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Spring History Poems | Spring Poems About History

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

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Details | Rhyme |

Western Skies Of Spring

We have waited long and now momentarily pause
to lose ourselves in the Western skies of spring;
our mellow looks follow them until dusky evening...
ask the awe-captured painter how they seduce! 

Even the big mountains in the background seem blue,
below them discover lovely bluebells that surely ensue
beauty by waving in prairies dotted with yellow daisies;
spend an afternoon in contemplating the red canyons!

And resting beneath the motionless clouds, be dazzled
by radiance: deep moments of awareness can stupefy;
go back in time by imagining the same California sky  
that the old explorers saw heading West to seek gold.

Walk farther towards the blue lake, wide and clear,
it steals indigo from the above sky to look pretty;
the cactus in full bloom proclaim the desert's glory
once seen by young, wild cowboys who chased deer.  

Written on 3/36/2016

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2016

Details | I do not know? |

The Box Spring Bed Rumor....

Somewhere in luisianna, On Saterday Nights...
In some Abandoned Mental Hospitial..
Saterday Nights, The doors unlock...
In one of the rooms A box spring Bed appears...

Sleep there, and sometime in the night you shall be awakened..
An old man, In a white Shirt with words upon it...
Don't scream, Or be alarmed, He will ask a question about your life..
Answer correctly and he will give you a photo...

Look at this photo, Study it carefully...
It will show how you'll die
Once you recieve the picture and review it
You must leave immediatly...

It's Quite a wonder But I must warn you..
If the picture is of the man before you, the one who gave you the picture
Running away won't help
Neither wil Screaming...

Copyright © Jake Brown | Year Posted 2009

Details | I do not know? |

Spring Summer And Fall

From bright colors even the brightest blond turns grey.
Grown men now stand.
Were once young children did play.

 The once new cover.
Is now tattered and torn.
time has all but erased the oaths  once proud men had sworn.

The field now overgrown  still haunts memories of the blue and grey.
Old worn headstones markers of were they'll forever lay.
No bell to ring no voice shall call.
The ghosts of the past erased by spring summer and fall.

The old porch stands hidden by a overgrowth of vines.
Now blank are the boards that once were painted signs.
The blood followed swiftly from the wound of the past.
To forge a path to a time that could never last.

Gone is the tree that once stood so very tall.
Forgotten by time 
So is the legend of spring summer and fall.

Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2009

Details | Light Poetry |

Erotic Spring

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 | Narrative |

Spring Heeled Jack A True Story

Walking along from the public house late that night 
My lantern giving just a little light
My thoughts as I walked, was I very late?
The time unimportant the year eighteen thirty-eight.

A scream I heard, from a far off distance.
Commotion coming my way, do I make a stance?
A lone figure running towards me, I stop dead in my tracks.
Do I move aside or run away, or even turn right back.

My lamp is only a candle; its light is very dim.
I see a tall figure with glowing red eyes; he is tall and very thin.
With a hooked nose and ears, those look as if they are pointed
He bounds past in the lamp light, with a hood and cloak appointed.

I know not what it is, but to me it looks very evil.
Wrapped in cloak with hideous looks, I am sure it is the devil.
The mob that is chasing it, finds me standing in their way
With cudgels and with pitchforks, but they let me have my say.

Satisfied it was not me, the chase begins once again.
I join the mob in the chase; my heart begins to feels the strain.
We chase the devil along a dark narrow path hoping it makes a gaff
We catch up and corner him, he gives a demonic laugh.

The devil turns to the mob; he’s trapped by a fifteen foot hedge.
His laugh rings out his claws are drawn, silver talons, light glistening on the edge.
One of the mob shoots at him, but the devil opens his mouth wide.
Blue flames and fire shoot from it, blinding the shooter, who steps aside.

The devil leaps the hedge with a great agility
I am aghast with fear and shock, a demonic laugh reaches me.
We stand not knowing what it was, will it be coming back?
A voice from the mob, whispers you know what…
                                                    That was spring heeled Jack

Spring Heeled Jack was seen during the time of Jack the Ripper in the streets of London in 1838.

Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2011

Details | Haiku |


bee hunting an art                                                                                                     line bees to tree sun or bait                                                                                             follow to honey

Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2013

Details | Haiku |


Effulgent sun proffers love 

Above the undergrowth…of
Thorns and weeds

The moon unravels wonders

Copyright © JW Earnings | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |

Spring Rain For Hindenburg

 Spring Rain For Hindenburg

2 Spring fronts had gathered on the East Coast

       Creating an overcharged atmosphere.

              Germany to 'Jersey'--3 days at most--
                      The "Floating Palace" had Max Pruss to steer.
                             804 ft. long! Quite Gigantic!
                                    With 97 passengers and crew,
                                    78 ft. shy of 'Titanic',
                             16 cells of hydrogen's how she flew.
                      200 ground crew (soaked) cast mooring line
              As 12 hours late, she came in high and game.

       The Hindenburg: "Titanic of the sky"...

Took 35 souls as she burst in flame.

~by deborah burch©

Copyright © Deborah Burch | Year Posted 2012

Details | Bio |

My Favorite Number

I was born on July 20, 1958.

