Poetry Spring Poems

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

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Details | Light Poetry |
They say it's a time to slip in the mud, and begin anew.
Kick off the dust of yester ...
      and put on the dress of Yes Sir! and Thank You Ma'am
She sure is a joy      This baby little season
And like moths to a flame we praise her name

(we don't need a reason)

And who can blame the helpless admirers
trigger happy on their Kodaks
drunk with Marigold Merriment.

No matter your profession, everyone's a poet,
when spring comes along, like a child, showing off her dandelion face,
believing in her curious way that death has been conquered.

But reality comes in firehouse red,
with silver sickle blades that say, No can do, Little Miss Spring,
not every bird, on every branch, has a song to sing.
The fact of the matter is ... you're just another three months
(Winter? Autumn? They're simply taking an overdue lunch,
but they'll be back with the same fire      The same ice)
Hate to break it to you, Sweetie, but not everything nice
is destined to remain (it's a cyclical thing ... you understand)

You can bet your slender green stem
even Little Miss Spritely has her down days,
but like teenage hysteria     it's just a phase

(we can just pretend those zits are poppies
they smell fragrant enough)

And yes of course      It's a time of LOVE!
Young and Fresh --- Tongue and Flesh
like good ole Elmer Fudd would say

(bweeding like wabbits)

Oh Little Miss Spring, surely you can't have everything!
Green grass and blue sky --- it's halfway sickening
the way you steal the show with your sunny splendor.
And Poor Old December ... you left him in the cold,
bragging up your warmth and innocent demeanor

(I saw what you did to the snow)

It can all be forgiven though      Truly it can!
I know it might feel like I'm freezing you out

            (but all the cool months are doing it)

... 'tis no excuse      you saw through my ruse
I'm just killing time before the Melancholy Mob
comes back into town.
Remember how they used to hang around Stick in the Mud Lane
poking holes into your joy?

(they annoyed me too)

And what became of the pessimists, the argument-ists,
the I-don't-believe-in-all-this kinda crowd?
Are they all hibernating somewhere like Mother Grizzly?

(If you ask me they can take all advice from this soda pop
fade and fizzly)



Written March 15th, 2016
For the Spring Contest Hosted by Catie Lindsey

Poem of the Day: March 18th, 2016

Placed 8th

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016




Details | Quatrain |

Winter’s snowy mantel is quietly disappearing
Slowly he abdicates  his reign until next year
This year’s queen is putting on her freshest dress
Every day its tender colors blushingly appear …

The heart of every hungry poet gladdens now
The joy of renewal must now be put to pen
What was a dream becoming reality once again
And words flow from that hidden place within….. 

Frantically we write of fields of yellow daffodils
The lamb’s bleat, the new bud upon the branch
Emotions twist and turn about in springtime breezes
And happily we explore the flavors of this year’s romance…


3/16/16

Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2016

Details | Haiku |
the ink in my pen 
flows into a wild river
abiding eddies—

Connie Marcum Wong

Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2015




Details | Prose Poetry |

So sad..Hopping in and Out of one' s life....

It's Peter Rabbit for Pete's" sake...

He comes by each and every year...

For this they say we should fear ?

Just to share a Spring holiday ?...

He's a horrid creature, so they say...

He has big ears and a cotton tail...

And sometimes he even carries a pail..

Full of candy, and colorful decorated eggs...

This day is between Valentine hearts , and Green Beer kegs....

He's rarely ever seen...

And has never ever been mean...

So why are all these American States...

Having all these holiday debates ?..

I await my basket filled with a chocolate kiss..

I only hope his picture does not end up on...

The Post Office " 10 most wanted list "...




Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |


Despite the long winter, a plea for renewal

Something new rises from the cold ground

Spring is a liberation, a solution of chains

The trees take on the flowers, the scope of its heart

Enjoy and appreciate this beautiful view

A birth from the old earth womb

Sweeter than dreams, in liquid harmony

On a sunny meadow, the impetus lightly dance

In each flower, small birds searching for seeds

Spring is the joy of life and the year first gain
















24.03.2017
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2017

Details | Light Poetry |

On Manhattan's West Side...
You descend ancient stairs
You've crossed the Drive
River Side Drive
Expect to float on air of beauty.

Cherry blossoms pink won't wink
They'll courtesy as you walk, jog, bike
Their fragrance light and airy
Suffuse each path paved smooth
Sloped path leads to arched cemented canopy
As ancient as view
The Hudson embraces you
A garden path with bright flowers 
Will warm your heart
The young, the old, those in between
They live for such scenes
Sky, trees, mound overlooking New Jersey
The Hudson River is where I met my honey.

*

Copyright © Iris Elizabeth Sankey-Lewis | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
            

              Scrumptious sight of prairies and grass
       Ardent beaming of flower buds and buzzing bees
         Leafless coils, branches of trees become alive
          Hastening! Arousing everyone's joy and vive
             Everyone happy on cheerful springtime!

             A cotillion trips and chirps of jolly birds
         From some distance, I have started to heard
         Fantastic shun and kisses of pretty butterflies
       Tempting all species of flora and fauna to thrive
        Welcoming, beckoning the heat of summertime!

         First crisp of breeze, creating dew in morning
Canopy of red and orange leaves from branches, enchanting!
      Turning the world into a canvass of nature's brush
  Unnoticeable, such romantic dash making anyone blush
  Revel, embrace the sweet amorous season of autumn!

                 Solid chilling raindrops of snowflakes
                Giving warning: careful during breaks
            Covering branches, bringing icy cold aches
                Yet, skiing an exhilarating cool escape
             Delight in the coolness ambiance of winter!

                                         BY
                                    olive_eloi
                                     2:22 pm
                                   02/26/2014

CONTEST: MEMORIES ON BRANCHES
SPONSOR: GAIL ANGEL DOYLE
4TH PLACE

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |
A flower breaks out afresh from its swollen, 
green bud and then stretches outward into 
the sun-drenched sky.

A thing of nature that's timeless
and perennial, it faithfully blooms and
adorns its surroundings like its predecessors.

Never alone, it is joined by its floral neighbors
of its own kind in fragrant numbers, suffusing 
the atmosphere all around with a heavy, yet 
sweet stench of lavender and honeysuckle.

The thick odor seduces and encourages the
flower-borne bees, hornets, and yellow-
jackets nearby into a steady rhythm and pulse 
of continuous labor over the pollen-rich 
blossoms and perfumed, colorfully-tinted 
petals. From an adjacent pond the over-
abundant and unsubtle beauty of the 
lily-of-the-valleys add their distinctiveness 
to the already rich and lush floral landscape, 
now teeming with the life and vigor of 
spring in full bloom.


 

Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |
When the red wasp come out,
and the lush tree limbs begin to sway in the breeze,
Shaking off the residual drowsiness of their six month slumber,
I know that it has come
I see cool bitterness chased from the atmosphere
The misery is melting
Prompting jollity to come out of hiding,
It's petals bud slowly and then blossom into euphoria
With no concept of boundaries it overtakes the heart,
spreading its green tendrils along the ground until it
finds the cracks in the walls of my spirit 
So that even the crumbling parts of me hold life again
Giddiness flits around like a bee playing tag with its companions
becoming intoxicated off the nectar of flowers
This is the season in which my body buzzes with contentment
I am a reclaimed house 
in a garden of good vibes
And every day I pick a bouquet
Of smiles
Wrap them in brown paper
And deliver them to the world


Copyright © Alex Roberson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
I pushed through the pain

Smiling      when lightning struck my heart

Even rainbows       drift to darkness

I saw fear       in the rear-view window

Pieces of my life        floated by

Begging forgiveness.......

