Spring Abc Poems | Examples
These Spring Abc poems are examples of Abc poems about Spring. These are the best examples of Abc Spring poems written by international poets.
Insubstantial
I opened the window in the door, one early morning.
and was met with a face that looked like a cloud; it
blew frost roses on the glass, they were so beautiful,
abstract, and oh, so fragile.
Years ago, by the cloister`s wall, I saw some miniature
Looking at roses, I replanted them in my garden, and they
disappeared, I thought they had died out, but this spring
They were by my wall, nodding shyly in the breeze.
As the spring turned into summer, they had no shade
and disappeared like frost roses on the window glass;
And that is ok by me, cause I know they are there just
under the earth, waiting for another spring.
The loss of the known
A sudden flash occurred, a moment of a forgotten past
walking down a wide road that only had a few cars trundling along to the left, where the road winds to the right, a café
I thought of going in for a beer, but the dog, if left outside
would fret
A fine day, not hot or cold, must have been early spring or fall
tried to remember what I was doing before the curtain was drawn, but I was left with an unfinished memory, one I had to make up for to fill in the blanks.
Something sad about the scene of a sole man with a dog
walking down a road he had never been to before, his mother
had died, and the point of reference was missing
now
Mars, Musk, And Bond Girls
Mars is again in the news, and Musk has been silent
about going to Mars, perhaps he has found
Another planet more suitable to his temperament
We read that four women are going to Mars, mainly
because they have been astronauts and know
a thing or two about the limitless space if one gets
to far out can disappear into a time that does not
exist and are doomed to fly while drinking tea from
a straw, worrying about whether sugar is fattening.
It might be possible to unclog the dust in hidden
river beds on Mars, it might be that the dust is dry water
that, if we have a magic formula, will spring to life
sing like a waterfall in April, create sweet dams
and a landscape unspoiled by the ugly windmills
Should Elon Musk take a renewed interest in
Mars, he has the will to go there, but will he when
As a leader, introduce democracy among the crew
or demand Mars as an authoritarian regime
Not a Democrat
Is democracy good for individual freedom
a year when spring sprang early
he bought horse and cart and made a living
moving people's rubbish to the town's pit
He was not a man working from 9 to 5 in
a factory where underpaid workers slaved
putting macaroni in tomato sauce, into a tin
he had many children, but was not a pater
Familia, the children grew up with varied
success, some failed while others thrived
Besides, he liked gardening, in the poor
A section of the town people came to see his
display the beautiful flowers
In the night, people came picked the bloom
to give color to their meagre homes, that
It was what he had wanted
He lived a long life, and his wife loved him dearly
No, he was not a democrat
Black is beautiful
When I tore lose from the mountain
and fell into the river. I was a rough
stone, offended other stones as I lacked
manners and appeared gruff
Now, however, I'm smooth, oblong and
black, feels no shame stating I'm masculine
different from the shed gray other stones
I share the riverbed with
spring is when ice melts on the mountain
and I'm pushed along until I am an attractive
black stone on a creamy white beach
I'm worried about being stuck where
the river is shallow; a boy might find me
picks me up and put me on the widow sill
in his room and forget me until his mum
throws me out with rusty nails, toys, and batteries
I will never feel the sea washing over me
and look hansom on a golden beach
Winter of Discontent
Cloudiness has settled in the sky
An act of unpalatable truth of the kind
A summer sun easily hides
Old dwellings are full of cracks
Sagging roofs and dust on the windowsill
Pot-holed roads, dry as clay, lead from
From doom to the gloom of routines
Nothing changes; life is an endless struggle
Spring is far away
Then, a miracle happens, splitting clouds
I saw the sun, as the flowers in the garden
had seen
warming my face, letting the illusion continue
Spring Morning
today, waking up, it was warmer, the winter
had been cold at times, freezing electric heating
is not for those with a slim wallet
Today, we will write pleasant poetry
not like the boy at the edge of his bed, his feet
not long enough to reach the floor, crying
for yet again losing his home because his mother
has tuberculosis, has to go to a sanatorium
his has to go living among strangers, he has to
be nice to and not be boisterous
Yes, pleasant thoughts, not letting bitterness seep
into this day with its mild breeze and clear light
thinking of the dog he had walking in the woods
Heck, the dog died, that was sad, so let us think
of something else, buying red wine and cheese
Getting pissed and playing music too loudly is not funny
when you are the only one in the room
Two things on offer to gladding the day go for
a walk or sit on the terrace soaking up the sunlight
tell jokes about my life at sea, forgetting long
nights, somewhere on the Pacific Ocean
So, let us embrace old grudges and enjoy life
of not laughing, we know a giggle is short-lived
It must not go unsaid.
