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Spring Tribute Poems | Spring Poems About Tribute

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

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Details | Acrostic | |



S oon the rains fall to replenish mother earth
P lanting beauty for all it's glorious worth
R enewing life and splendor so very divine
I n step with Nature and God's holy shrine
N ew life bursting ever magnificently forth
G iving relief from cold winds from the North

S tarting billions of new lives serving us all
H eaping green all over this very precious ball
O nly this can replenish fruits of mother Earth
W hen the soil needs sweet liquid to gift birth
E ach drop serves to maintain Nature's firm grasp
R oaring down with each promise so dearly in clasp
S hifting fertile soil like a very finely honed rasp

Robert J. Lindley, 06-15-2014

Francine Roberts 
Contest Name ,  Summer Acrostic,  1)Spring Showers , 2) Summer Rain,

3)Morning Breaks 4) On the Beach, 5) Vacation Time 6)Summer Sunset

7) The Sun's Rays 8) Summer Moon....
Pick one of these for your acrostic
 and post the form as acrostic (even if it's also a rhyme) and also use
 it as your poems title.

Copyright © Robert Lindley

Details | Rhyme | |

Spring Once Called Out Her Plan

Spring Once Called Out Her Plan

Spring once called to the rocks and streams,
your cries bring me again in cool, cool dreams.
Nature my mother, sends me now to comfort you
to each its benefits from seasons so true.

Spring once called to the forest and fields,
your cries bring me in an anxious rush.
Nature my mother, sends Her love in my yields
as my beauty explodes in a silent hush.

Spring once called to the moaning skies,
your cries bring me to wet your big rains
Nature my mother, Her love never denies
although renewal brings its own deep pains!

Spring once spoke, this into the heart of man
your cries for blessings sent to your God
Nature my mother, holds you so dear in Her plan
has gladly and forever been given Divinity's nod!

Robert J. Lindley, 08-12-2015

Copyright © Robert Lindley

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

Copyright © Jay Loveless

Details | Elegy | |

Elegy for Neil

Our great Balboa has left the hillock bare
And two waters converge in evening mist
Where from our vision he made us stare
As the divided dimensions rose and kiss
So sleep the sailor, so sleep the caravel
So sleep great Balboa, toll, toll your knell. 
              A sprig of spring is all autumn's promise
              Winter is for children play, and for hubris.

The navy man has taken his golden wings
On glinted them against the silvery dusk
The eagle rising fro the earth sweetly sings
On dust-rock horizon where triumphs husk
The veil that cover human tears and fears
With tragedy that all mass and matter wears
              A sprig of spring is all autumn's promise
              Winter is for children play, and for hubris.

So Balboa, remember your craft on one engine
The sound barrier rescinded, brings you to earth
The grave has no remembering, O the final spin
That undo all dream of birth! fair Deist now inert
Shall only watching moon alert us of this memory
The great walk that expanded the edge of history?              
               A sprig of spring is all autumn's promise
               Winter is for children play, and for hubris.

Conquistador of the modern world, great sailor
What tribes did you subjugate beyond Korea, tell
What corn you planted, what gold in your valor,
What new dominions now your great spirit swell?
I hear Darien laughing in the silence of the moon
I see the caparisoned horse, and the taps balloon 
                 A sprig of spring is all autumn's promise
                 Winter is for children play, and fo hubris

They come, they come, stolid mourners slowly
The riderless horse ignorant you are gone, gone
Forever, grief bowed us, and pride lingers greatly
Thanking you for gyral cycle of an ambitious dawn.
But Balboa do you hear them, can you see tears
Can you reverse the plunder of the vernal years?
                A sprig of spring is all autumn's surprise
                Winter is for children play, and for hubris

Copyright © David Smalling

Details | Ode | |

''SHE glides with grace, like one in love''

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

Details | Free verse | |


Where are you my sweet spring time,
I’m heart sink waiting for thee, oh beloved
Of all the seasons, thou ‘art my favorite,
For yours is the very breathe of life itself,
The Mystic Rose grows within your warmth,
Nourished by the gentle breezes that you
Bring forth, a tender blossom of sacred beauty,
A timeless wild flower of single elegance.
It sleeps this brilliant Tiffany bulb, curled up
Tightly within its raw soil bedding dreaming,
Oh thee, oh sweet springtime, but frozen
She remains in a status freeze, waiting for
A soft whispering from nature
She comes be at the ready, child of the sun.
Beneath winters icy chill, lays fields of dreaming
Blossoms, here the verities of the pallet array
Dips into the rainbows stratospheres, melting
Within the earth below, to create the beautiful
Bouquet that spring will draw forth.
Nay the white hands of winter, smack harshly
Against my window panes of sorrow,
Yet within my heart is hope of the tomorrow,
And the glorious joy to come, with the on set
Of the promises of spring.
The burning logs of holiday cheer have lost
Their romantic luster, the sleds sharp blades
Are placed aside, it’s just too cold outside for
Laughter’s enchantment to take hold.
The shovels of white diamonds fields that
Once glistened so magically now remain
Dual and tarnished, just a chores aimless
Task of back aching pain to be done.
I’m waiting for the breathless color burst,
To feel the warmth of the sun against my
White skin of palest ivory, and to hear the
Street children at play once more, outside
My prison door.
For here I’m still looking out my window,
At a wintery wonderland of ice and snow,
Waiting for the spring, tired and weary of
The splendor of white lace, and snowflakes.
Where are you my sweet spring time,
I’m heart sink waiting for thee, oh beloved
Of all the seasons, thou ‘art my favorite,
For yours is the very breathe of life itself,
The Mystic Rose grows within your warmth,
Nourished by the gentle breezes that you
Bring forth, a tender blossom of sacred beauty,
A timeless wild flower of single elegance.

