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Spring Philosophy Poems | Spring Poems About Philosophy

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

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Details | Ballade | |

I love rain

I love rain

It's a month now into spring
And still the rain pours down
Hey, is it ever going to end
There's many here that frown
They want the sunny weather
That will come soon enought
But right now, I'm enjoying it
Rain, I love the stuff.

Next week we're off on holiday
Now it really does rain there
And I'll love very bit of it
As it soaks up everywhere
To hear it's rhythm on the roof
It makes me feel so grand
Though many think that I am strange
They just don't understand

We don't get much rain in WA
So when it comes,  for me
It makes me so excited
I guess it's how i be
So keep that rain a coming down
Let me feel it's soft, wet touch
I don't know what is wrong with me
But I love rain so much.

23 September 2013 @ 0624hrs

Copyright © Peter Duggan

Details | Verse | |

Ode to Spring

Through a fluttering veil of luscious hues,
Fair Lady coquets with the majestic Sun,
As the wicked Wind caresses her tender cheek,
The harshness of Winter all undone.

Sparrows perched upon the towering trees,
Whistle sweetly at the colorful array.
Fair Lady hums and sways in warm ecstasy,
As the wicked Wind drifts away.

The sinful Sun glows after a wearying day,
And spans its gaze upon the fields of fruit.
Fair Lady drowsy, lies upon the prickly grass;
The darkness envelops as all goes mute.

Copyright © Deepanshi Chaudhry

Details | Haiku | |


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

Copyright © humble b

Details | Lyric | |

The Simple Things

The shrieking sun 
& ponderous waters
The cerulean skies
& infinite stars	
The radiant flowers
With silver lined petals

All these things,
Among many,
Are things that amaze me 

But beneath the 
Shrieking sun
Ponderous waters
Cerulean skies
Infinite stars	
& radiant flowers,
Lies sadness
Subtle sadness

Such beautiful things
Can hide sadness
That is why I am afraid
Of the things that amaze me

Copyright © m. b.

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.

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses

Details | Couplet | |

The coming spring

I can touch buds on spring flowers as they open to greet the sun
Smell a sweet scent in the breeze, as the darkness starts to run 

feel on my cheek  ray's of the sun as life emerges from their bed
I taste the salt from my tears, GONE, is that what they said? 

If come spring my time on earth, should be ended with one word
I will do my best for family, to teach reason and spread your word

How do I teach family of my knowledge, hope God will please employ
How can this man teach his family, when he has lost all hope and joy?

Can the only one on earth to love or share this sorrow with be you 
Lost like falling leaves of spring, moving only when a cold wind blew

Realizing I'm caught between dying and dead just as these leaves
No happiness or joy just asking why, when, what or if I have to leave

Make good use of this man but, children dying take hope from this old boy
grand-child can't live, why should I survive without love, hope and joy?

Death is a thief of a child

"If spring is all the time I have to finish teaching what I know 
I'll teach what I can of life to my family without shedding tears"

Copyright © Tom Larrow

Details | Free verse | |

Battlefields of Discontented Dreams

Another year has marched out of my life.
A crusading warrior making his way back home,
Leaving bloody battlefields in his wake.
Trampled valleys where dreams once stood.

In the beginning, the year tiptoed in,
Softly sprinkling crystallized wishes.
Ideas, floating like a fine dusting of snow,
Forming a light covering on my bed of anticipation.

In swept the Ides of Spring laden with promises.
Storms tossing my wants in a turbulent sea of needs.
I planted my seeds with the expectancy of progression,
Hoping to find nourishment for my battered soul.

Summer scorched a path through my life
Bringing passion and potential to my fertile soil
Growing, thriving, reaching for the budding of fulfillment
Hopes alive, green and fresh, standing tall against adversity.

Autumn flew in on the winds of a changeling,
Taking the abundance and leaving a barren field.
Stripped of optimism, I wander in the fields of despair,
Wondering where my footpath led me astray.

Yes wicked winter with your freezing rains.
You beat against me, leaving blisters in your wake.
But Spring will return, of this I am certain,
Bringing with it the possibilities of contentment.

