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Spring Work Poems | Spring Poems About Work

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

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Details | Ballad | |

Spring

Springs around the corner
what wondrous things we'll see,
bulbs popping up above the ground
giving joy to you and me,
time to tidy up our plot, lots of digging too,
weeds to pull, beds to hoe
lots of things will have to go. 
 
You have to be a little brave
if that rose you want to save,
but you will learn that over time
you've got to be cruel,  just to be kind,

The flower beds need a tidy
take all that dead stuff off the top,
veg plots being well dug over
hoping for a bumper crop.

Seeds to sow, hope they'll grow !
then the lawn will need a mow.

And when all the hard work is done
you can sit back and be pleased, 
wind , rain and sun you have grown all you need.


Details | Limerick | |

Late For Work- Forgot To Spring Forward


There once was a gent named Springtime Ned Who on that March morning sprang from his bed In amazement and shock He forgot to set his clock Now with his boss on thin water he'll tread


Details | Tanka | |

SPRING HOUSE CLEANING

SPRING HOUSE CLEANING

now – reluctantly –
i must face spring house cleaning,
needed yearly chore,
this not a cheerful labor,
not done smiling and singing

for once too often
dirt’s been swept under a rug
with such abandon,
but mind knows where the filth hides
and so too the wily bugs

it’s a crying shame –
when one might be out of doors
inhaling spring air,
walking out with head held high –
to be saddled with house chores

no, no, i say no!
house cleaning is winter work
when the snow is deep,
piled ten feet against the door,
when nature has gone berserk

i now sit and think
what i did all winter long
was I fast asleep
while the ugly dirt piled up,
all ambition denied – gone?

i’m a large old man
some say i procrastinate
some say i’m cranky
the kids call me an old bear
lame excuse – bears hibernate



Details | Rhyme | |

As Winter Turns to Spring

As Winter Turns To Spring

The leaves were falling from the trees,
Twisting and turning in the breeze.
The autumn spell throughout the land,
Was giving winter a helping hand.

The squirrel was hiding food with care,
For there was the sting of the autumn air.
The fowl would soon begin their flight,
Southward to eat in the sun’s warm light.

The farmer’s work was almost done,
Hay in the shed, by the ton.
The north wind blew hard at night,
Bringing snow with the morning light.

Finally the snow covered the ground,
Rabbits began to scamper around.
Suddenly the forest became alive,
Stirring like the bees in a hive.

All the animals hunted for food,
The big black bear was in no mood.
His sleep was deep and very long,
He didn’t wake at the snow bird’s song.

The farmers hay stack faded away,
Soon there came a sunny day.
The snow vanished from the hills,
The robin’s song was heard in the fields.

Spring’s warm touch was very near,
In the distance one could hear.
Winters wind was fading away,
Waiting to strike another wintry day.

The leaves came, as did the birds,
The insects came like herds.
The farmer’s work began anew,
Up at sunrise until the fall of dew.

We’re truly lucky that we may see,
Autumn and winter, then the first little bee.
In flight from a flower to its hive,
It seems so happy to be alive.

 
©2008 Lynn B Glover


Details | Pantoum | |

Face To Face With Death

The day I met the airplane face to face
Just going out to work awhile that day
Never knew I could be meeting death's race
Working for Census Bureau_month of May

Just going out to work awhile that day
Client list in hand maps to draw that's grand
Working for Census Bureau__month of May
Lovely drive early spring __last stand

Client list in hand maps to draw that's grand
Never thought that this could be last journey
Lovely drive early spring blooms__last stand?
Didn't know God had my life in hand_not on gurney

Never thought that this could be last journey
But when that airplane I met on a curve
Didn't know God had my life in hand_not on gurney
Pilot out window motion_already swerve

But when that airplane I met on a curve
Never knew that I could be meeting death's race
Pilot out window motion_already swerve
The day I met the airplane face to face...


Details | Pastoral | |

Tis Sweetest in the Spring

"Tis Sweetest in the Spring"
By Rachel Heffington

The farmers wives are scouring
their farmhouse kitchen floors
The bold, brisk lads are happy-eyed
and whistle out of doors.

The dairy-maids churn butter
Into little golden pats
and squirt the streams of pearly milk
to sleek soft-footed cats.

The red-cheeked children play beneath
the pear trees caught in bloom
And to and from the hidden hives
the striped bees zip and zoom.

The farmer with the sober horse
plows furrows in the field,
counting, with a cautious eye,
how well the earth will yield.

The breezes whisper to the rose
that clambers on the well
And drops into it's blushing ear
dreams lovers yearn to tell.

The sunbeams dance within the brook
and dimple in the shade
The grass is greening on the lea
and in the forest glade.

And with a joyous burst of song
the robin red-breasts sing,
the tune in every beating heart:
"Tis sweetest in the Spring!"


Details | Rhyme | |

SPRING CLEANING



Fresh sweat runs down from eyes to chin a foamy day launders hand with air’s foam, washing the slime of April's gray mould and dressing up a brightened face to roam. Brooms of nature scrub old clay mopping fields as skies polish new trees. Prayers stem from fingers rinsed by dew, till ocean cleanses itself from soiled grease. A merry dawn radiates on meadows green serenading young bouquets kissed by winds. Oh, soft rhapsody of cherubs bathes the light chanting praises of joy this fine season brings. At last, renewed spirit buffs old whiskers when May's verdant carpet spreads the sun. Heaven peeps from afar with warm delight for joyful spring's cleaning rites, finally spun!


