Let the petals get wings of butterfly
tell the withering rose to shed its sorrow
see how beautifully under the spring sky
petals will spread their wings tomorrow.
Tell the withering rose to shed its sorrow
like butterflies on their first flights
petals will spread their wings tomorrow
catching spring morning's first sunlight.
Like butterflies on their first flights
colourful flowers will be in the air
catching spring morning's first sunlight
spreading fragrances every where.
Colourful flowers will be in the air
see how beautifully under the spring sky
spreading fragrances every where,
let the petals get wings of butterfly.
© kash poet (kashinath karmakar)
Placement:1st; February 2013
Contest:Petals in The Wind
Copyright © kash poet | Year Posted 2013
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
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009
I do not know?
In the spring, I'm a Daffodill
In many hues, dancing on the hill
Swaying with the gentle breeze
In the spring I'm easy to please
In late spring, I'm pale pink rose
Growing on the trellis, inviting bees toes
To touch on me, drink their fill of nectar
Sweet, in late spring I'm real neat
In early summer, I'm Buddleia
When Butterflies come, Cassiopeiae
Is so jealous of the attention
As they touch and tickle my extensions
Later on I become Great Yellow Gentian
At this time I'm in another dimension
Waiting the time in the fall when I've lived all
Then I become the great Sunflower in the fall
When winter arrives, I'm barely now alive
This is when Camelia makes her debut
She is really now more alive leaves glisten
They've a glossy waxy shin and the blooms pristen
(In response to Andrea's Blog.)
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2010
A pig in peplum and pearls
under a pergola twirls.
Pendulous petunias sway
while percussion plays.
Whispering spring breezes,
a tickle in my nose, i sneezes.
Copyright © raskin bobbins | Year Posted 2013
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
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014
. T ulips coated in dewy waxen gloss
U ndulating their warm fragrant breath
L eaving - that cold hearted Mr. Frost
I n a
P uddle of tears
S creaming - Spring is here!
Elaine Cecelia George, of Canada
Written: April 11, 2011
For: Carol Brown's contest - Spring Flowers
Awarded: First Place
Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2011
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
Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2013
See all of the buds upon the trees
watch closely as slowly one unfurls
each tiny weeny leaf stretching out
one by one peeling away from the buds
Turning their faces up to the sun
some sticky buds much longer taking
all sorts of shapes and different sizes
as they grow and cast their dappled shade
On the tender plants hiding below
shade lovers of stunning colours
scarlet red Hostas amidst bluebells
the trumpets waving on their long stems
All the sun lovers blooms open wide
drinking in the heat beaming down
tulips bright with merry stripes
all the colours of the rainbow
Swaying gentle in noon heat
tall hollyhocks stately bend
the early promise of a rose
scents abound flooding senses
So easy to lay back and drift off
sun shining down heats the skin
bees droning gathering nectar
such an idyllic place to rest awhile
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2013
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
Copyright © Jay Loveless | Year Posted 2013
The Roses are Red
The Violets are Blue
The sunshine has got in me
And the Devil has, too.
The Sunshine’s hit Dragon
Oh what will we do?
He poo’d on my Roses
Oh I know what I’ll Do!
So I Gave him a bath
Most wonderous thing!
He’ll be stuck in the tub…
Come Hell or next Spring!
I know, I know
But The Devil won’t let go!
So I’ll Run to McDonald’s
For them lucky guys
These to bestow!
There once was a guy named Elliot
Who’s funny bone hasn’t broken yet-iot
But never fear… Grandpa Troll is here
Laughing and rolling on the floor like an id-iot
I know… I know… Don’t cry… at it!
Dragon’s the one who wrote-iot
Hey Dragon… I was THE ONE who started writing it… I say!
Well Yes… it WAS funnier that way
Well, OK! YOU WIN… I said with a grin…
Your such a silly Dragon-iot… I said with shagrin
Think he’ll get that one… in the end?
Well, Maybe just incase, I’d better start running… I say
My friends… won’t tell Dragon so it’ll be OK
Well…Maybe?… Naw… No Way!
