Spring Music Poems | Spring Poems About Music

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

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Details | Narrative | |


Before spring came, in late February
to the blooming and jolly hills 
I ran, breathing heavily and frantically,
touching the perfumed blossoms 
of a solitary, old cherry tree;
and underneath it I sat writing poetry
that hadn't a perfect rhyme and beat! 
Weren't my skills marred by imperfections?    

Canaries and red-breasted robins
flew down and rested on my outstretched legs;
perusing my lines to spot their names,
and when they did, they flapped their wings in gladness!
I could have imagined their joyful words,.
if only they had acquired the gift of speech,
and deeper in their thoughts I would have reached:
to dispel the myth that they had no feelings...

After my short poem was completed,
I reached for my harmonica to play my favorite classic tune;
and being surprised by the paleness of the fading moon,
I dedicated that happy melody to her not to let her despair:
by waving my hand to make her farewell less sad, while I whispered,
" Silent moon, eternal companion of every poet,
what's beyond the realm of this universe?...
Tell us more of those invisible suns and planets! "

Before spring came to the dormant valley,
the mountains' peaks allowed the sun to melt their snows,
to create gushing torrents to feed its water to the dry and cracked soil,
which needed rain instead of harmful frost;
and I drank the freshest water and washed my sweaty face,
while fighting off the bees' stubborn rivalry!
That spring has come again to dress herself with incredible splendor,
and this discontent and wishful heart desires nothing more than being there!  

My theme is: Happiness In Childhood

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Verse | |

Aaron's Coconut

Start the day. In what way
was the cold spring, last wet summer a
global warning, indicator. Says

one commentator on the op-ed page, the
dislocations, wars, famines will tax humanity's
technology, philosophy, even religion's ability

to see past daily survival to
the music in the rock. I've doubted the taboos
one frog among many in the slow-heating beauty

of the world we knew. Aaron's coconut.
Peepers doing well in the heavy rains, wet
with joy. Hawks and crows thrive below the jet

stream, noise, perhaps our fears
are overdrawn, we'll get along, it'll all hold together 10,000 years more,
the Holocaust will never be repeated, lush mountain and sere

desert equally appreciated, baseball
lazily paced summer evenings, the harvest in the fall
a sure thing, and the dying back a blessing come to all.

Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2016

Details | Verse | |

Langue d'oc, a Micro-Paradelle

Your love song lapsed into ancient French that April day.
I only understood the words of spring and heartsore
lapsed. Only love and heartsore, I understood your ancient 
words of the spring-day song into that French April.

You fabricate my pauses into repetition, silence speaks
of ages strung to rhyme in love’s difficult service
you strung into pauses in service to ages. Fabricate of
love’s repetition, rhyme speaks my difficult silence.

We practice tedium of vows till language breaks apart.
As if art should aim at science, rigorous, quantitative,
rigorous language breaks tedium. Science vows a part of 
quantitative practice till we should aim “as if” at art.

Till we lapsed into language. As your ancient ages only
fabricate quantitative French strung to that difficult
practice, science speaks of tedium and understood rhyme. 

The spring in service of love’s rigorous vows. April 
pauses, heartsore. You and I, apart. If love should aim 
my words at day, repetition breaks into silence of song.

Copyright © Taylor Graham | Year Posted 2006

Details | Light Poetry | |

Spring Waltz

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


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme | |

Flower Song

Oh, where do tender flowers sing?
When do we hear flushed petals strum?
Soft on the breeze, blooms sweetly hum.
Their melodies begin in spring.

I walk through meadows delicate.
The flowers’ song a symphony;
no sound of death’s cacophony.  
In beauty, earth and sky beget.   

The season’s sounds, a pleasure heard,
each flight of buzzing bumble bee,
each butterfly fluttering free,
Spring’s lyrics sung without a word.

With every flower blooming wild,
lovers dance silently beguiled.

*For Rick's Flower Song Contest, 2/15/15
Form - enclosed rhyme, ending in a couplet

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015

Details | Haiku | |


Play The Radio Get Up And Dance All Night Long Music Heals The Soul

Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012

Details | Haiku | |

Cherry Blossoms Jamboree

Cherry blossoms bloom; the townspeople sing, laugh, dance: hope springs eternal.

Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2013

Details | Limerick | |

Ned's Spring

There once was a Scotsman called Ned,
Who spent all his time in his bed.
He broke yet another spring,
As he danced the Highland Fling.
‘They make beds so fragile,’ he said.

For Francine's Wow me in Five Lines.

Copyright © jack horne | Year Posted 2011

Details | Rhyme | |


Through this happy season, when everything is green and blue,
we won't see snow-capped hills, or mountains,
only brooks and rivers bubbling in sun rays;
lay down on their bends and hear their music as children do!

An Australian spring is unique and beautiful, everybody
is welcome to join us in song;
bring your flute, guitar and drum...
make music in jovial air while it harmonizes with serenity!

Through these four short months,
feel lively and observe the eager butterflies kiss wildflowers, 
but an occasional rain may fall from the vagrant clouds...
see its gentle raindrops delight open eyes!

An Australian spring is unique and beautiful,
especially in the wilderness and countryside; 
down here, isn't spring unforgettable?
Let's run faster than kangaroos that seem to glide!

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2012

Details | Haiku | |

Spring Festival

With colors of the rainbow
Nature's choir sings

By Robb A. Kopp
All Rights Reserved © MMX

Copyright © Robb A. Kopp | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse | |

Melody In Spring

            Melody In Spring

Penelope runs full force with speed between the daffodils
Bright yellow dust collecting on her purple dress
Green residue from grass form on her shoes
Red faced in open suns embrace she races to the woods
Lights flicker off and on between the shadows of the branches
Running fast, silk laces in her hair, flying, dodging the very air   
Kaleidoscopic strobe lights in effect
Provided by the day and natures wonders
Sun light dancing up above through swaying trees
with kisses and love between the blinking leaves
Penelope is the wonder found in nature
She is melody unfolding lovely on the run
Thrills open up in spring, blossoms on her smile
Colored flowers sing

Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sonnet | |

Blossom Sonnet

When the winter winds have stole

   their shivered breath,

And warmer now, snow is shed,

   what lovely can bring when it sings;

(From mountains deep to waken sleep)

And gather the birds to their blossomed boughs,

   singing their elated woody sounds,

   (gently loitering in elder trees)

   speckled chirps in forest green

Neath budding Sylvan mistletoe 

   the earth is born-again, 

   ages old

   returns this ditty of long ago

   (til rejoicing in leafy worlds)

Copyright © Keith O.J. Hunt | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Spring Song

The ides of March have gone and come.
Still, strains of vernal music sound
clear echoes, in my ears, of early times,
of other years: an orchestral swell
of oboe, flute, and violin.
The feel of warming wind,
the scents of orange blossom,
daisy, buttercup, and clover
I once enjoyed --
are those days over?

My recent times are flavored
with metallic clank, with oily odor --
my eyes fatigued by newsprint
and small-screen glare.
And music: the blare
of claxon-horn and siren-wail
and, sometimes, noise which
issues from a box borne on shoulders
through the street; an empty, but compelling,
quite insistent, loudly pulsing beat.

I welcome all new, although slight, intrusions.
Pale sensory perceptions bring back images,
now faint, once acute, of places, times,
and pleasures past.  Faded sights and faces
and shadowy, unquantifiable pursuits
evoke a time when love, like freedom,
didn't cost a dime.

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2011

Details | Rhyme | |

April Is More Than Showers

It's April and stately trees are slowly
changing from white to green;
skies above look down cheerfully,
into the small lake tiny frogs plop
as balloons float over a tree top:
" Happy Birthday, Little Queen! " 

If spring is the annual rebirth of Nature
and human spirit, all must sing one tune...
incited by the bright red butterflies that lure:
they dance forming the big ring of Neptune!

April is more than showers 
and lovely dew-dripping flowers,
grin is forgotten, laughter reappears 
on everybody's wind-brushed  cheeks;
one happy passerby greets
another with revered courtesy:
each soul, each heart pours 
out a sweetness of amicability!  

If a talented young musician played
the Mozart's piano sonata in D major,  
each butterfly would begin to dance 
with the liveliness of a skilled ballerina!
If the heartthrob maestro exuded
thrill he'd be tempted to raise an octava higher:
a curious crowd would quickly gather,
then all butterflies would swirl around Angelina! 






Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry | |

Feather Beauty Bright

I spy, a feather beauty bright
With speckled blush on breast
Basking within the thicket light
Dancing round about her tiny branch 
Your fluttering sight beholding
Within the snowy briar
Bathing among the warmth
Of the morning's golden glory

Its brilliance your own crown of halo
Like a sunburst that swallows
Up the end of February's sigh 
As other feathers flusters zoom right by

The ginger little fellows all dappled, scramble
A merry-go-round within a flight
Threading joyous song throughout your bramble
As further flocks of scurry, hurry fly

On parade teasing wings of faerie sprites
A musical path of crisscross kites
But, you little one are the daring, bursting forth
With higher operatic songs, to startle and scold those spry

Feather beauty bravely 
Upon your perch chest thrust out boldly
Nonsense rhymes and a new found might
Chase away the imps of finch and thrush
And keep yourself the sunbeams for its light

And bask yourself once more this time
Among the drops of melting dripping snow
And gather up all tis full
Feasting here, where the wild wild berries grow
But, in the end you are their kin 
And soon, my fairy feathered friend you too must go
Out, onto twittering leafy stemmy stem and off...
Into the yonder of the coming spring to rove

Copyright © Michael Smith | Year Posted 2013

Details | Romanticism | |

Lydia Loves Springtime

Her freckled face and long hair are caressed by a gold sun;
Lydia loves springtime, her adventurous spirit breathes joy,  
and it seeks scented flowers awakened by the saffron dawn...
as she sings and plays a blue electric guitar praising His glory!
At noon she wears an amber hat which keeps off all sunrays,  
and smiling she attracts crowds with keen interest;
" Play that song again! " It's a boy's first request...
" I will, cutie. " She answers with raw tenderness.
Lydia loves spring time, the smell of aureolin roses;
the lulling breeze dispersing dandelions on meadows
while singing the ballads she wrote on her travels,
and they appeal to those listening with starry eyes.
How lovely she looks in her cotton chartreuse dress,
how passionate she plays dreaming of being a success! 
Lydia loves springtime when beautiful butterflies flutter by,
Oh, she would give anything to become one of them and fly! 


Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2016

Details | Epigram | |

Music of Spring

                     Snow leaves.....


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010

Details | Rhyme | |

Springtime Breeze

 Defeated are the clouds of grey that fades
Gone is Winter, and the cold never awaits
Clear outside, while the mountains crowned
With buds blooming in hues, petals adorned

Perfumes send the bliss into space to soften
The smelling air; elixir from the flowing fountain
Bees buzzing the warm sounds of March mating
Response echoed from the wasps dating

Mild March and the season is lightly napping
A virgin bride in her bed, dreams flapping
Awakening of seed at snow times, sowed
Earth womb with harvest now, awarded

Time to stroll, a while to cherish the season
Use your heart and rhyme, forget the reason
Short is the tide, go, indulge in cheers
While it's green, and the season clears

Copyright © Lonely Shepherd | Year Posted 2016

Details | Imagism | |


The sun shines in a friendly glow while the birds sing mating songs, searching for that lost bond of intimate natural longing. Greenery illuminates the path through the garden, colorfully decorating the atmosphere with contentment. Leaves drift beatifically to their resting place in the aura of serenity; wisdom in the blossoms wherein dastardly royalty is usurped by inane benevolence. Such generosity cannot freely bandy about when originated from petulant systems of feigned philanthropy. Evidence mystifies the instituted kindness with otherworldly martyrdom prevailing over dynamically advantageous disproportion. A youthful sprite exudes sage harmony that listens intently to ruminated introversion and callously disregards obnoxious outburst. A twig snaps into seventy equivalent sections; equilibrium begets solitude among the predetermined assortment. Begin again and sweetly profound anew. Did it start? Nevermore, with the exception of a shift in the concept of causality's influence: kleptomania for knowledge and acceptance of besmirched spirits. Souls pine for an existential seed to spurt roots and permeate the dirty confinement. Cyclical imperfection trudges through sludge, almost cinematic in its unveiling. It is astounding in each fresh, yet repitious succession. A song skips lyrical lust and jumps to instumental amelioration: The symphonic glory of all encompassing, magnificent, eternal, ascending powerfully and synthetically descending, original, cooperative, and unorthodox love.

Copyright © James Lockaby | Year Posted 2011

Details | Rhyme | |

Spring Cleaning Symphonies

Songs found together,
Lost in the ether,
Never again to be heard.
Back in their cases,
Tied up with laces,
Memories captured , like birds.

