Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership


Spring People Poems | Spring Poems About People

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

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

Details | Free verse | |

Spring Lover's

Clean spring wind 
     tickles my every pore;
          through skin,
              soothing my inner tempest with 
                    effervescent feathers,
                        surrounding 
                 my every 
            sense
      with 

      F
           L
                U
             I
         D
      I 
            T
                  Y

Powerful and tender,
       like a lovers kiss -
                it glides, 
        temporarily smitten
    with my earthy skin;
my motionless frame -
      exploring my body
           with its ancient mind -
                searching in vain for the secret 
      of my existence –
a secret stayed –
      grounded -

             for gravity,

                   Wind
                             knows
                                         not…

We rejoice in each-others abilities -
         mysteries, and
                   for a moment,

     we are one.

Him of the sky;
        I of the earth –
               a moment on no time’s horizon...

two lovers of spring,

        exploring the unknown…











Details | Rondeau | |

Spring Returned

With sound of laughter in the breeze     
I knew it was spring's voice I heard            
Though years have folded crease by crease
My heart remembers every word            

The springtime blooms with fragrance sweet
As if all yesterdays are stirred
The song of robins in the trees
I knew it was spring's voice I heard

As rainwashed skies look down on earth
Now waking from her winter's sleep
And joy, the greatest gift, assured
As if all yesterdays were stirred
With sound of laughter in the breeze




Details | Light Poetry | |

Spring

Frogs sound

Pro  found


Details | Free verse | |

like diamonds


two hits and i’m hanging off cliffs, listening to water

drip.

watching moss fall like snowflakes.

nothing holding my heels down but gravity, irrelevant to me.

the little girl exploring the ocean floor, the caves that once held entrancing treasures.

even tactile pain drives me into a gust of euphoria.

my heart beats (slower than it should), but the trees don’t mind.

the four shades of green blend to create a forest-

with each exhale, branches move in tandem.

and a salty tear falls from my eye,

reminiscent of what once was here.


Details | Rhyme | |

Spring Rain

"Spring Rain" she was named by her father Chief Many Horses.
Through her veins the hot blood of the majestic Comanche courses!
The young maiden crushed the hearts of many dashing braves,
But to be free to chase the vagabond winds is all she ever craves!

Her father willed her a handsome colt when she was but a little girl.
She named him "Big Thunder" - his coat was akin to that of a pearl!
Her raven hair streamed behind her as she clasped "Big Thunder's" mane!
Ah! Sweet communion with Mother Earth as they raced across the plain!

She preferred the buffalo hunt or spearing fish from tranquil shores,
To tanning hides, preparing pemmican and other such mundane chores!
Her father tutored the budding princess to assume the role of Chief.
She ever looked beyond the horizon to bring her people needed relief!

She fought in many battles and counted coup much to the Chief's chagrin.
She could be heard shouting the "Comanche Yell" above the battles' din!
Her battle cry was ever, "Great White Father, leave my people be!
It is our land the Great Spirit has given us!  We just want to live free"

Alas, Chief Many Horses was killed in battle and she assumed his role.
To smoke the peace pipe and make a better life for the tribe was her goal.
Sadly, the Comanche won many battles but eventually lost the war,
But Spring Rain, the only female Chief, will be remembered forever more!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved

Placed No. 5 inConstance's "Rain, The Story" Contest - January 2011


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 | Free verse | |

Soy Sauce Spills

Soy sauce drains 
Into the white, clustered rice
Stepped on…
spills . . . 
Soy sauce taints
The whiteness of the grain
 It slips out of my hands
No use...no point in crying out in rage
Though I was starving, 
I'll just eat another thing and start on a new page

I'm hungry like a swine
I wish I can earn back my snack!
I'm as angry as a bull
I'm about ready to attack! Attack!
Soy sauce packages
Fall unto the dirty school ground
Stepped on
By bratty, conceited teens
They really need to eat their greens
Instead of junkfood and pizza
They should drink some water
Instead of drinking sugary drinks or
 Sucking on popsicles obnoxiously
Why did the soy sauce spill? Seriously....


