day In The Sky

The cool air,
blowing in my hair,
the sound of bells ringing loud,
sitting down on the soft clouds.
This down right pleasure,
is what I'll treasure,
that no other dream can measure.
These yellow an red skies,
reveals its moment of time,
sleeping in the mid air as much as I please,
the view of the day in the sky,
as clear as the seven seas.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Moment of Hope The Invisible Man 30

Sometimes I have the courage to think of the things that made me what I am today,
My memory takes me back to terrible things far away far off into my bitter past,
My mind like a maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste, loss and disgust,
The losses, the drink ripped away, not happy until it was all gone respect as well.

Invisible thinks of a garden where roses clustered with lilies scent on the breeze,
Bees found stores of honey in the petals of a thousand and one different flowers,
Lovers walked hand in hand along its winding path a beautiful dream of the man,
Bright with the embroidery of nature where children played in new myrtle flowers,

As Invisible thinks of this garden it is neglected but flowers can grow with weeds,
It could put a smile upon his face, a face that had never known any joy recently,
He hopes a gardener can covert this garden get rid of ruined waste, back into Eden,
Tending all the beautiful flowers that spring up with the weeds and smell gladness.

If he helped the gardener in his quest a hand might hold his and guide him through,
Maybe a hand would go around his waist to support him as well as guide his hand,
Dare he wish that the guiding hand and the support would be his angel from heaven,
A dear person to help him clear his garden and walk down the winding path as lovers.

An angel that would smile at him maybe hold his hand and squeeze it so very gently,
Would the angel talk to him and tell him that one day they would be together again,
Her beautiful grace shining warmly as she looks up to him, to her he is her hero,
Not a drunken mess that cannot cope, not a dirty vagrant, but her knight her love.

The tenderness of this beautiful scene in his poisoned mind became real he smiled,
He grinned as she sat down next to him as close a she could get then wriggled closer,
Warmth from her body not only warmed him but gave hope this what he has waited for,
She whispered sweetly she loved him and would be waiting for him and they kissed.

Invisible woke with a start and was she not by his side, was she ever with him,
A dream another heart wrenching let down and how could he have dreamed the dream,
It was so real he still felt the warmth, the impression of her hand holding his,
But it must have been a dream his own mind conspired to deliver the hardest blow.


Lost in a grief so deep, his loneliness complete he talks to Sam his imaginary friend.

These days get worse Sam they really do please help me,
I need to change but I need my drink more what can I do,
But I need to change so desperately Sam can you help?
My world has cracked and I've fallen into the crack,
But what I don't understand Sam that I was once good,
If I had any courage Sam I would be laying in my coffin,
Why does life drag you along with it I don't want to go,
Just a bit of icing on my cake Sam it is freezing cold,
Did you know this is where I was brought up my friend,
Did you know that most of the people that walk past I knew,
Sam! I know many of there people but they don't know me,
Why do they all walk past I wish somebody would help,
Maybe when I have drunk more cider I might feel better Sam,
I can remember being happy but not what being happy is like,

As Invisible sits drinking shoppers give him a wide berth and they look at him with hate.

These people Sam they look at me as if I have hurt them,
The people they are not our sort of people they hate me,
Has the world changed like I have but in opposite ways,
My life is full of sorrow drunkenness and dreams Sam,
Old sorrows wont go away new sorrows should take over,
So we have to face both the old and the new that's bad,
At night I try to close my drunken eyes it all returns,
Sam is that the same as you can you close your eyes,
Can you remember the valleys Sam the ones we used to play,
When we ran about all day Sam in the sun rolling in grass,
The old stream that twisted and turned, it had lost its way,
Floating lolly sticks watching them bounce away on ripples,
Buying bangers in November and throwing them into the water,
What I wouldn't do to go back for just a couple of hours Sam,
Just to feel the innocence and try to bring it back to now,
To enjoy what there is to enjoy and maybe get better Sam,
But that will never happen Sam we are lost on an island,
A well populated island but an island all the same Sam,
People are not like ships they don't bother to rescue people,
They just walk around or just walk away all the nice ones gone,
I remember my school Sam it's now been knocked down and left,
It has all gone, all gone no primroses in spring or bluebells,
Do you remember Sam the bluebells used to nod in the wind,
But they have all been built on, whats the use in talking,
Nothing changes from bad to good Sam remember that, eh Sam,

Still drinking his cider tears well into his eyes his nose runs and begins to quietly
to sob. He sits on the shopping parade seat, shaking as he sobs. His throat has a lump
in it so he stops talking to Sam. Invisible sinks his wet face into his overcoat
hides his misery from the people that walk past he just sat there lost and confused. His
greatest sadness an angel paid a visit to the maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste,
loss and disgust,


Details | Rhyme | |

In the meadow - re- posted

The darkness falls i am here alone
I  wanted the peace and quiet
To lie here in the bluebells and think
A heavenly retreat to quell my mindful riot