And No…Dragon! I Did NOT get Carried AWAY!
Naw… No Way!
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2015
Play The Radio
Get Up And Dance All Night Long
Music Heals The Soul
Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012
Oh No! Oh No! What has my son done? I hope it’s, not already to late!
He lives at a fraternity house, and surely, you know THAT intense mental state.
March has St. Patrick’s Day, Spring Break, and has, of course, Easter in it, too.
So they decided to have some great fun, yes, a fun filled month to happily ensue.
They invited a Leprechaun, the Easter Bunny, and the king of bongos, a gnome.
Apparently they convinced everyone it’d be more fun, to Simply… Stay… Home.
The whole campus flooded thru that fraternity house, in the party’s that ensued.
And they convinced the Easter Bunny to do jello shots in every color and hue.
He became known as THE BUN, yes, The One who finally, truly could fly…
And the Leprechaun danced till he dropped… to a great bongo serenade, aye.
There was no SIMPLY about this! As the music rocked the frat house, next door.
And girls were seen coming and going, at all hours, even passed out on the floor.
This was the party no one missed… even the frat house with the snobs, were there.
It’s said even some of the President’s security attended, partying there, somewhere.
Before they were done, a plan was sown, as the gnome found it’s yearly, new home.
Yes, it got there, in Washington somehow, on the top of the Real ‘White House’ Dome.
But along the way THE BUN was lost… some where along the never-ending roads.
The Leprechaun called me, our Dragons and Trolls, to help, to search the highroads.
The poor little guy was so pie eyed, when we found him along that crazy way, so…
We fixed him up, we didn’t give up, until we could send him, into that Easter Frey.
Contest: Show Me The Funny
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2013
Colorful blooming pear and apple trees
Beautiful within the first weeks of spring
Everything is heavenly blossoming
With gentle blowing winds and humming bees
The time to plant some vegetable seeds
With the sunshine and rain all the seeds grow
Glorious rainbow putting on a show
Colorful flowers raising from the ground
Nature showing its beauty all around
With summer coming, time for spring to go
Decima is a style of poetry that is Octosyllabic and has 10 lines.
Given the flexible method of counting syllables in Spanish verse, where an "Octosyllabic" line could easily have seven or nine syllables (as normally counted), in writing a decima in English it would seem not unreasonable to write in iambic pentameter (theoretically ten syllables), which comes more naturally to English verse. So for English verse you would use 10 syllables per line.
The rhyming scheme is ABBAACCDDC.
so in English.. you would have 10 lines of 10 syllables per line... rhyme is above....
Copyright © Erich Goller | Year Posted 2013
Look after Joe our mother said
We promised we would do it
She needed a break from all of us
And went out of town for a visit.
It was the spring of '93
The blizzard had ruined my place
So Sam was helping clean up my yard
Little did we know
We'd soon be red in the face!
I went down to check on Joe
He asked me to regulate his shower
I told him I'd do it later
And asked if he could wait an hour.
An hour passed, then two
We were busy with what we were doing
We forgot Joe needed a hand
And was sitting, waiting, stewing.
When I remembered to go back
I found it out of my power
For Joe had taken matters into his own hands
And was stepping out of the shower.
You adjusted the water, I began
Oh no Miss Emily
I could not do it myself
It was that nice policeman.
Where did you find a policeman
Out here in the sticks, I cried
Knowing in my heart something was wrong.
Easy Miss Emily, I figured it out
I needed help,
So I dialed 911.
I was horrified, afraid they would think us bad
For neglecting our uncle that fine spring day
Too busy to give him what he needed
Scared they'd take him away.
Oh no probem Jane
The man said when I called
We understand what happened today
Just tell Uncle Joe if he does it again
That out of his pocket he'll pay.
Our mother was not happy with us
But eventually thought it great fun
That Uncle Joe took matters into his own hands
And for help, dialed 911.
Copyright © E.J. Smith | Year Posted 2012
She slips from the sleeping ice.
Green, fresh, free to flow
through the great fjord.
Past the blue mountains.