Details | Haiku | |

MUSIC - HAIKU

Play The Radio Get Up And Dance All Night Long Music Heals The Soul


Details | Haiku | |

Cherry Blossoms Jamboree

Cherry blossoms bloom; the townspeople sing, laugh, dance: hope springs eternal.


Details | I do not know? | |

You, Me, Us, Everyone

Flowers
Not named
Unknown to those with no curiosity
Buds, that dream of one day blooming
Being, more than they are
Flowers living
Being
Thriving
Touched by those who love
Protected by those who wish to love
Wishing to be more than they are
Buds, not truly knowing if they are ready for the world
Hoping they are strong enough 
Wishing to be the best
You, Me, Us, Everyone


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 | Light Poetry | |

SPRING IN AIR, LOVE ONLINE

SPRING IN AIR, LOVE ONLINE                                                          20/02/13

Nowadays , life is so unpalatable and stoic.
So unnecessarily busy and eventfully hectic.
Young folks thus gather in a shadowy discotheque, to kill,
The retreating winter shedding its last chill.
The chirps of the departing migratory,
With massacred green in a concrete urban factory,
Welcomes the spring breeze, and the cuckoo melody tune,
That too so rare,
For a short term vacation, in a vanity fair. 
Some emotional fools and roaming vagabond,
Can feel the spring air and reminiscences their  fond,
And cry for the past and the long lost love bonds.
Beside them no one dares to mingle,
Their soul with the colour of butterfly  twinkle.
No one cares to see the young green boughs,
Dancing in a frolic of crispy air that jingle.
All is there, in the air, except love my dear,
‘Cause love is now confined,
In another little world so secure.
Where there’s no hasty rushing,
No meaningless blushing,
No hassled waiting, no worrying restriction.
Love is just a ready-made parcel, 
At a press of a small button.
Love messages, e mails , tweets, face books ,web cyberspace and profile update,
Takes all the bothering responsibility, does all the necessary tete-a-tete.
No need for time taking arguments,
No need for extra commitments. 
Sometimes, meetings could be arranged, but
Oh! Never in public park or in a hopeless garden.
It could be in a shopping mall or a cool coffee  den.
The gorgeous and the grotty,
All gather at a V-day party.
Those who are privileged,
Share their love with diamonds and wine.
But for others, not a single grape,
Is sour in a vine.
Everything is taken for granted,
Just simple and fine.
‘Cause love can also be shared,
Simply free of cost on line.


Details | Ode | |

New Orleans, Louisiana: aka The Big Easy

What's go great about New Orleans, Louisiana, is that of its jazz music and its voodoo culture. The city has been known as "The Big Easy" since the 1800s. It seems that all of the tourists from across the United States have considered New Orleans their favorite vacation spot. There's always a Mardi Gras every day, we've got people throwing beads at each other, jazz musicians playing their instruments (the saxophones, trumpets, etc.), and people dress in costumes every single day. But what's so great about New Orleans, Louisiana, most of all is that when spring breakers come to the city for spring break, even when they're still going to college. Everybody knows that the Big Easy is also known for its Cajun cooking, especially when the chefs are known for making a lot of jambalaya, gumbo, and a lot of Cajun foods. And what's so great about New Orleans, Louisiana, is when MTV was there, especially when the MTV network executives had been recording episodes of "The Real World:" one back in 2000, the other was back in 2010. New Orleans, Louisiana, is the strongest city in America, even though it was destroyed by Hurricane Katrina back in August 2005. But the famous street best known by New Orleans, Louisiana, most of all is the French Quarter and and one of New Orleans' favorite landmarks is the St. Louis Cathedral. And the New Orleans Arena and the Louisiana Superdome are home to the New Orleans Hornets (NBA-National Basketball Association) and the New Orleans Saints (NFL-National football League). Even the late Louis Armstrong was from the city. Well, I hope to go to New Orleans, Louisiana, one day. And if the City of New Orleans were to stay on the map for a long time, it's going to be like a Mardi Gras on a Saturday night and Fat Tuesday in the afternoon.