I am lying here , when i felt a gentle touch
Like fairy whispers on my skin
My eyes wouldnt open my senses were such
I arched  my back I felt his body within

What seemed like hours we made love
Satiated  I fell asleep, was this a dream
When i awoke i was still alone, lips bruised, 
Body aching covered in loves cream

I looked about nothing to suggest
I wasnt the only person here
Then I  saw it amongst the bluebells
A single red rose to say I was here 

In the meadow


17 April  2013


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 | |

Thinking

I often wonder,
In those fragile moments between dream and waking,
If what I know of good,
And what I I know of evil are what creates the complexity that is me.
Do the two intertwine,
Compacted together so they form some semblance of normality?
Or if they are opposing forces,
Neither winning in a battle of dominance over my psyche.
The later of these two appears to be the case,
Because I'm always the same,
But so very different after each and every passing moment.
Peering inside myself,
I imagine that this is what I would see:

I can be shallow as a puddle,
Growing ever smaller under the summer sun.
Or deep as an ocean trench,
Teeming with mystery.
I can be childish as a girl on her first day of school,
At first too scared to let go of her mother,
And then off making friends with everyone nearby.
Or I can be wise as the old woman,
Seeing so much more of the world in seconds,
Knowing every secret at a glance.
I can be smooth and cold as marble,
Indifferent and never yielding.
Or rough as the bark of a sun bathed oak,
Showing all that I have openly.
I can be harsh as a blizzard,
Searing with my very touch.
Or gentle as a spring breeze,
Playfully whistling in your ear.
I can be sorrowful as a summer monsoon,
Raining torrents until no more will come forth,
Or cheering as a spring rain that leaves a rainbow in its wake.
Of devil or angel,
I choose neither.
Both deny themselves the freedom I hold so dear.
The ability to choose between kind or cruel,
Gentle or harsh,
Raging or comforting,
And most of all,
Between hate or love.
I am me,
No one else,
And all the warring elements that make me are the most ugly,
And beautiful things in the world.
All these and so much more are who I am,
Who I can be,
And what I long for myself to grow into.
But,
As all things must someday,
These thoughts drift away,
Lost once again inside me.
Fading as the night does once it reaches dawn,

For I am in that space between dream and waking no longer.

Instead,
I find myself seated in Biology,
With my teacher shooting daggers from her eyes,
Asking pointedly if my nap had been restful enough.
And I say how sorry I am,
Scrambling to answer her,
Working fervently until she turns away.
Then and only then,
I smile.,
For somewhere in between heart and mind,
All those things still exist.
Waiting until I can wonder again,
To find them in that space,
Both singular and vast.
 Ever searching for the thing that one calls a soul.


Details | Free verse | |

Nocturne of The Orient

Nocturne of The Orient

I woke upon a winter’s morn,
To find that summer had long gone.
And simpler games of summer days
Have turned to chess--where I’m a pawn.
I feel my heart where it was torn--
As sharp of edge as with a knife--
And know that I have lost the ways
That sheltered me from winter’s strife.

And where were you my summer song?
When I awoke no more to hear
Your graceful melody of care
Float gently ‘round and fill my ear
With essence, pure! Still lingered long,
Your heartfelt tune of life and loss--
To close my eyes would see you there;
An ancient soul of yin* and joss.**

Though shorn from life, my sweetest dreams
Still come to me when dusk brings sleep.
That little death that brings release,
While still I slumber dark and deep,
And rends my night upon its seams,
When wondrous sights I do behold--
That bring at last my soul some peace,
And chase out much of winter’s cold.

© Copyright 2013 Shawn H. Hall - All Rights Reserved

*yin - the feminine passive principle in nature that in Chinese cosmology is exhibited in darkness, cold, or wetness and that combines with yang to produce all that comes to be. Hence, yin=Femininity, and yang=masculinity.

**joss - a Chinese idol (or roughly, a deity). AKA, Spirituality

Thus, an ancient soul of femininity and spirituality.


Details | Quatrain | |

I dream of spring

With winter upon me I start to dream of spring.
Though my senses feel numb I can’t feel anything.
I remember the sun its rays could warm the soul.
Though the cold of winter is still taking its toll.

I remember the scent of flowers clinging in the air.
Where once it was barren the grass shall grow there.
The trees begin to blossom as they come alive.
The beauty surrounds in every direction I drive.

I hear the bird singing they seem to rejoice.
The enjoyment of life seems to be the only choice.
 They gather up twigs to construct a new nest.
They work until dark and then they do rest.

The days grow much longer I see so much light.
 It seems like a beacon to guide me from night.
The sun grows strong and everything grows.
The warmth can be felt as a gentle breeze blows.

I feel my spirit grows I think I can fly.
I just spread my wings and take to the sky.
 I look down to see all the world down below
The seeds that were planted are starting to grow.

I see spring much like a return of the senses
Nature agrees, it becomes a general consensus.
The dream seem so real I can taste it in the air.
 Winter shall fade and spring senses shall fare.