Details | Rhyme | |

Sunrise and Sunset contest

                                 Driving to work on a spring day,
A masterpiece is painted with a tint of sun ray,
    On the parkway, going fast
              Colors from heaven I seem to pass,
Yellows and blues bring joy I cannot refuse,
Oranges and white, make my travels bright,
     I can taste the beginning of the dawn,
           Knowing there’s purpose for all that have been born,
Fire ignites while the world arises,
Preparing me for the days surprises,
Refreshed and awaken,
By the glory that I see,
Each layer of color
Whispers to me,
Senses are keen,
As the sky glistens and gleans,
Just another reminder that we were not made to be machines.
                        Driving home from work on a spring night,
Overwhelmed by an artist’s delight,
On the parkway, going fast
      When suddenly my heart can barely grasp,
                 Colors from God that seem to consume,
Any trace of my day that brought me gloom,
Penetrating purples, pinks and reds,
Peirce my soul, as my eyes are fed,
            If angels were finger painting,
                        The sky would be their canvas,
A gift from the divine to remind us of his bliss,
Cherry blossoms reflect the evening sky,
         As the long day says its goodbyes,
         The darkest blues of the deepest sea,
          Gently remind me that I am free.

By: Sabina Nicole


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 


Details | Free verse | |

Cleaning Day

I think that God had intended
For Spring cleaning.
After all, he intended for doors
To light dark corners,
The spiders to spin webs 
Along the walls..
The dust collecting 
On the surfaces,
The bird's song 
As an incentive 
To keep working.
The tiny sqeak
Of cleaning windows,
The allure
Of a newly made bed,
With my puppy by my pillow...
The crisp, clean look
Of a newly painted wall,
And the soft feel 
Of new carpet on your toes..
The clean smell
Of newly hung laundry, 
But most of all...
I think God had intended 
For Spring cleaning
As a darn good reason
To REST.


Details | Free verse | |

Gunnar Draft

I know about a man of the early morning, a simple man. No man of deep thought, accompanied by those who do not. He is a man that very much enjoys the cool lush grass. He likes to take his shoes off while he works, to feel the dew between toes, on his chest and his face. In stillness and pain incomprehensible; all thoughts are halted. What follows is profound silence, which is when the beast lifts the earth, dense muck. Limbs strained and back arched, a fresh ditch. Or a resting place?


Details | Verse | |

South Bronx

While I'm reading a poem about it on the previous page
the girls come over to visit their boyfriends and dance
in high shoes and perfume. Their legs are strong and their voices high.
And the guys get high and hard thinking about what the girls are like
      behind their eyes.

That says more about me than reality. And it's exactly four lines.
Ken Patchen would say his angel smells sweet and sassy.
I feel the bony fingers of mine who has been working to stay alive.

Enough small poetry. One must conceive of a project --
say a poem about a bridge -- or stop writing
and instead walk over the bridge at sunset and see the city in a nuclear
      war
the clocks, the Watchtower and the docks gone and no smoke.

I still exist but I'm late for my job. I'm dressed well
in honor of true love and Spring which both outlast the holocaust.
The manager cans me with the cold hard eyes of one who accepts the
      rules entirely.

Goodbye to the rows of dead metal desks and goodbye
to those who can take it longer than I.

The guys downstairs do not read poetry and very little prose.
The General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money does not
      occupy their minds.
The sex pistils of the mountain daisy is no concern of theirs
and the man upstairs who plays the horn is less than a curiosity but makes
      more noise.

When I feel like this nothing matters and this is good --
get warm with wine, turn out the lights and turn up the radio --
if only there were a woman who liked the down and out life too.

In the end someone sticks a gun in my face in the South Bronx.
How I got among the fire escapes in the sooty alley I cannot say
but it is one of my earliest memories. Perhaps it is my grandmother
      holding my hand
or one of the clowns. I say drop that fucking gun and he blows me away.






Details | Free verse | |

Writing

Subconscious maze of the 
cobwebs of my mind fade
as somehow
I continue a half-finished piece.
With simple pen and paper
I write pages of poetry
devoted to thoughts
which are flowing today.
Memories spring and churn
as my mind wanders,
slipping through my mental gardens;
ideas like roses spring into scenery.
Seeds of unborn stories,
based on yesterday's news
grow into castles of
solitary musings as the pen
unlocks the vellum page.


Details | Footle | |

Spring Cleaning-Footles

Spring Cleaning

Must dust
Clean rug

Cleaning orders

Mop floor
To door

Cranky Cleaner

Clutter
Mutter

Secret of a happy spouse

Clean House*
Glad Spouse

*Written by Tim Smith


Details | Lanterne | |

Timely Spring

.       
              ~ 
           Time
         to weed
        the rose bed.
    Found my old watch
            Ticks!


Details | Verse | |

Not enough heat

Not enough heat. Snow. Cold. and now rain
on Tuesday morning. traffic sloshes to work.
it is cloudy for the second straight day. the snow
was magical only for an hour. businesses might
have closed. now it's melting in a cold rain.

is the city depressing me? i ride the subway
and the people no longer seem beautiful. the noise
is just noise, no longer the power of God. i sit
slumped, still at ease, but no longer playing
with the eyes of other passengers. glance at the ads
and then go to sleep with my eyes open.

it is winter, and it should have its effect. the
difficult, dangerous season when weak creatures die
and the strong barely survive. why expect
much heat to mitigate it and the happiness of Spring? 
accept cold and discomfort and the bad sound made.
it is a poor city, the seasons touch us. there is
not enough heat. snow. cold. and now rain.