Details | Quintain (English) | |

The Arab Spring a window of humanity

It all began with a man who owns a cart,
And the Tunisian government took it away.
Now a martyr, having no idea what would start,
The ‘Arab Spring’ began on that day,
Causing the Tunisian leader to give way.

The revolt then spread to neighboring Egypt.
Thousands gathering in Tahrir Square, 
But President Mubarak refused to give up,
So more and more people protested there,
Until finally, was forced to leave his chair.
 
By now revolts in Yemen, Libya, and Bahrain
Spread like a forest fire, hotter by the hour.
The electronic media is mostly to blame
In organizing the revolt against those in power,  
And cleansing all corruption like a thundering shower.

In Libya, there’s Gadhafi trying to hold on,
With the thousands of people massed in forces,
But the rebels have just gotten much too strong,
With the aid of NATO changing their courses,
Then Gadhafi: the next to fall to the ashes.

Now in Syria, the government is fighting still
To hold on to power and deny human rights,
With the people trying to match their will,
And spread humanity through the Damascus’ lights.
How long will this last… how many nights?

I now must understand, this will never end,
As it started long before the man with the cart.
It is human nature to fight and defend,
Even at the cost of tearing everything apart
And losing all love from his ever-changing heart.


By Greg Stanley
February 1, 2012
Modified on June 26, 2012


Details | Quintain (English) | |

Arab Spring

It all began with a man who owns a cart,
And the Tunisian government took it away.
Now a martyr, having no idea what would start,
The Arab Spring began on that day,
Causing the Tunisian leader to give way.

The revolt then spread to neighboring Egypt.
Thousands gathering in Tahrir Square, 
But President Mubarak refused to give up,
So more and more people protested there,
Until finally, was forced to leave his chair.
 
By now revolts in Yemen, Libya, and Bahrain
Spread like a forest fire, larger by the hour.
The electronic media is mostly to blame
To organize the revolt against those in power,  
And cleanse all corruption like a rain shower.

In Libya, there’s Gadhafi trying to hold on,
With the thousands of people massed in forces,
But the rebels have just gotten too strong,
With the aid of NATO changing their courses,
And Gadhafi, the next to fall to the ashes.

Now in Syria, the government is fighting still
To hold on to power and deny human rights,
With the people trying to match their will,
And spread humanity through the Damascus’ lights.
What will be next… the Golan Heights?
     

By Greg Stanley
February 1, 2012

For Francine’s “Spring Day” Contest


Details | Free verse | |

First Spring Eulogy

They flocked into town.
Loud, Pushy, Laughing
They left their Tropics
To celebrate the Great Fest,
Banqueted by Instinct.
Mashing and gulping sour
Red and Purple bits,
Juice dribbling sticky 
Down their Breasts,
They stumble about,
From one hung over bar,
      To
             Another.
Each drink Drives them
                                       Farther until,
One
    By
       One
They drunkenly Crash to their Deaths
In the Windows we use 
To View Them.


Details | I do not know? | |

The Mascot Of Gregorian Spring

All children gather,
'pon Eostre
...and it's Gregorian majesty incarnate
to view the remnants of the mighty hare.

To view the symbol of the modern spring;
...(and it's victorious savior).

A savior, whose torn scraps
still linger 'pon the tractor's wheel
...and the "dozers come to take his home.

The children see their spring become a graveyard
...and the majesty of spring, shattered;
an innocence revoked,
and yet more land unjustly taken;

...from the mascot of Gregorian spring.