Being one of seven children and having a mid-summer birthday, even as a young boy, it was 
not uncommon for my birthdays to come and go without much fanfare.

In the winter of my Fifth Grade year at school, we had an assignment to write a short-story.  
I was already in love with writing way back then.  My short story was on a topic that was 
very much in the news at that time and a very interesting and exciting theme for a young 
boy.  I wrote a short story about me being the youngest astronaut in the space program and 
being selected to be the first astronaut to walk on the moon.  I was aware at the time, that 
the US and USSR were in a Cold War race to be the first country to achieve that lofty goal 
and I knew it was bound to happen soon.  To make my story even more special, I wrote that 
this wonderful event would take place over the coming summer, on my birthday!

Well, lo and behold, as the winter turned to spring and spring turned into summer the Apollo 
11 space mission launched from Cape Canaveral carrying three astronauts, two of whom 
were targeted to walk on the moon.

As my 11th birthday approached, without any notice from anyone else, I watched in awe as 
the Apollo 11 made its way to the moon.  On July 20th, 1969, the lunar landing module, 
Eagle, set down on the moon!  I remember expectantly waiting for the astronauts to be given 
permission to exit the Eagle and step foot on the moon’s surface as the hours of my birthday 
ticked down.  

It was about 10:00 pm eastern time when my parents finally sent us all to bed on the news 
that Mission Control made the decision to wait until the next day to send Neil Armstrong out 
of the lunar module.  With tears in my eyes, I went to bed thinking that I missed my chance 
to share my birthday with history and to have had my short story prognostication come true.

At a few minutes before 11:00 my parents woke all of us up to come watch as Neil 
Armstrong could wait no longer and talked Mission Control into letting him walk on the moon 
without further delay.

So, at about 11:00 pm, on my 11th birthday, the men from Apollo 11 walked on the moon for 
the first time in history.  One small step for man and one giant link to history for one small 
boy in Charleston, West Virginia.

And, that is when 11 became my favorite number.

Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2010

Details | Rhyme |


Some years back we launched a war, (WMDs) our aim
obliterated half a Country, dictator to blame
Years went by no end in sight, the battle raging on
the only one that gained a thing, capturing Sadam

4,000 plus, our bravest troops, came home as heroes gone
can't leave them unprotected, the fight continued on
Then not too many years ago, (seven comes to mind)
a new direction not well received, pull them all out blind

Let them all fend for themselves, and shrink our mighty force
sit back and watch how evil grows, just shake your head of course
New names added every year, terrorists growing strong
don't worry they're just "J V teams", they won't last very long

City after city fell, like cancer in the sands
our finest Military Leaders, relieved of their Commands
It's his way or the highway, no compromise to date
Countries now in shattered ruins, the people see their fate

We fought a battle , a just cause, not true the record shows
careful not to pick a fight, don't step on any toes
Remembering our alliances, tolerate, let them be
helped to keep the rest in check, Middle East to Tripoli

Terror spread like wind storms, throughout the middle east
those "J V" Teams have now become, "the belly of the Beast"
He picked the wrong side to destroy, and side with Arab Spring
all hell broke loose in Libya, Obama felt the sting

The Americans we lost that day, Ambassador and Team
up and coming Election sights, can't spoil Obamas dream
Secretary of State may help, ignore their pleas for aid
bury reasons they were there, as militants parade

Not the only tragedy, his Legacy will hold
never were transparencies, we see the truth unfold
Working on new History Books, keep them "tarnish free"
lot of "Firsts come with his name", and most we'll never see.....

Copyright © Pete Yuhas | Year Posted 2015

Details | Quintain (English) |

The Arab Spring a window of humanity

It all began with a man who owns a cart,
And the Tunisian government took it away.
Now a martyr, having no idea what would start,
The ‘Arab Spring’ began on that day,
Causing the Tunisian leader to give way.

The revolt then spread to neighboring Egypt.
Thousands gathering in Tahrir Square, 
But President Mubarak refused to give up,
So more and more people protested there,
Until finally, was forced to leave his chair.
By now revolts in Yemen, Libya, and Bahrain
Spread like a forest fire, hotter by the hour.
The electronic media is mostly to blame
In organizing the revolt against those in power,  
And cleansing all corruption like a thundering shower.

In Libya, there’s Gadhafi trying to hold on,
With the thousands of people massed in forces,
But the rebels have just gotten much too strong,
With the aid of NATO changing their courses,
Then Gadhafi: the next to fall to the ashes.

Now in Syria, the government is fighting still
To hold on to power and deny human rights,
With the people trying to match their will,
And spread humanity through the Damascus’ lights.
How long will this last… how many nights?

I now must understand, this will never end,
As it started long before the man with the cart.
It is human nature to fight and defend,
Even at the cost of tearing everything apart
And losing all love from his ever-changing heart.