She glides smoothly
over the rocks with glee,
covering them with her cool touch.
Tall evergreens cheer her on.
Waving as she courses down her chosen path,
All the while never tiring!
Surging forward to join the others like her.
This vast journey ,
will not end till she reaches
The Great Shores.
Her journey is joyful.
Touching all on her banks,
leaving the gift of life in her wake.
Copyright © Gypsyof Essence | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
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.
Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013
Effulgent sun proffers love
Above the undergrowth…of
Thorns and weeds
The moon unravels wonders
Copyright © J. W. Earnings | Year Posted 2013
SHE glides with grace, like one in love
with love itself and all that’s lush;
and when the mythic sprites above
unloose her from the morning's blush,
she descends like the milk-white dove
with the notes of a singing thrush.
With golden locks, as light as air,
and liquid, limpid eyes most blue,
none is like her or can compare
to her beauty and lovely hue
which lift the humble souls that dare
come to her for her balmy dew.
As wind and air Nymph and a muse
with the nimbused crest of a saint
which no man can therefore refuse
or with mean words tarnish or taint,--
then let all Creatures freely choose
to honor her without constraint.
1.) Ngoc Nguyen; 2.) Nature motif; 3.) for "Impress me II ! ( Old/New )" Contest
Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2013
Who knows…amidst the cold of winter
When spring is just a memory
And her flowers all decay
Leaving just a trace of
A once glorious bouquet…
That love lies dormant in the snow
Determined to survive!
It is too late for spring
To come again this way
Her rosebuds bloom just once
Before they fade away
Despite our desperate
Pleading for them to stay
Love is only for the young…
How can it come my way?
Spring and summer love
Awakens us to life
We only hear the music
Not the possibility of strife
We are the young…
Invincible are we
Love will last forever
Just you wait and see!
Well…love doesn’t last forever
Sometimes we grow apart
Or death intervenes
To break a grieving heart
And love becomes a word
Too painful to endure
And we become immune
To its powerful allure
But if your heart is open
To the stirring in the snow
And you dig beneath the surface
To the earth where flowers grow
You will find a rose still blooming
As it did once long ago
Pluck it gently…hold it fast
For the love you find in winter
Like the rose…will truly last
When spring is gone
And love grows cold
Turn your face to the sun
For love is best as we grow old
And life’s battles have been won
Open your heart to love again
You’re life has just begun
Copyright© 2005 Beatrice Boyle
(All rights reserved)
Copyright © Beatrice Boyle | Year Posted 2011
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.
St. Stephen’s College.
Copyright © Suyash Saxena | Year Posted 2013
The air perfumed with soggy hope
Once more my thoughts turn to you
That fine spring day we did elope
Neptune blushed a vivid blue
Releasing tulips, away we flew
© All Rights Reserved
For: English Quintain a Spring Day Contest
Copyright © James Marshall Goff | Year Posted 2012
Rivers joyfully flow
Roses again bloom
Spring visits again!
Copyright © Teddy Kimathi | Year Posted 2013
When the snow begins to fall and its chilled outside
Our spirits begin to fade like a misty tide
It's hard to keep our head and chests up high
We want to lay in beds and do naught but cry
But we should remember what comes after the snow
The sprouting hope of the rose petals show
That happiness can be found inside a soul so cold
One that has found that it feels way too old
So smile today, and smile tomorrow
On memories of spring, we borrow
Copyright © Jordan Dickinson | Year Posted 2012
drift like flower petals
east wind blowing spring snow
Copyright © Ann Roske | Year Posted 2012
Spring's yellow-green heart shaped tender leaves blown
Spring's zephyr winds tossed new leaves to and fro
Quickly from hidden laden buds now grown
Absorbing sunlight, spring's green soon to go
Rabbits now from their cozy burrow run
Hop, jump enjoy green tender shoots of grass
While lazily basking in morning sun
Then in late afternoon hide as clouds amass
As the twilight cast its eerie shadow
The sleeping birds roost in their summer nest
Sleepily fawn_doe in lush green meadow
Darkness of night with shadows now brings rest
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2011
an attentive passerby can hear the full bloom raucous
gardens have been awakened by the iridescent sun
tulip orchids, with their gray-green leaves of glaucous
heed to chimes of silver and blue bells, rivalry has begun
in full flower, cherry blossoms bask in their self-satisfied beauty
exotic birds of paradise scoff, deeming uniqueness more pleasing
rainbow irises snicker at dahlias, labelling them snooty
lilacs and hyacinths gang up on jasmine with their teasing
competition is fierce, as crocus and primrose compete
impatiens can’t wait to hear who gets the “first spring flower” title
***** willows attempt to tame the tiger lilies, but face defeat
the gerberas were right; this will be one lively spring recital
April 09, 2012
For CONTEST - where have all the flowers gone (Lisa Hiatt)
Copyright © Diana-Marie Bombardieri | Year Posted 2012
carries faint sweet fragrance
scent of spring
Copyright © Ann Roske | Year Posted 2012
Spring on the farm
Pear trees in full bloom, horses
With spring in their step
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2009
I do not know?