Buoyed by the thought 
                                       of becoming whole again 

Many years passed      and poems I sipped for strength

Nodded knowingly, when I found
                                       the spring water was fresh

                        the spring water
 
                                                  was

                                                          fresh

Copyright © James Marshall Goff | Year Posted 2009

Details | Light Poetry |
my hands or  cold
have them fold
to day it rain
it was a pain
so I bing and sing
it was about
and
SINGING FOR SPRING

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |
Frogs sound

Pro  found

Copyright © cecil hickman | Year Posted 2010

Details | Light Poetry |
There is an orgy of fruit above our heads
Delectable sweetness falls unto our beds
We shall devour the sweetness so ripe and pure
Tantalizing encounters,
Angels so bright with amorous decor
Intercourse woven upon the forest floors,
Lustfully we be bedridden
Satisfying our wanton souls in the village of Sidon

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
 

    Eggs are white - a little chubby chicken is yellow 
    Easter egg - chock full of colorful candy
    Sticky red sugar lips give you a sweet kiss
    Old snow spots melts on the ground 
    Dandelion scatters gold in the trenches 
    Easter bunny jumping out from nowhere 
    with chocolate spots on the white fluffy coat 
    Crocus and daffodils showing us spring with joy 
    Life sparking - reigniting 
    Small buds unfold and dances in the spring sun






    - Happy Easter - Enjoy Spring :)


    15.04.2014
    A-L Andresen :)

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |
We’re so tired, of winter’s, snow and ice,
For too long, we have been, within our house, winter’s price.
Why won’t you come, to visit us, and sing?
Where we’ll be touched, by your sun, so heartily, beaming.
Oh where! Oh where! Are you, our sweet Spring?
We need you, so very longingly!

We saw you peak out, for just one day.
Then you quickly, and suddenly, ran so very far away.
So we did a Rain Dance, and danced in the cold.
Without your shinning brightness, all we got, was cold snow!
Oh where! Oh where! Did you go, our sweet Spring?
Why did you run, so very far, with your blessing!

We sought the Groundhog, that he ask you, to come back.
But he was burrowed, deep beneath, all the snow, and ice pack.
He wouldn’t open his door, as we knocked, true and hard.
He refused, to even come out, as he denied the pleas, of this bard!
Oh where! Oh where! Are you, our precious, sweet Spring?
We beseech thee, to please come back, to me!

The trees want to bloom; their sprouts are ready, to collect.
Our hearts are there beside them, under this winter, and it’s effects.
We’ll sit here, dreaming of the beauty, only you can affect.
We’re hopeful, can’t wait, but now at March’s mercy, and redirect.
Oh where! Oh where! Did you go, our sweet Spring?
Our hearts and souls want to be warmed by thee!

What? Dragon and I see you! We rejoice my friend!
Our hearts, like the trees, are beginning, to warm again.
The snow is leaving; all is greening, before our eyes.
We beg you, to please stay here, solidly, close by our side.
Oh where! Oh where! Did you go, our sweet Spring?
At last! It doesn’t matter! We have you back, and all that you bring!

Written for my good Friend Jack Ellison.

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |
Such a beautiful sight a valley of snowdrops, white heads nodding in approval of our love.   We wander hand in hand no more lookng back, just forward, stepping into the Spring time and the wonders of the new.

tiny sprouting leaves
flowers nodding downwards ...
spring morning

Walking together in  the countryside, we stop and kiss, just so happy to be together at last, lambs with bobbing tails watch tentatively, nervously bleating for their mam's shelter . A lone donkey in with a full of horses with their foals, is so happy as he feeds.

in green pastures
horses are grazing ...
springtime feeds the eyes

Our love has stood the test of time, new beginnings spring forth. Looking towards the winter of our lives together.