Copyright © Lena Pate

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

Copyright © Greg Stanley

Details | Couplet | |

Sad Poem About Spring

Sad Poem About Spring

For him, there was no one who ever cared
So sad poem about Spring he had prepared
About long ago when a friend he loved died
And seems like forever he cried and cried.

After a long time of sadness he realized
Through eternity he was being criticized
For poems about spring with no meaning
Off wall and into space they went careening.

Some say he had a horrendous scatter brain
Because all of his poems drove you insane
By and with the way they all were arranged
Appearing as if he was mentally deranged.

But really unbeknownst to both me and you
Was the fact that a picture his poem drew
Of a prospering poet who had money galore
Who everyone loved and always did adore.

Which poet would you really rather want to be?
One being governed by poetic rules constantly
Or another writing poems free as a bright bird
Loving his spring poems each and every word.

James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran

Need you to comment on this poem and give 
it a seven (7) so I can enter it into a contest.
Jim Horn

Copyright © James Horn

Details | Free verse | |

Here Comes The Silent Spring

Laying still on the ground you can hear a distant echo,
They say a tidy holocaust, a blackness in the tomorrow.
An eternal sleep set on the drawing of breath,
No great judgment, just a quiet walking death.
That in goodly and ignorant steps took like a panther.
Stealth and lowly crept and sunk it's teeth deeper,
And more deadly than any sort of furious war.
In paleness and horror human ideology crashed to the floor,
History ceased and sent it's last broadcast into space.
And in time now we hear the sound-waves keeping pace,
Like synchronised watches an echo from the years to come.
In shuddering earth you can certainly hear the silent spring,
A haunting voice in the mind of every living thing.
Here comes the silent spring, no worry, no joy, no fuss.
A whispered prayer, oh why have the gods forsaken us.

Copyright © Mathieu de Casanove

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

Copyright © Greg Stanley

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,
Each drink Drives them
                                       Farther until,
They drunkenly Crash to their Deaths
In the Windows we use 
To View Them.

Copyright © Rain Dubilewski

Details | Free verse | |


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

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

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

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

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

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

Suyash Saxena

Copyright © Suyash Saxena

Details | Quatrain | |


Winters tears fall fallow on the sleeping
Soft emotion into dormant hearts creeping
Thoughts to awaken, needs forgotten too long
Reach for the unknown want, new and strong

Push forth from cold dark slumbered sleep
The dawn of wonder, a promise made to keep
Our lives forsaken in winters gathering sweep
In joy emerge, to the sun we kneel and weep

Copyright © Stephen Allen

Details | Free verse | |

It's About NotFracking Time

A 1952 vintage Connecticut dormered Cape Cod
painted stark bleached white
with slick jet-black shutters,
hyperbolizing a deep racial minority
well, issue really,
in my mind of similar vintage
and incarnational permaculture,
conceived in bold ripe August,
born in bullish economy of May.


So, I painted her.
Wrapped my arms
and rolled around her
in turquoise sea,
and sky blue,
with rain-cloud grey trim,
so she might be less afraid
and so might I.

Born into late millennial Yang,
reconnecting and reweaving with each other
during trans-millennial now,
how will we transform our economic options
to full diversity and springtime
polycultures of May?

We grow transformed,
reframed to coincidentally cooperate our octaves of color
and sound
feeling and mind
Yin and Yang,
concavely conceived,
convexly displaying economic ecological
principles of mindfulness as coincidental noticing,
advent of winter's grateful hibernation,
enthymematically aptic communication
inducing measured calculations back through RNA-regenerating
origin of living systems.

Deductive Left-brained dominance need not apply for comprehension,
balanced by summer's yangish nutritional bullish market,
hope of fruitful outcomed spring,
then summer's faithful following
of full polyculturing
permacultured information root system
formating strings and tendrils
cooperatively absorbing nutrient Spring's and sprouts consumption,
to produce within life-sustainably proportional karmic response
to yang/yin coincidental rich deep ecologically efficient,
and inclusively effective for full speciating diversity,
nutrient cooperative economics,
that might actually be logical,
because they are ecological.