Details | Verse | |

Trois Par Huit/Tanka/Rondel-MY SPRING WAS TOO BRIEF

Why can't spring
last as a deep feeling,
and remain joyful and eternal?

What makes this season so vital and wonderful...
adorning our earth with flowers so delightful?
Who is so dubious to disclaim it? 

True faith admits no doubt...
will the heart?
  
My spring was too brief,
only desire outlived it...
floating as a leaf:
to taste death on barren ground:
such is the fate of all leaves!
 
Perhaps nostalgia is deeper than regret,
making me yearn with useless tears
and in doing so sorrow deepens...
without realizing I have no control over it.

Return spring with a new child in me,
making me run towards the sunflowers' filelds
increasing my chances to find serenity...
return spring, but don't be short and cheerless.

Years age the body, not the spirit...
as seasons remind us how fragile we are:
living one life and returning dust as before...
without voice, flesh, blood and thought.
 


Details | Rhyme | |

Conformity

In the beginning of spring a path was made
In a shady green forest where lovers laid.

It connected the west side to the east,
And brought together Beauty and Beast.

The path was secret-only for love,
Quiet and secluded, with an occasional dove.

With secrets come whispers-whispers through trees.
Rumors were carried in the voice of the breeze.

Many supporters of this path of pleasure
Made it less hidden-something to treasure.

Blooming spring flowers made a nice décor,
And by summer, the count was even more.

With more and more sins having been created,
The path was forbidden and very much hated.

The rebellious cries in the starlit night
Gave all the wise men quite a fright.

No more eloping, or the mindless riots.
The path became empty; the forest quiets.

Many months pass, and winter nears.
The path is covered with gold and brown tears.

Defeated and hidden by the wisest of men,
The shameful path was never again.


Details | Verse | |

If Jesus Asks

IF JESUS ASKS


Dew on the grass
Wants to disappear
As a day wakes up
Frightened by the red eyes of sun.

Again all those men
Will remain tireless
For some more hours.
Sharp arrows from their mind
Defeated-
Distance on the earth,
Boundary of the of universe,
Pride of stars being alone,
Even the game fate plays.
But today’s day is tired.

That green tree
Standing naked in a landscape
Used to
Sunbath during winter,
Play with wind on stormy days,
A born again make up
As spring bade good bye,
Or get drenched in rain
Like a farmer’s son.
Old days have enjoyed them all.
That green tree
No more there,
City’s claw has removed,
Roots of its existence.


Is it only that lonely tree
Has been killed by city life!
Did not you see the tears of ocean!
Her tides,
Like a beloved lady
Wanted to wipe out
All weariness of humankind.
And in exchange
Modern life poisoned her heart
With all its senselessness.

When the day,
Wants to hide her face,
From shame.
Men are still preying,
What else is remaining?
What else is  faraway?

When daylight disappears,
They declare
Now penguin’s blood is our subject matter.
Or if this world becomes a bomb in fire
Then we shall hire
Our extraterritorial neighbor
To settle us in space shuttle,
Above the earth atmosphere.
So, the day unwilling to wake up any more.
Only the red eye of sun wakes her up.

Remember how morning birds
Use to sing melodies,
To wake her up.
All that resonance is missing,
As dew fell from leaves to leaves.
Glorious smile of shining water drops
On a lotus leaf
Cry alone now.
Misses how pleasant was twilight’s tune.
In today’s day
Who is there has time for them all.

But every year
There are seminars
To declare
Those entire glorious chapters
Sun, moon, even heaven is not too far.
And many more
All are in the memory of a computer.
But today’s day
Redeye of sun wakes her up.

She doubts,
Are men no more sacred now!
Yes;
May be like polluted water,
As sacred from holy Ganga river.

So one day,
Jesus asks to the heart of mankind,
You have achieved so much,
Your glorious days are here,
Then why you still keep me crucified!
For how many centuries
Shall I remain!

Human child knows age-old answer
‘Its your greatness
To remain there,
So we worship!’