a glowing sun sinks
awaking lonely hearts ...
love blooms

Copyright © Seren Roberts | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
Flowers
Fragrances and bouquets
Morning dewdrops
The rising sun
Throwing promises
As Gaiety sings
Young lovers kissing 
As the rose buds bloom
Rain drops caressing
Memories floating
Past and present meld
In the coming of spring
A butterfly
Plays with my strings
Éclairs to savor
As eyes kiss eyes
I take hold of you
Dear spring
We twirl you and I
Young and old
Musical chairs 
Lovers wed and bed
I smile at the sweet scent
Cane in hand
Off I go
A blind man
Who waltzes in the spring

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KmzFDEu2RoA

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |
From the painted skies of morning
To the starlight of the night,
Whether day is just aborning
Or in fading of the light,
In the summer days of sunshine
Or in winter days of white,
God is bursting out all over,
His awed children to delight
With his awesome show of might.

But the springtime, oh the springtime
Is the best of all the seasons.
It is favored by the Father
For he finds so many reasons
To adore it and adorn it,
With the beauty of the flowers
That are everywhere in springtime,
In the warming springtime hours,
Sublimely bathed in springtime showers.


Written:  9/21/14

Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2014

Details | Verse |
Standing out in a field alone, a little white flower named Daisy longed for someone to share her world.
One day a blue flower named Bachelor Button entered her world they became friends.
 She knew by his name that he was not the propagating kind, but that didn’t stop their relationship she called him BB short for best bud.
The seasons of Spring & Summer they enjoyed the sun, laughed in the rain and held on fast in the Fall.
Winter came it was long and hard they were both covered in a blanket of snow, not knowing whether they would ever see each other again or even survive .The snow fell     then came the ice, this went on for months.

The Sun shone brightly the first day of spring. A few days later warmth of the sun melted the snow, Daisy popped up .
 I’ve been waiting days for you to come out, said BB, they both chanted hooray!
The snow was completely gone in a few days, the birds started building their nests , bugs were crawling around ,butterflies began to visit the two flowers. I wish there were more of us Daisy said, to BB.

They laughed as the sun and wind blew through their leaves.  Then it started the sun and rain took turns until one morning the air & field was filled with the smell of flowers.
 
Daisy and BB looked at each other and asked what kind of flowers are these ? they’re not white like daisies they’re not blue like bachelor buttons. They did not know the birds and bugs carried the seeds from the two of them and the caterpillars buried them under the soil.
The seeds from the new flowers were then carried by the winds many miles away, they landed in fertilized gardens and flourished, although they faced danger everyday. 
as they were called WEEDS ..
 The Gardener pulls weeds out of the garden so they don’t choke the flowers, which cost a lot of money and require lots of maintenance.

However there was a Gardener who saw her friends spending hours weeding their garden , that they didn’t have enough time to admire and enjoy the labors of their love
So she set out to give a home to all the weeds ,she provided a place where they could fit in and multiply, they required no maintenance, rain provides their water .

The best part of all is their beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
 Ask my granddaughter-- What are those flowers in the garden ?
  She will answer "WILDFLOWERS " their parents were Daisy and BB

Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
While watching the expansions of cities I felt too sad one day. In order to create more roofs and houses,  Green fields were slaughtered to meet the passions of the builders and our politicians. 

The places where there used to swing in air,  the branches of dancing mustard and linseed flowers were weeping with tears in their eyes. I kept moving from one field to another and I found the same story everywhere. 

At another place a small water stream was in the process of elimination and concrete pipes were laid beneath the ground to make the entire place on a level. The builders were about to celebrate a party, as their building plans were in the final stage of taking a shape. New shining houses with lots of street lights will soon be there, where Nature was spreading its smiles in the form of flowers and buds, grains and harvests, brooks and streams, orchards of Mango and guava. The old trees and wild flowers with hanging creepers and their smiling little buds would be wiped out as the old order changes giving place to new.