Dedicated and inspired by My Sister Poet Mystic Rose

Copyright © cherl dunn

Details | Lyric | |


May in Moscow's my favorite month,
You feel you live, no longer exist.
You look beautiful, no more a moth,
Every morning green grass bears some mist.

May is for taking long evening walks,
Breathing spring air with spirit and scent.
In May there's time for meaningful talks
Feeding motivation and intent.

Then June walks in and it's my birthday.
It sweeps you off your feet in a dance.
In July you'd curse the heat and say
"It's hot!" begging for get-away chance.

Each August some disaster happens:
Default, hurricane or sudden death.
You stack inside your moral weapons
And soon long for autumn's cooling breath.

September's about kids, new school year,
Trees change color and caress our eyes.
Don't you think of winter when you smear
Hopes and no longer see the skies.

October's about walks in cold parks.
Meeting good old friends and drinking wine.
Can't get enough of talking 'til sparks
Come out of eyes. With content you shine.

"Summer is little life of its own"
That is what Russians like to think.
Now it's gone but at least it has shown
Us how to live, dissappeared with a wink.

November through March's 'bout depression:
Dull times, try to get by, day by day.
You taste darkest times of agression
Then April again takes in dismay.

Copyright © Agatha Jetaime

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,


Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses

Details | I do not know? | |

The Swaying of the Grass



A path leads,

to where wild grass grows,


sashaying in the summer breeze.




Along the path,
lightness settles within,


feeling the grass,
tickling ankles,


swaying to the lilting bird-song,

in a dance of intimate abandon,


brushing the remnants of pain away.




Melodies float across fields of green,

delicately caressing my heart,


teasing emptiness to flee,

comforting the mind,


to silently be.




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

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses

Details | I do not know? | |

Your Whisper

You whispered in my ear,
a breathy secret, hushed.

“I love you”, you murmured.

I said nothing,
lost, in your arms,
I found a home. At last.

“I love you”, you said,
I said nothing,
lost in my thoughts,
I found peace. At last.

“I love you”, you said,
words failed me then.

They still do.

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses

Details | Free verse | |

Spring - A tribute to Lynn

It's trying to Spring today
In Dublin's Phoenix Park
The trees are rising from the ashes of Winter
Dressing in a tentative coat of green
Like a thin leafy thong.

Against a bright mixed sky
Two butterflies, or possibly moths,
-The suns' light making identification impossible-
Play tag for supremacy of the skies
Silhouetted in my squinting vision.

A chubby chap with equally chubby dog
Sits on a white bench walking his mate
Spattered by sunlight leaking thru leaves
Of the trees shading his seat
While doggy rustles about happily.

We converse a minute about far off places
And sunburn and the Irish skin
His standpoint underpinned by an anecdote
Remembered from a long time past
A slimmer time for man and beast perhaps.

My wanderings continue in a long lazy lap
Feeling the warmth on my nape
Deer wandering close to the dangerous humans
A childs' laughter carries to my ears
Excitement at the proximity to Rudolphs' pals.

Memories of happier times invade my thoughts
The ninety minutes eaten up with ease
Spring-like humour filtering down to drivers
Who stop, smiling, and invite my crossing
With a ballroom dancers exaggerated hand.

Returning to the island of my car
Feeling distant now from all I've encountered
Warmed from both effort and experience
I smile inwardly and selecting first
Drift out into the Easter Sunday traffic.

Copyright © Brendan Osborne

Details | I do not know? | |

Spring Forth Thine Glory

Why have you forsaken us?

O season of bloom, what manner of transformation do you seek?

Your concealing actions, in these cloud swept skies, speaks to deception my Lord.

As your humble servant, I beg of you, to please return to your former constitution.

Which bringeth not only I, but the beasts of burden and all the buzzing creatures, plus the wondrous, soaring birds, swooping in like rabble-rousers to a long lost love!


Hear our cries, O season of hope, and bring forth your glory, your Manifest Destiny, to bring life and sustenance, to us all.

Copyright © Donald Reith

Details | I do not know? | |

Spring Fever

I feel it
The tugging in my bones
Like a young child pulling at my shirt to get attention
That gentle urge to look their way
It whispers in my ears
Left shoulder it sits 
Then right
Left right left right
Never quite in view
Tickling like a strand of hair gone awry
It slides across my fingers 
Like an itch I can't scratch
The desire to move 
When I know I should be absolutely still
I hear it 
Like a ringing in my ears
Or a fly buzzing in my ear
The humming of the lights
It calls to me
Mumbling like the dry eyes commercial guy
It longs for me 
Like a drought stricken farmer prays for rain
It commands me to dance 
Flitting like a butterfly sailing in a windstorm
It burns
Like the fever of a sleepless infant
On and on it screams at me
I am coming
Like a wild cat at midnight
It reaches out to embrace me
Like little ones safe in their mothers arms
Restlessly I wait
For spring

Copyright © Desvin Umberger