Turn radio off,
A flame for a moth,
Sad, genial melodies.
They fissure my heart,
And hold me apart,
Snaring with sweet harmonies.

Anthems of love,
lost like a glove,
Just one half still listening.
These tunes heard alone,
Don't have any soul,
They no longer mean a thing.

31 Aug 2011

Copyright © Jodie Williams | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative | |


Nothing is more delightful
and simply remembered by a sweet word...
than a walk through a green forest,
to find a remote spot on a low hill
and put those daily worries to rest;
the anxious eyes long for that vision
of a last, unforgotten season: 
the gentlest rain which brings
a familiar fragrance from other lands...
when spring hides its flowers!

Whenever the lonely poet dreams,
his unerring hand is quicker that  the flowing streams:
the distant vison of his flourishing thoughts
is carried to unseen places; 
and all he wishes is to feel  a sublime peace...
when spring hides its flowers!

The wishful child ,led by his mom ,searches 
 the leaf-covered paths with a sorrowful glance,
even the robins and blue-birds can't confort him,
 or give him some kind of hope for his unleashed whim;
and will he relish the joyful promise of each year,
as a gentle hand caresses his blonde hair...
when springs hides its flowers from his zealous eyes,
and one of those adolescent dreams unexpectedly dies?

I, once, was like him:  curious,cheerful and so restless:
seeking surprises in unexpected places...
finding myself in front of simple wonders
that couldn't  be perceived by the adult mind,
as if they were another mystery, not the creation of God...
when spring didn't hide its flowers!

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2008

Details | Free verse | |


I love the symphony
of the flowers
which composes itself
after mid-winter showers;
though silent to ear,
it rings loud and clear
in the soul which holds
God's creation dear.

Copyright © David De la Croes | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |


Light alters the ambiance 
of all that is seen;
the accelerating clouds escape
 while a distant trumpet,
embodying the allegro beat,
arranges beautiful arias
that ascend like orchards' pink petals 
unaware of us
watching as they enter
 the radiant atmosphere...  
look up, those fading stars adore them! 
Against the igneous rocks algae cling,
empty boats err 
without any stirring;
anguish for one heart awaiting night...
opening her eyes,
she allows fears   
and tears ignoring the ardent moonlight:
again lonely, allured by auroral gleams!  


Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |


Spring, flabbergast me with your scented flowers:
show me the gracious lilies and flaboyant tulips
as they spent their time brightening lovers's eyes;
yes, open up your garden where the red sun dips,
and the voluptuous lovers hug and passionately kiss...
rising in me a desire that takes me back to youthful days!

Down the rusty path, flanked by pines and fir trees,
the blue-jay parched on the lowest branch, is quite and waits;
at exactly twelve o' clock he starts warbling as a siren wails...
we have become friends, and he inspires me to write melodies,
but without a pencil and music sheet I must retain those notes into this active brain,
until I get home and write them down while he shelters himself from he misty rain.

Spring, flabbergast me with your scented flowers:
show me the stately sunflowers and the wild roses 
growing taller than any plant seen in the wind-swept wilderness
as the mariachis play their song to console a marchioness sitting in a breezy corner;
these aren't musicians found in a parade, they are peasants with colorful costumes...
soon someone will say," Alla manana, Segnora. " as the calm returns on the shore.   


Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

To Ever Young Spring

To Ever Young Spring

O enchanting flavor, of the beautiful Spring
Why you always look, so different to    me
Seasons come and seasons go, every year
But why only the Spring, enchants everyone

Why the mind get lost by the flavor of Spring
Even birds returns from their migrating hides
Why sweet sensations runs in human hearts
Why life began to look so different in Spring

Why the Koyal* keep on singing and singing
Why the smell of Mango buds creates thrills in mind
Where on earth this intoxicating wine is being made
Which sweeps away our mind and heart in Spring

And where in Nature the nectar of Spring is hidden
Which intoxicates humans, birds and even animals
Why in Spring,  images began to appear gradually
On the other wise sleeping, but turning pages of  life

The Butterflies are flying from the top of the flowers
To invite Black bee and others  to enjoy the Spring
What ever may be the stage of life in which, one may be
In the season of Spring only, one feels young and evergreen

Why my mind has started searching on its own
Sensing the dawn of the season of Spring near by
Why even in our life, we find some day that even in Spring
Even the enchanting fragrance too began to feign oneday