I thought for a moment that perhaps our new generations would never know why the beauty and music, which lurks from the yellow Mustard and purple Linseed flowers, when their crops swings and dances in the months of Fagun* (Feb. and March) inspires us to write Poems and Songs. Perhaps the new generation would be too busy in exploring new stars and planets in search of some water and air. As by that time the Earth would be empty from such blessings of Nature.

THE  POEM ON  SPRING WILL  BE HERE VERY SOON


Copyright © Ravindra K Kapoor | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |

  Lost my energy... tired and exhausted in my body
  My longing drives me like a high fever
  Just the thought .... feel a bit lightheaded
  Am I sick - should I see a doctor

  No ... when I think about it ... it's spring fever
  Beautiful spring ... long time to wait after a cold winter
  Gorgeous birdsong in the air ... I have not waited in vain
  Spring snow melts ... Snowdrops, coltsfoot and buds on trees

  Taste of summer I must say. . . my time - so beautiful
  The air is set with colors - and dipped in beautiful fragrances
  I want to plant a little seed in the still cold ground
  later the seed grow into a beautiful flower

  Spring has opened my heart today -
  and I can feel it in my whole body
  Now I want to dance - dance with me






19.02.2014
A-L Andresen :)

                                         

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |
   	The location of the Spring Creek School was on a flat, nestled 
between the cliff on the north and the Little White River on the south.  The river 
flowed in from the northwest, circled to the south of the school about a quarter 
mile and wended it's way east departing to the northeast.  Though I never saw it 
in my day I imagine this was once a flood plain.  Yes, at one time this could 
easily have been the scene of flash floods.  The waters tumbling and sloshing 
their way across this insignificant piece of ground in a hurry to reach the exit.  
Time had slowed the waters and erosion had taken it's tole, leaving the west and 
south in twenty to thirty foot sharp sandy cliffs.  The ground sloped to the east 
leaving a two foot drop off.  A sandy graded road approached the large heavy duty 
bridge, crossed and continued on as a trail road.
	It's summer and the Little White River gently rolls from bend to bend.  
We are running back and forth across the bridge stopping now and then to lean 
over the rail and watch the Indian children splashing in the only deep spot.  It was 
first comers got the choice spot.  Big deal! Chest deep to a ten year old.
           We run off the bridge south.  The graded road crosses a big culvert 
allowing a small spring access to the river where it fans out at the point of entry.  
We run through the crystal liquid turning it into chocolate and leaving dents in the 
once smooth sand.  This is a child's paradise.  Sand so pure, soft and powdery 
warmed by the sun.  The deeper we dig the cooler the sand becomes as it is 
joined by the moisture below.
	Our mothers put limits on our water sports.  First: we had to wait an 
hour after the meal to get in the water.  Second: polio was a concern in our day 
and we didn't get to play as often as we thought we should.  Third: we were not 
allowed to swim unless our mothers were with us.  With the gardening, house 
keeping and canning, we were lucky if we got to swim two or three times a week.  
I guess that is why we spent most of our time on horseback.
	On the ridge north of the school stood a lookout tower.  In the long 
evenings we would be found always outside, either sitting on the steps, running 
up and down the fire escapes or in the front yard.  This was the only real green 
grass in the area.  It was fenced to keep cattle or horses from trampling it into the 
mirrored image of its surroundings.  This enclosure measured fifty by a hundred 
feet and was kept watered.  A large tree provided the only shade

Copyright © Marycile Beer | Year Posted 2007

Details | Romanticism |
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-

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose |
Life Is Like A Maypole. In our spring, we are born; our dance begins as inter-woven events and experiences build our future. Blood-red trauma, wraps itself around our happiest moments… it never wins. Always uplifted by orange-joys, winding ribbons, we heal a bit. Intermingling emotions are etheric ribbons; round and round, they twine. Once we are completely enveloped; developed by life’s dance; the grey’s of middle-age decline, begins to unravel; reversing our celebration until, death’s icy grip ads its finishing touch. A soul is born; in growing, learns and passes into another existence… re-incarnating for another dance.
Entered contest: Life Is Like A Maypole Sponsored by: Seren Roberts 1-19-15

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2015

Details | Acrostic |
Spring Summer Autumn Winter              Acrostic Poetry.