Only red eyes of sun
Wakes another day up.
A day -
No dew falling on her lap.



A poem by GOUTAM HAZRA





Details | Haiku | |

Peaceful Spring!

Greetings to all women: it's a peaceful spring and sky,
And mirthful homeland of people and children, they smile
And say: Jane, dear mama, thank you!


Details | Free verse | |

Three Girls of Spring

Three Girls of Spring
 
 
In this college town
three girls of Spring are fresh bread
brown before the noon of May.
 
In pink and yellow frocks,
with hair unfurling in the breeze, 
they laugh and glisten in the sun
 
and like good daughters wave
to the old professor on a bench
who’s waiting for the end of day.
 
He waves back and smiles his best,
knowing girls like these, once close,
now wander many miles away.
 

Donal Mahoney


Details | Sonnet | |

Sonnet for Spring

A golden light shines over all the land –
In night-time’s silence cloaked with pearl-drop dew –
Such wonders found in nature here at hand,
And yet, it seems, my eyes see only you.
The songbirds choir in blossom-laden trees
Their counterpoint the skylark’s soaring air;
The whole of spring now wakes from autumn’s leaves,
Yet I think only of your raven hair.
No shining day could ever match your spring,
No flower by an artist’s eye yet seen;
Where you alight, the angels softly sing –
You are the one, my only perfect dream.
Yet I can’t describe, mere foolishness to try,
Your perfect beauty, now captured in my eye.


Details | Rhyme | |

SPRING AND THE DEVIL'S ARM

      SPRING AND THE DEVIL'S ARM
Abbreviated by an early autumn night
the summer, once tormented by a torrid sun,
relented to September, as if dying might
give reason to all things the heat and time has done;

The stalks of corn, if touched, explode into a dust,
and water tables sink down to a new found low,
but love always goes on, as love, it always must,
through drought and flood, and shortages that come and go.

There in the field, an old man points his maple cane
as if a prophesy, and something we should know,
always, always, always, there will be too much rain,
or not enough, and only love can ever grow.

There is a blizzard brewing, it's part of the plan,
up in the wastelands north, with tons and tons of snow;
and on a winters' morn, snow will be deeper than
the fences seperating everything we know;

and how the wind will howl, and everything will freeze,
there's little we can do, but hope for early spring,
always, always, always, we fall down to our knees
in love and prayer that times like this always will bring.

Next spring the rains will always fall, perhaps too much,
for some the devil's arm will reach down from the sky,
and twisting life about, there is no gentle touch,
excepting love, and that is all that gets us by.

Always, always, always, love has to always be,
though borrowed from the wind, though sought in pain,
though snatched out of the grip of some cotastrophe,
if not for love, there'd be no welcome summer rain.


Details | Narrative | |

The Bitterroot

About eleven years ago through a genealogical search I found out that my adopted 
father is Salish Indian, thereby making me at least half Salish.  I dedicate this poem 
to the Salish people:


The sun rises and calls our people to the land
The babies clutched, children taken in hand.
Blanketed, shivering bodies in the spring air
Quickly we assemble for the journey
Voices speak quietly; our people are ready.

Rows of deep blue mountains fading into the sky
Keeping watch over us; sentries from high.
We walk past the spring where the water runs deep
Life blood of our people, quietly blessed
We trek along its path, continuing our quest.

A prairie breeze rushes past, pulling at our clothes,
It whispers in ears and tells of the woes
Of a woman who cried for her starving people
A bird was sent that spoke of bitter tears
Drops that fed a plant, feeding our people for years.

The biting wind was cold and our feet pushed faster
It moans and speaks for every ancestor
The land that we walk upon is our heritage
This earth isn’t ours, just a caretaker
Of this blessed land, the people of our Creator

Our feet stumble over the dry soil and rocks
Tracing trails our tribe still hunts and walks
Searching  for wild game and berries for the table
Teaching our young of flowers and fauna
Now focused on the ground, seeking the red diva.