These, harvested permaculturally optimized
positive analogical and ecological,
digital and atomic,
temporal and spatial,
linear dynamic Open Set Universe String


Polynomial Closed Set Prime Relationship
neural frequency and flow,
balanced bicameral logos-logic:
P=NP because
Left-brained information language
thermodynamically balanced with 3 spatial dimensions
covering 1  equivalent temporal-linear dimension
Commons Economic Balance Assumption
(0) Core Vector [B. Fuller and Euler] =
(+) e-function =
+space/(-)(-)time =
space-time-squared =
+1 magnetic balanced QBit quark-function


(-)(0) QBit.


So, all that going on,
more or less,
in our dominant Left hemisphere newer speciated DNA-brain,
AND Right-brained non-linguistic and non-polynomial
intuitive intelligence codes memory dipolar and
coincidentally confluent
(harmoniously proportional flow/frequency neural pattern recognition)
(0) Core Vortex =
(-)(-) [not-polynomial dipolar stricture--implicate order] (D. Bohm)

putting all that mess together,
more or less confluently and permaculturally,
+Polynomial-Yang =
(-)(-)Yin (-1 QBit) Nonpolynomial
intuitive temporal-linear-neural balanced
Optimized Information Permacultured String.

now that my home and I are parting ways,
I'm finally noticing that even my friends and family
don't particularly care for our change of color
and culture.
It's still kind of a hard sell,
this more colorful permaculture
of community
and economy,
and identity,
and design.

Must be time for adventurous reincarnating revolutions
or we will remain merely ahead of our own non-polynomial ending time.

Time opens space's liturgical rite of passage.
Space coincidentally reincarnates time's
4 equivalent ecological dimensioned order.
Positrons incarnate,
inform negative-linear
4-dimensional equivalent dipolar time.

There is no such thing as non-polynomial time or space
or informatiion,
other than negative binomial time
(implicate ordered Right-brain reverse synchronic-aptic coded).
+P (+1QBit) = (-)(-)P =
+/(-)0 Core binary e-function
Prime Core Electromagnetic Balancing Binary-Binomial QBit.

Spring springs polyculture economics
composting through dark and winterish minds and forms and functions,
still looking for greatest inclusive nutrient yield
without suffering dissonantly wilting loss,
cooperatively flying our regenerative kites
co-id/eco-entity tied with time's river of flowing
informating memory strings.

I know,
you were wondering when
I would finally conclude
with the sex part.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck

Details | Imagism | |


The sun shines in a friendly glow while the birds sing mating songs, searching for that lost bond of intimate natural longing. Greenery illuminates the path through the garden, colorfully decorating the atmosphere with contentment. Leaves drift beatifically to their resting place in the aura of serenity; wisdom in the blossoms wherein dastardly royalty is usurped by inane benevolence. Such generosity cannot freely bandy about when originated from petulant systems of feigned philanthropy. Evidence mystifies the instituted kindness with otherworldly martyrdom prevailing over dynamically advantageous disproportion. A youthful sprite exudes sage harmony that listens intently to ruminated introversion and callously disregards obnoxious outburst. A twig snaps into seventy equivalent sections; equilibrium begets solitude among the predetermined assortment. Begin again and sweetly profound anew. Did it start? Nevermore, with the exception of a shift in the concept of causality's influence: kleptomania for knowledge and acceptance of besmirched spirits. Souls pine for an existential seed to spurt roots and permeate the dirty confinement. Cyclical imperfection trudges through sludge, almost cinematic in its unveiling. It is astounding in each fresh, yet repitious succession. A song skips lyrical lust and jumps to instumental amelioration: The symphonic glory of all encompassing, magnificent, eternal, ascending powerfully and synthetically descending, original, cooperative, and unorthodox love.

Copyright © James Lockaby

Details | Epic | |

Spring Is In The Air

I gathered the rakes...
for leaves had covered everything

I gathered the limbs and made up my mind
My dad is 82 years young and it is all left up to me now

Spring is in the air, and there''s work to be done
The tables are turned and I''ve learned a lot

As I sat on my papa''s knee
tuning in to his wisdom

As I helped strong busy hands
clean up natures many grande messes

And during those glorious evening walks
exploring the results of our daily tasks
Pure contentment... satisfaction at ease!

The ending of one''s long journey...
scurrying into another''s
simple visionary walk in life...