I missed the smell of coming spring.
Cold and blustery
winter bone chilling wind
armor of thick cloth.
Blue-grey hued sky
harbinger of soft snow,
ward off Sun’s warmth.
Dreary and depressing
long winter months
colorless, gloomy, dead
imprisoned in ice
Lo a small breach
in mantle above
thin golden beams
pierce shadowy despair.
Ahead bright days
life, love, and joy,
I long for perfumed hints
of spring to appear
Once naked trees
bear lime-green tints,
azalea burst forth
red, white and pink.
Bright yellow pollen
thin cover of dust
sweet scent of flowers
a pleasant surprise, tho’
I missed the smell of coming spring.
Copyright © Michael Santner | Year Posted 2005
It was a long walk, with time heeling at my shadow.
(and somewhere miles away the garage door closed, and the exhaust flowed,
and a small dog died in her limp arms)
I was friendly with God. Only with small trepidation did I drink from the sordid
chalice, minutes before, and decided that a walk, skip and a jump to nowhere is what I
needed the most. And so it was.
Block after block, stones in the pavement, the smell of creosote poles.
Delicate foil wrappers, industrial petals, She loves me not, she loves....
Sidetrack with backpack, it doesn't matter. I don't care.
I'll be there when I damn well find myself somewhere. Which is where
the trees grow bright, and the birds flit without flapping.
And the water forms misty and bejeweled, laying my mind out flat
like steam would fine linen. then I will sit and breath with an "e". You bet.
But first a small lap in a languid pool of solace, a tip toe through the forest afire with
colors borrowed from alien hands, a taste of spring time cum. Let me wallow.
God, friend, let me wallow in your mess of beauty, before I call it something.
Let me roll around like a goddamn dog. I want to itch and draw forth honey from my veins.
I want to suck sap bleeding from the tree, and dine on the lost sound of the whippoorwill.
God, let me die a small death of beauty, and be reborn in an orgasm of **** all get out!
No qualms. Buddy. I love your work. It looks like you ****ed yourself a good one.
And what came was all this edible goodness. Like Dali, I want to eat it. All.
Now, like I promised you, I'll give back. I'll play your hypnotic song
and sing to your soiled minions. I'll take heed in your loving whispers
and open up my heart for your midnight snack. I'll clean up your moonspill
and read to you that silly book of yours, the one about the golden rule
and those twelve dudes. (Sorry God, not my cup of tea).
Draw a bath for your daughters, and draw back the bow for your sons, and ready the bed for Venus.
Sit back and relax, ol buddy, I'll do the best that I can
then I'll grow tired
Oh. Now I can breathe. The song has left my lips for now.
I walked myself into a lovely stupor, and you showed me
the rainbow. And I raised your worms.
I played your song, God.
(I hope that somehow, she heard it over the din of engine and whimper of dog)
I played that timeless song, or you played me.
Either way, it's still the day
that the trees grew bright with sun
and the birds flew without flapping.
Copyright © Brice Powers | Year Posted 2013