              "Spring"
Seeking political office is getting hard,
Party politics needs more vigor in this regard:
Republicans must try more to deliver their views
In order to organize the people, without any excuse;
Nowadays, Democrats are getting stronger, after
Gaining control of the White House and the Senate altogether.

              "Summer"
Some people think, and it's a true fact, that
Unless Republicans try to review their policy tact,
Many of their seats will be lost in congress,
Mainly some seats in the Senate, also some of the seats they control
Especially in the House: they will have to review and
Revise their conservative norms, regarding Immigration Reforms.

             "Autumn"
America needs a strong leader
Under the present day economic conditions
To lower the country's debt of over 14 trillions dollars:
Until and unless we try to cut down spending and
Most of us try to reduce excessive wastes,
No amount of effort will save the country from disaster.

             "Winter"
We the people think that
In this country it was
Never the right thing,
To increase excessive spending,
Even if we could afford to spend it.
Responsibility lies in all of us to reduce the nation's debt. 

Copyright © Mya Thein | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
                     There were seven Indian Government schools.  All built alike.  The 
one I'm writing about is Spring Creek.  He Dog, Soldier Creek and White River, 
Grass Mountain, Two Kettle, and Black Pipe were the other schools.  The 
Headquarters for these schools was at Rosebud, South Dakota. 
	On some summer evenings we were able to talk our mothers into 
hiking to the lookout tower.  We followed the ankle deep sandy trail road to the 
cliff north of the school.,  A canyon lay at the foot of the tower but we climbed the 
bluff.  I don't know why we didn't explore the canyon unless it seemed dark and 
sinister.  The footing was better once we reached the summit.  The closer we got 
to the tower the taller it grew and standing at the foot of the steps looking up was 
easier than getting to the top and looking down.  My mother didn't usually make it 
to the top because she didn't like heights.  But she didn't mind being left behind 
this time.  We never could get into the building at the top because it was locked, 
but we could climb the steps to the very last one.  Even my little sister managed 
to elude mom and followed us to the top. 
	From the bluff we could look down on the garden.  My aunt grew a 
huge garden and canned the produce for the hot meals served the school 
children.  We kids didn't work in the garden very often, but we looked for the arrow 
heads and fossils.  Which, I suspect the adults probably considered the best 
place for us.
	At the end of the road, living in shack, was Old Lady Grease.  I have a 
vague recollection of seeing her.  Tiny, frail, wrinkled and gray headed is all I can 
remember.
	In spring and fall we were in school in Kansas.
	It's Christmas now.  Cold and usually snowy.  We were in a winter 
wonder land.
	I'm standing at the fire escape window.  The ghostly pale full moon is 
illuminating the naked arms of the trees as they shiver in the wind, swaying to 
and fro as if dancers in a ballet.  I listen to the winter sounds. The frigid air 
enhances their sharpness.  The ax's thud echoes up the canyon as one of the 
Indians across the river chops another supply of wood.  One of his peers beats 
on the drum.  It is one-thirty a. m.  but the thin walls of the tents do not keep the 
cold out.  Day or night this chore must be attended to for survival.

Copyright © Marycile Beer | Year Posted 2007

Details | Concrete |
There are four seasons in a year. Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter. In the Spring time, you can enjoy the outdoors and go for a walk. And look at the trees turning beautiful colors, you can also enjoy raking the leaves into a big pile and jump into them. We also know the New Year is coming with Winter. Winter is a cold month with snow, now the children can play outside in the snow. And everyone else can enjoy the snow also.

