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Romantic Spring Poems | Spring Poems About Romantic

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

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Details | Pantoum |

Ever Turning Circle

In winter’s white, as angels cry
for early spring to warm the wind,
to bring to life with gentle sigh,
in love, the bitter frost has thinned.

For early spring to warm the wind,
at Valentine’s romantic calls,
in love, the bitter frost has thinned,
where dancers twirl amid stone walls.

At Valentine’s romantic calls,
rebirth of nature’s light divine,
where dancers twirl amid stone walls,
and blossoms pastel shades recline.

Rebirth of nature’s light divine,
when day equals the hours of night,
and blossoms pastel shades recline,
to hail the queen of May in light.

When day equals the hours of night,
a summer’s sun will come to play,
to hail the queen of May in light,
we chant and sing along the way.

A summer’s sun will come to play,
so life can grow as gods decreed,
we chant and sing along the way,
with warmth and light our hunger feed.

So life can grow as gods decreed,
the rays of sun on seeds we’ve sown,
with warmth and light our hunger feed,
the wealth of harvest is our own.

The rays of sun on seeds we’ve sown,
in autumn breeze that chills the heat,
the wealth of harvest is our own,
as gold and red belies our feet.

In autumn breeze that chills the heat,
a year that ends with blessed Samhain,
as gold and red belies our feet,
the call of Ancient’s name to reign.

A year that ends with blessed Samhain,
to bring to life with gentle sigh,
the call of Ancient’s name to reign,
in winter’s white, as angels cry.


Details | Rhyme |

Gentle Dream

The finest day of spring
Petals dance on sudden gales
Counting everyone
Before the sinking sun
Fly, fly little wings
Like love that never fails
 
Shadows begin to wake
To a chorus that is the night
Crickets fiddle, slow
Warblers whistle, low
Shine, shine velvet moon
Till last you fade from sight
 
Hear the sea in song
Where the swallows play and die
Starlight in the haze
Flicker fireflies, ablaze
Stay, stay gentle dream
Beneath the candles in the sky


Details | Pantoum |

On the love rock---

Waiting for you here on the love rock Plucking out petals, loves me, loves me not Life's for once, lets hold hands and walk A scarlet blush, for you, my face has got Plucking out petals, loves me, loves me not Lush green grass and swaying Zinnia flowers A scarlet blush, for you, my face has got A fluff of clouds hovering with spring showers Lush green grass and swaying Zinnia flowers Soft breeze teasing, ruffling my pink chiffon dress A fluff of clouds hovering with spring showers Butterfly and blossom's romantic caress Soft breeze teasing, ruffling my pink chiffon dress Feel of fingers through my hair, your gentle touch Butterfly and blossom's romantic caress With bated breath I wait, my heart's love is such Feel of fingers through my hair, your gentle touch Life's for once, lets hold hands and walk With bated breath I wait, my heart's love is such Waiting for you here on the love rock


Details | Romanticism |

A Flower's Funeral

A sweet flower's funeral
displayed in the cold months
of snowy weather and bone chilling shivers.
A sweet flower burned away, dried up;
buried six feet under.

Oh, my sweet flower,
how you once bloomed with no remorse,
like a madman blooming with beauty
and a glorious halo over your head
shinned with such power and blinding glory.

Oh my sweet flower how you have gone now,
resting in peace in the land of paradise.
Oh, my heart it is weak when I see your face,
of once beautiful smiles and warm embraces.
I can hear your crying out to be free.

Snowing and bone chilling cold ripes at my soul
and feelings of sorrow rage through my blood,
boiling my hatred to the world, for losing your
sweet and ever glorious beauty.

What I would give away, if I could be with you
one last night, one last night together
to hold you in my arms, to smell your sweet perfume
that brings back sweet memories of you and I.
What I would do to be with you,
such romance travels through my heart in the highways
of my veins in my body, love is all throughout me,
and my heart breaks when pictures of you start to collect dust.

My love for you, my sweet flower,
is still ingering through the air,
as I travel and look upon a tombstone
which shows your beautiful name.

Come to me my dear flower,
when spring comes,
come to me my dear, sweet flower.
And bloom once again,
twice as large as last year,
and ten times more beautiful then last year.
Come to me in the first months of spring
in my dreams, so I could sit and talk with you.
I miss you already,
and my heart crys,
my eyes flood with tears of sorrow.
I miss our love we shared.
Long walks,
cosy talks,
warm cuddling embraces
and beautiful displayed in a picture frame.
Now I hear the tapping of raindrops on my window pane.
That is all that keeps me company,
that and the rose you gave to me
and a picture of you and me.
Love is endless, even when blue eyed Death comes to visit
and play a game of chess with us,
we all play our game, my love.
I shall go tonight
in my sleepy slumber
and dream of you in the times of our height in our love for each other.
My lost love, you are gone, resting in paradise,
but never forgotten my sweet flower.

-10/6/2013-


Details | Romanticism |

She is like a Rose

She is like a sweet, smelling rose
blooming in the month of May.
Blooming with large, red peddles
sprawling and conquoring with beauty.
She is like a Spring Rose.

Her heart, like the rose is beautiful.
She stands there, blooming mad.
Her hair flowing, like the rose's peddles growing.
Standing tall and posterious, like the green, stern stem of the rose.
She is glorious and beautiful, just like the rose,
the sweet smiling rose, in the month of May.

Glorious and brave.
as the rain washes her peddles away,
and the gardener coming with his rusty clippers
to cut her away. I hold back and slowly burst to tears.
For I do not want to see my love go away.
But, like the rose she will grow and bloom once again.
And she will come back bigger, brighter and taller.

She is like the rose.
She is beautiful, like the May weather roses.
She is the red, ruby hearted rose,
that sparkles with the afternoon raindrops,
slowly dripping of the peddles.
She is like the rose, for every time I touch the rose,
I get stabbed by her pointy torns.

She is just like the May Rose.
Perfect for admiring, but not for touching.
She is like a rose.


Details | Romanticism |

Spring steam

Burrrrrr,

That Spring that,
backs press hard about,
twenty toes mingle,
fingers too cold to caress those;
shifting hips

Mmmm,
that Spring steam
from
that Spring tea…
and through the window,
that blazing Spring's morning sun,
beaming on her;
glowing
happy
pink face


Details | Free verse |

The Garden

The night air is cool and collective,
Running through my hair and face.
Even when I’m with people, I feel alone
In this cold blooded space.

It’s like walking through a garden
Of all your favorite foods,
But none of which can substantiate
For that one so special mood…

That mood, 
that beautiful frame of mind.  
I only go there with you,
And only you can make it unwind.

I discovered a passion unlike any other
And in my finding I opened a world,
A world I did not know existed.
I’m on cloud nine every time I think of you,
Just the thought of you brings joy to my heart.

This garden holds many beautiful things
Many delightful pleasures,
Many cold nights,
Warm nights,
Difficult frights,
Ecstatic times and unsystematic times!

But they mean nothing to me,
While I’m alone…

Walk with me through this garden.


Details | Haiku |

Blushing

the spring's warming wisp                                                                                           heats the summer blaze sunshine's                                                                               delicate first kiss


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 | 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...



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