The searchers part, fingers pull on the dewy brush
Pushing away grass, hurrying to rush
And find the small plant, the guardian of our land
The tubular sprout that hides in dry soil
From all hands that seek, regardless of the toil.

Both young and old are searching for the small, slight sprout
Ancient rocks are pulled, then heard is a shout.
A young voice cries, “I found it!”  Excited and proud.
Young and old group to see the succulent
Eyeing the pink buds and the roots of the green plant.

Small fingers pass the sprout to a Salish elder
The plant is taken and then held tender
Withered fingers lift it, thanking our Creator
For once again we harvest in tribute
The symbol of our ancestors,  the Bitterroot.


Details | Rhyme | |

March Along

March Along
By Franklin Price
3/29/2015

March along to April
Barely tell that Spring is here
The weather outside
Cold enough to freeze a beer

Flowers popping up
Leaves are coming to the trees
Weather is in question
Should it warm or should it freeze

March is talking to itself
Acting rather crazy now
Many places cold enough
To freeze the udders on a cow

Don't worry much about it
The confusion's old Phil's fault
His shadow told a lie to him 
When he came out of the vault

Just wait a couple weeks
See then what we have got
Knowing how we're fickle
We'll be griping cause it's hot

Humans never happy
With the weather that is true
I think the days we're satisfied
Are limited to two


Details | Free verse | |

Spring Is Wilting

The spring is wilting, it's leaves of veins slit red and makeshift graves where truth once layed upon a bed of roses.   

Those roses whose shoots once rose, through ashes of adversity now show no signs that the roots are even there; the blood has drowned it everywhere.

The petals are burning through the smog, which strangles voices in it's fog; the vegetation doesn't grow, it bellows in pain as the rockets rain another day.

The spring is wilting, the summer's doubtful if it comes. All time is ending; and no ears can hear a sound.  The fires suffocate it all.

The glimmer of truth still skies the hope but still the peasants die;  there isn't time to mourn their passing for here come yet more rockets from the sky.

Will there ever be a summer?

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To the martyrs and innocents killed in Libya, Syria and Bahrain. Let us pray your deaths were not in vain and that the world will see a summer come again.


Details | Rhyme | |

April in My valley

I drove by fields of daffodils on my way to town today.
The golden heads were bobbing as they brightened up the way.
The tulips that will follow next, are just a bit too late.
The daffodils will linger, they do not mind the wait.
In April, my loved valley is a tourist destination.
They’ve come to join the tulip tour, the largest in the nation.
The tulip fields are dazzling, in a multitude of hues.
Some blooms are picked and bundled for their avid fans to choose.

My home is in the center of this floriferous profusion.
Hundreds of thousand visitors  before the tour’s conclusion.
Along the roads and highways, each yard is on display.
My gardens too are at their best in finest spring array.
Early snowdrops and spring crocus have already come and gone.
Lilacs, Camellias, Rhododendrons are just now coming on.
Japanese Cherries and others are all dressed in delicate pink.
A multitude of vibrant perennials will open in a blink. 

If you could fly over and look down at my colorful countryside,
You would think I lived in Eden, in such beauty I abide. 


Details | Rhyme | |

Spring

Birds speaking into rhyme
Tangle with all twisting time
Give me one
All telling sign
Spring is here
Insense divine

Sons of daughters
Birthing now
Heaven preening
Telling how
See it's life
Does gather now
All his children
Take a bow

Great has formed us
Made it so
And we are but
A seed to grow
In harvest reap
A crop to sow
In time to bear
And garden grow


Details | Free verse | |

Spring Revives Nippon

If streets had beats,
Ours would be steady,
Diversity beautifies Mt. Airy,
The veins of life are blue and bright;
Here,
Nature revives our lives,
The grace of spring arrives,
I hear the children at play,
Today is pleasant,
Today is positive,
I feel so alive.