Chosen while resting on ''that'' knee 
and enjoying great ''wise tales''

Spring is in the air... 

--Shirley Sibley 

Copyright © Shirley Sibley

Details | Sonnet | |

The Tritest Song

“Renewal…Easter,,,April love…rebirth”
Are easy, archetypal terms for when
Fresh shoots begin to green the thawing Earth
And fill with sweet clichés this poet’s pen.
At least I know what Spring is not—
The “cruelest” month’s not April, no,
In spite of Mister T. S. Elliot
Whose Spring and soul were both of snow.
But he was young.  Age brings surcease,
And Spring, forsythia and daffodils,
As flowered sonnets sprout, increase,
And decorate the rain-swelled rills.
Thus, in the landscape of my autumn brain
The hues of yellow and of green remain.

Copyright © Steve Eng

Details | Free verse | |

Where Hope Spring From

well of
the soul
a path for
August Light
to guide you
where hope
springs from 
i see it 
in your eyes

Copyright © Gregory Golden

Details | Free verse | |

Spring Seed

Mutely, they languish
in embryonic earth—
wait a rust of water, 
a red blossom
from screaming
sepia mother. 

Copyright © Glen Enloe

Details | Rhyme | |

Seasons of my Life

No time to rearrange
As the seasons start to change
Our die has not been cast
We can alter where we go
We can change a river's flow
But we cannot change our past
In the spring the world was bright
As I journeyed into night
It was a time for learning
And from what I can recall
I thought I knew it all
In my soul a constant burning
As spring turned into summer
The sound of a different drummer
Made me believe that all was lost
I was running like a deer
Knew neither common sense nor fear
Never contemplated cost
The autumn of my years
Began with bitter tears
And a time for much reflection
It was then that I could see
The world was not all about me
And I began to change direction
I feel my heart palpitating
And I live anticipating
New challenges to face
True wealth comes from sharing
True happiness from caring
It makes the world a better place,

Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr.

Details | Free verse | |

Mind on Spring Harp

Morning emerged out of night dark.
Shy sun began to show its face,
It streaked the night sky with daylight,
The dawn was striking and clear,
Blue azure sparkled in the spectacle of sunlight,
I left warmth of cozy bed to catch that sight,
Stretching limbs to get off sleep stupor,
My nostrils widened to heavenly fragrance,
It was spring time,
And everybody could feel its vapor,
Each leg movement was up and about,
As if it was springed all right,
Zest flowed abound,
And eyes searched far and beyond,
Wherever they were laid,
Colored canopy of blooms was in raid,
Red, blue, geen, yellow, pink and what not,
My little garden was witness to it all,
Blooms had been ripening and had now broken free,
They smiled as if coy and confident bride,
I ambled across to the green carpet,
And stopped at a riotous bloom,
Cool wind blew across,
And they all began to zoom,
This bloom was as if a search light,
Instilling delight and dispelling all gloom,
I was a late riser,
Many had awaken before me,
There was activity on the room,
And it was on the riotous bloom,
Little pale streaked honey bees were in flight,
Flying now and then landing right,
They were busy gathering nectar,
And possibly ready to ferry it home,
No! Was it a beginning of a new home?
No it was not; I saw it sharp and clear,
Developed broken wax cubicles lay in vantage,
Right there near the bloom,
Looking as if it had been a part of bee home,
And now was a little home stand alone,
There was a rebel mother bee,
Or my imagination was on a spring,
To make most of the spring,
These little bees had brought in their home,
They could not wait to get home,
Now here they worked,
And here they stored,
I watched it for a time,
Before it struck me real hard,
If little bees could use spring thus,
Why I could not,
I had a lesson indeed sharp,
And my mind was hooked to the spring harp. 

Copyright © Shishir Gupta

Details | Verse | |

I am Spring

I am spring
Fountain of gold and everything
Bringing new from old, we sing
The little thing

In one leaf
I weave a wealth from suckled sun
The sanctuary for the atoms nun
without belief

Swell my veins
With rivers rush and songs of truth
The bold beginning of bright youth
This glory stains.

I am spring
The subtle evidence of better faith
The eyes shining after the shut gate
This love I bring.

Copyright © David Smalling