Copyright © Frances Roberts | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
If, 
in the NorthWestern Hemisphere,
each Earth Day's EgoCenter
includes a Bicycle Warrior for True EcoLogic,

If,
in South and Eastern Hemispheres,
each Earth Day and Full GrandMother Moon
Allah-Brahman Night of Tao,
includes a Bodhisattva ZenWarrior
of Beauteous EcoJustice Fire
through DualDark TransParent EnLightenment,

Then Earth Day Ego
sees and smells and tastes nutrition 
through bicameral 20/20,
LeftYang to Right YinFractal-SquareRooted (0)
DiPolar ReGenerative Syntax RNA through DNA History of Enculturation,
ThermoDynamic Balance Function,
BiLateral DiaStatic WaveLinear CoArising Forms,
BlackHole DualDark TaoCenter
of (0)Riginal thru (0)Mega Point through Time
revolving Earth's Universal EcoCenter PermaCulturation,
ReGenerating Space
as Earth's EcoPlace
in CoGravitational Time.

We want to be happier,
feel self-optimizing,
fill life, but not over-fill to death,
as we step into Earth's Daily Reality,
as we deflate our EgoAnger Fear,
dissonating memories.

Our cooperative DNA research
reveals a realistically positive attitude
and eco-founded optimism,
along with some acceptance of dissonance
as not merely dysfunctional.
with ego-learning logical merit
to help us accomplish great loves
in all polypaths 
of shared EarthTribe ReGenerative Daily Life.

What we still do not know,
yet hope is true and beautiful and healthy,
ecotherapeutic,
Why do our day-to-day decisions
co-determine how each Ego navigates through great and small transition points,
why identity co-evolves through and beyond
each EgoRelational Life?

What if DNA/RNA Solidarity
lives even another thousand years of Earth Days?
Reincarnating fresh mindbodies
possessing, owning, claiming,
proclaiming permacultured memories
of this (0)-EgoCenter we are collectively becoming,
back in this PostMillennial Network Era,
and on back through (0) EcoCenter of BiLateral Time, 
CoArising-CoGravitating Light,
(0) Black Hole Tao
DualDark TransParent WinWin
ReGenerating, 
ReIterating
ReCycling
RePurposing
ReMembering
ReConnecting Time,

Eternally copresent
in each Earth organic, full-composted, Day,
and Night,
and CoRevolving Year of EarthDay Gratitude.

If another thousand Earth Day years,
re-membering each other
at our lovely healthiest best,
why not a million,
why not eternal self-perpetuating climaxing permaculturing polycultural polypathic polynomial balanced
eternal ecoconsciousness
of TaoLight?
Time's sacred ProGenitor,
Open Systemic Network
CoArising each DiPolar NonDual EarthDay Event.

Earth Day,
emerging from red dawns
resonating through red dusk
rich healthy eco-centered moonlit Earth Nights,
ruled by Bicycle Balancing Bodhisattva Warriors.

To live each day as if (0)-centric eternal
is to love EarthDay's co-emerging plans,
while consulting with one's most delighted
healthy
cooperative Ego
as self-other relational identity.

Any day that feels more confined by fear and anger
than refined by love
as healthy desire for ecoconscious contentment
for Ego as for each EcoCentered Other,
is another day invested
in learning what Earth Day means
by resolving love your enemies,
to know and respect Ego's fears and angers,
contentious boulders
along Earth Day's Tao River
flowing abundantly revolving Time.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Lyric |
Written August 21, 2013


There's a girl in the garden
She's messing with your rose bed
Plucking weeds out from your head
And watering the seeds in your bed

But where will she wander
When the roses are dead
Will she come back for more
When they turn back to red

She can run all alone
Write this story in stone
On concrete slabs
Of skin and bone

Copyright © Brandon Carter | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
A walk in the park
Sunny skies
Lovers hand in hand
Strolling along the promenade
Smelling the sweet scent of red roses all around
As I sit here all alone
On a park bench
Beside the most beautiful woman I ever laid eyes on
If only I was not so shy
I would have told her so

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014