Why the mind cheated and illusion by seasons
Becomes anxious and began to feel young again 
By watching the new born leaves on every trees
And finding them dancing with breeze in Spring

Why the singing of Koyal’s * kuhoo*  kuhoo*
Leaves the impression of some anguish always
Silently the heart keeps on searching throughout the year
The grandeur and melody of the Spring singer

When the childhood has ever come back again
And when the youth has ever returned, once gone
Only on the pages of our memories and in our hearts
Their fragrance remain always alive and ever young


Kanpur India  2nd March 2010 

* Koyal .  A spring bird of India which sings mainly in Spring
   While setting on the Mango tree branches
* Kuhoo Kuhoo . the melody song of the Spring bird 
   Similar to that of the Nightangale of John Keats

Copyright © Ravindra K Kapoor | Year Posted 2010

Details | Rhyme | |


Each one of us follows a specific quest,
and there many different ones;
for me it's that passionate love which blooms
in spring when rain becomes mist.

Watching roses drip as eyes that weep restores
the memory of that forgotten sadness
brought by a faithless love known too briefly
to discover the scope of its insincerity.  

Why didn't I believe in her fickle promise?
She only gazed at those radiant stars, 
as a true one wouldn't have to compromise 
the beautiful truth not stained with lies. 

Still waiting to feel that passionate
love which blooms in spring...
happy wagtails by the petal-draped lake,
gather to make their notes ring.

Besides velvet-soft kisses that I eagerly steal
from tempting lips seeking this man's warm hand,
what else could please me more than an indulgent will 
with that passionate love which blooms in spring?

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2012

Details | Lyric | |


Summer has come and pass
time for rules and class.
Over time
I met many girls
but none like Rosaline.
My first true love
who sang like a dove.
She had it all
and would catch my fall.

Oh Rosaline
you are my Valentine.
I always have time
for you my Rosaline
girl your mine

We had fun
under the bright red sun.
Taking walks in the park
while we listened to the dogs bark.
Our love was growing
without us knowing.

Oh Rosaline
your my Valentine.
I always have time
for you my Rosaline
girl your mine

last December
when we sat alone
on that old gravestone
thinking of strawberry fields
it was so real
did that scar ever heal?

Oh Rosaline
you will always be mine.
I'm a grape
your my vine
together till the end of time

Nothing can replace
your beautiful face
your love can send me outerspace.
Birds would sing
in early spring
the feeling will never sting.

Oh Rosaline
you will always be mine
until the end of time.

Oh Rosaline
you will always be mine
until the end of time.

I'll be where the bright lights shine
over my Rosaline.
Any day 
and any time
with my Rosaline.

Copyright © Blake Holland | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme | |

Flora's Kiss

The golden lyre’s majestic, light accords
Exalt the song which Nature’s voice affords
And carry off to meadows near and far
The wondrous sound of Juno’s soft guitar. 

In river valleys and on golden hills,
Where spring’s young fragrance every taste fulfills,
The mind is set at peace by Flora’s kiss:
Away from toil and grime, there’s nothing I could miss!

What sweet delight to live a quiet dream
In some small house, in woods whose pathways teem
With birds and thrills, with days relieved of care:
A life of peace, of friendship everywhere!

Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com

Copyright © Eton Langford | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

With Spring To Be

                                      when you see the sticks
                                            of leaf-less trees
                                                 across the backdrop
                                                    of moon-lit skies

                                     when you hear
                                           the robins distant ring
                                               sustained by winds afar_ _

                                                                          lay thy head
                                                                upon a pillows sleep.
                                                   with anxious thoughts awaken
                                                                of this spring that is to be

Copyright © gary bechter | Year Posted 2008

Details | I do not know? | |

wet spring morn

Windswept rain slaps the bottoms of leaves
as shiveringly they shed it
Grassroots shake and slake their thirst
and wave their blades together
Tightly closed tree buds stand tall
reaching upward fretly
Shaking yes but through it all
They hold together wetly
Branches wave their banners green
so many hues and shades and tints
Spring is here and she is seen
Dancing twixt the raindrops
Wild gypsy Wind she sings and swings
Her sylvan winged tambourines 
In rhythmic wetness witness
Of the joy she brings and flings

Copyright © Donald Meikle | Year Posted 2005