By Greg Stanley
February 1, 2012
Modified on June 26, 2012

Copyright © Greg Stanley | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse |

Tohoku -- When Worlds Have Altered

On an early spring day, washed brilliant with clover
In the land of the sun, and sweet cherry blossom
A tremble, a rumble, that rattled the earth
Cracking open the spring day, like the devil's own plaything 
Plates of dispute, on the edge of destruction
Beneath the sea’s surface…anger's wrath lies in waiting…

It came with no warning, …a mighty surge of horror
A tower of strength, to this tiny island flower
The harsh call of nature, came boldly from the shore
Relentless, the shaking, battering to the core
And altered the earth with a shattering shrill
Spilling despair, in a pillage of flurry 
Killing the helpless,     yet… leaving the courage

O’ land, of gentle people, wearing dignity’s expression
Those from afar, watched on with compassion
We gasped, then we cried, yet are awed with impressions
How hands helping hands, and courage ensued
Kind hearts, claimed the bruised, and calmed the confused 
You banded together…helping each another, 
Balance of elders, will hold you forever..
Grace under fire…. with honor we brand you
You raise up the spirit with hands of the valiant
Respect you have earned and honor you wear
The sun keeps on rising…..and will shine ever more

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse |

The art Of Spring

Bright blue skies on a spring day
Fulfills my horizon
Blue birds and robins pass me by

Mountain, trees, and animals
Priase God Abroad
The frsh air bring forth calmness
A quiet serene a waits my soul

Red orange and violets
Represents God's glory
Flowers slowly rise with the sun
And water crickets sings songs of glory

Fresh water arises with the scent 
Of of sweet savory of God's spices
Beach rolls in the lazy tide
I sit back and enjoy it all

The art of spring is glorification
Of all tings God created
He's the world famous artist


Copyright © Angela Wilson | Year Posted 2012

Details | Verse |

Trois Par Huit/Tanka/Rondel-MY SPRING WAS TOO BRIEF

Why can't spring
last as a deep feeling,
and remain joyful and eternal?

What makes this season so vital and wonderful...
adorning our earth with flowers so delightful?
Who is so dubious to disclaim it? 

True faith admits no doubt...
will the heart?
My spring was too brief,
only desire outlived it...
floating as a leaf:
to taste death on barren ground:
such is the fate of all leaves!
Perhaps nostalgia is deeper than regret,
making me yearn with useless tears
and in doing so sorrow deepens...
without realizing I have no control over it.

Return spring with a new child in me,
making me run towards the sunflowers' filelds
increasing my chances to find serenity...
return spring, but don't be short and cheerless.

Years age the body, not the spirit...
as seasons remind us how fragile we are:
living one life and returning dust as before...
without voice, flesh, blood and thought.

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse |

Spring of wine

I touched its soul
Me--the spring of wine
in one glass of yesteryear
where the God drinks the mystery
without hate
without wars
for a new History

Copyright © Milan Georges Burovac | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

Current events commentary

Do you think I care 
For your phony Arab spring
And dead trees and hot wind
I have never seen a spring without seed popping from the soil
I should know I am made from the dust of the earth
Spring must have rain and bring flowers
Like the peace people use to sell in California
Before I knew they were only exploited slaves
Following someone else's agenda
Muttering words that were meaningless to their existence
You see what I cannot believe in what I see again
I am a man of faith, and have always been
Since the blindfold fell like scales of history
There is no Arab spring
Only the death of the old undying resistance
That would not conform to nothing but self
Only the death of people in the street
Who does not know the puppiteer willed them
For if they return from the dead
What will they see
Only the same old things more dilapidated than before
Only the invisible hand doing visible things
Killing people and calling it spring
That the new world order may prevail
As a new nomenclature
For the same old stuff that has made us barren
And berefted us of dreams
I want my children to better off than I have been
I can only entrust to me
Sleeping at their door armed with a prayer and an angel
That is who we were
Before the primitive hordes came from the sea
Before the sea people defied the bounds of their habitation
Before our empires were stolen
And we ended up in cages at the Bronx zoo
Yeah, you should read that story too
It is only by prayers we suruvive
It is the mystic part of us, the first part they derided
Calling it animism, or some dark sinister stuff
Making us afraid to own ourselves
We abandoned everything and found no berth
In their new economic order
For we were always commodities or some sort of value in exchange
So those high sounding, idealistic documents
They copied from what we believe but could not bring to pass
Those constitutions were not about us nor our possibility
For we were not construed to have humanity enough for that.
Then are we suddenly men again
That the Arab spring should be something more than a sinister thing.
I stop believing in Trojan horses long ago
I mean it is there as a gift
But I will keep working the night shift
When there is no moon
Just remember what is the color of my skin
Because all things work together for good
And I cannot walk by sight in the darkness
So I live by faith in season and out of season.

Copyright © L'nass Shango | Year Posted 2012

Details | Light Poetry |


soon they will bloom
its what it brings
some grow tall
climb up the wall
become long weeds

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

Details | Light Poetry |


you can tell
as flower dewell
and bloom
and the bright moon
that it brings

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |


they from east to west
like a jet set
travel in the rain
some heal pain
by they way they sing
they be here like a herd

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |


it the time 
you see the wine
grow you no
you everything
that brings spring
and the love shower
that blooms

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2012