they were charming people who understood my concern
to have an ill wife who needed care more than
an old pension can bear was to invest with them in
a scheme that out great dividends
An investment where my uncle's son was the facilitator
what else could go wrong, his skeptical heart
sensed a new spring and leaped in the hope of a new
dawn, free of the struggle, which bill to pay today
When the time came to harvest the award, they
asked for more, much more than he could offer
He shut the door, counting his losses, and sold his
beloved invalid bike, he must learn to walk again
His instinct was rage against the people who had
cheated him, but also the rage of the dimming of light
of time, of old age, but rage against himself
dreaming a dream no longer available for old men
The secret hint
I was watching a TV program about Hercules Poirot
the heroine in the plot had no **** and wore an evening dress with aplomb
She had not sat on a carpet in the forest of spring where
the animal of love roams is green
as spring grass has a pink underbelly that looks like a purring
cat or a puppy that softly barks. It droplets of scents
that make lovers enamored for a day or so, sadly, there is
always a tomorrow of regrets for some.
If the woman with small **** happens to sit on a carpet in
the girl she will fall in love and pad her bra
and that is ok, why should she not enhance her lack of this
bagatelle when there are tringles of love in the air
and if this does not help, there is always divorce, much loneliness, the man is satisfied with a triangle
Towards the thaw
As the days of spring are here, I should be happy having made it through the winter. The April breeze brings regret, remembering what had been pushed aside, no, I was no mother’s favorite son
Recalling every detail, overthinking every word said, reacting with angry silence as a defense to hurts felt as a betrayal. No, I was not a sweet boy happily playing in a backyard with a toy
The spring breeze also tells me of an ending, my doctor’s remark of scaring bathers with dark blue blotches on my white body, it is like the process of death has begun when still alive
My anger keeps me going. I was dealt a pack of cards and did my best, bought the small blue houses on the monopoly board the affordable ones. I have no regrets and wait in silence
After The Storm
Now that the spring tempest is over and the ground
is littered with twigs and juicy, green leaves flung
off mother tree long before they should, it gladdens
the woods that the old oak still stands although it is
almost hollow inside and is home to a family of foxes,
myriads of insects, and a 40 years old bachelor hawk.
It is the oldest wild tree around; there is an older
one though an olive tree that still remembers when
Roman soldiers marched through here and the young
centurion who rested in its shadow, fell asleep and
dreamt of becoming a new Cesar. Whether he made
it or not the olive has no way of knowing. The reason
other trees were glad the oak endure is that that its
presence gives them the hope of longevity
The scent of the sonnet
I was watching a TV program about Hercules Poirot
the heroine in
the plot had no **** and wore an evening dress with aplomb….
Clearly, she had not sat on a carpet
in the forest of spring, where the animal of love roams it is
green as spring grass has a pink underbelly that looks like a purring
cat or a puppy that softly barks. It droplets of scents
that makes lovers enamored for a day or s
there is always a tomorrow of regrets for some.
If the woman with small **** happens to sit on a carpet in
the glade she will fall in love and pad her bra
and that is so why should she not enhance her lack of this
bagatelle when there are tringles of love in the air
and if this does not help, there is always divorce
a more lonely man is satisfied with a triangle
The forgotten
We forgot to buy a loaf today, but there is an apple tart in the fridge for breakfast tomorrow we will feast on cake and think of the daft woman in France, whose name I have forgotten
Putin was offered a 30-day break from warring, and he gracefully thanked Trump for his interest and accepted the offer, but first, the underlying cause had to be negotiated
Trump was flattered; he didn’t get the whole loaf but had to accept a lemon cake, Putin and Lavrov are both masters in chess, and the West, who do not understand what Russia has said
No NATO in Ukraine quarantine Russia has had enough from the West’s false promises, that’s, but Zelensky, the fraud has to go, a new election held and a spring will arrive in Ukraine
After Rain
The audacious sun finally showed up, and green was
the winter landscape, I also saw the sun set just behind
the carob tree, where the almond tree first blossom,
asleep under a carpet of wildflowers and snoozed till dawn.
Over the easterly range, which is the first defense against
Spanish Marauders and the rain on its plane, the clouds
were dark blue, perhaps, more rain tomorrow?
In fading light, a musical note danced down the phone line,
the first spring flirt. And should it rain tomorrow, I will
not be downhearted, this day will keep me warm for weeks.
A day spring day 1952
It was a day in April, the boy sat by the milk ramp waited for the man, who drove from farm-to-farm, collecting milk for the Dairy in local town There was only one type of milk he knew of it was full fat and tasted smooth and creamy He, became aware of how beautiful the landscape like seeing the nature for the first time and as it tuned out it was also for the last time, his mother was back from the sanatorium He had to go to her he got a job delivering gods on his bike and never returned to the farm, but the beauty of that day has stayed with as a time of glory when the world was unspoiled