Writing her tears
Across a forest of flailing leaves,
Nature rests her startled fears
Singing melodies, rich
As the burgundy and gold,
Murmuring gently, a breathed prayer
Stilling the waters of a creek
Where grief is a ghostwriter
And the ache of yesterday tells your spirit
To believe…
Just yesterday, the stars melted
Into the sapphire skies – resting against the praises
Of summer’s echoed light, the Son
Blessing the yesterdays and tomorrows
With dancing roses and wisteria,
Graceful notes of what it is to open each petal,
Stirring senses, poetry so tempting
In each glimpse of dew, rain, or melodies
Hues flowing into the heavens, stirring God’s smile
As He captures hearts and souls
With His sweet voice, music soft as feathers,
Beautiful and blending with the meadows,
The hills, the creeks and rivers
All the warmth, never hesitating to restore
Each spirit, who comes before Him,
In a prayer, with praise, believing He can
And, yes – He will make all things new
Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter…
And my soul is living proof – God is so so good!
herbaceous perennials
annual
biennial
low subshrubs
basal stems.
opposite, simple, mostly linear
strongly glaucous grey green
blue green.
five petals,
frilled or pinked
all pale to dark pink.
The fading moon looks upon the road
as the sun rises over a field.
Grasses dance in the wind
in a quiet place where life begins.
The first day of the week
a new place to stand
A road once torn must be rebuilt--
the weary heart bears its age.
Contrails in the sky of a jet plane
spread in the sky and disappear
another journey taken in time.
A lone worker stands in place
and a line of cars passes
people waving like friends he knew.
A breeze sings, the moon gone
never lost when remembered.
Till the blooms are fed the aura
That low gleams the distant hills,
Glistens the dewy flora,
Enlights an ever bluing sky—
Glint and sparkle befell the swelling rill
Shall delight my sleep weary eye
Nature folds away her tinting hues
That dab each petal such singular art
Till blossoms burst forth and sunlight suffuse
The myriad colours of the mouldering heart
That even such as I, a waking recluse,
Cannot feel—a thing apart
No dew for the dandelions aloft
Their needles do not sting
No song is sung as soft
As the first notes of spring
The robin sings a far off melody
A cricket chirps in the wings
A squirrel sure unseen,
In the hollow of an oak tree
Are doubtless splendorous to glean—
What simple joys the morning brings
When we add ourselves to the scene
The dew isn't frozen for a change,
each step leaves a dark hole,
a trail to my soggy shoes.
Once again,
I stand at the old wooden shed door
with a bent, rusty key
that no longer turns the stuck lock.
It would be easy to break in.
Inside,
the axe,
the scythe,
the shears,
all in need of sharpening.
I'm not ready yet.
The last drops of rain
trickle down the roof tiles.
The washed morning does not rush,
much like those high-spirited stragglers,
who now and then play their pranks.
The night still struggles in vain.
The first ray of light dips a finger into the puddles—
a signal for the thrushes to strike up their tunes.
A sleepy street sweeper emerges
from an old, shabby gate.
His shoes creak beautifully.
A winter has come into our forest
I have no idea exactly how long
I was merely a long-lost tourist
And now I see of all our leaves are gone.
Nothing damages more than a hard frost
The landscape lay injured and strained
All of the critters are scattered and lost
A sad reminder of all of the pain.
The Winter was here longer than I know
Ravaging more than I could foretell
Above my knees in the freezing snow
Stuck in the sad foliage of farewell.
I take a plow and push through the past.
Bury the blade into our history.
I pick through ice for a mere blade of grass
Any sign of life spells my victory.
I come upon the knotted root of the oak
A fork left on a meal of an empty plate.
The tears from my eyes beginning to soak
The jagged legs that mark my mistakes.
Roots are strong and full of wisdom
They are churned inside the earth so deep
Between these toes is quite the schism
Loud enough to wake me from my sleep.
The branches lurch toward Heaven so high
The stark, black fingers reach towards the Sun
I pray that Spring comes back into our lives
That we can return where we once begun.
IN THE DOWNING OF SPRING
Autumn will soon fall;
Paving the way for winter’s
Cold nature of life:
Time for us to prepare for
Life’s cold-coming-challenges:-
Scarcely had the snow melted
when the violet crocuses bloomed.
I gaze at your crimson scarf—
the one you left behind a year ago
as you vanished into the amethyst dusk.
Once again, I have watched through a hematite night;
a burgundy dawn slowly fades away,
and still, I wait for your iridescent return.
stirring
inside a rhombus,
springtime.
inside a triangle,
a blind
dog.
the rhombus and the triangle
keep
bumping
into each other
inside my twelve
by fifteen
rectangle.
there, on the clothesline,
sitting side by side,
chatting away,
are my wife's
sleeveless blouse,
my Bermuda shorts,
and my daughter's
ripped jeans.
by noon,
the triangle
slips inside
the blouse.
the rhombus
into the pocket
of my Bermudas.
and through the
rips and tears
of the jeans,
spring descends
into my twelve
by fifteen.
my wife's blouse,
my Bermuda shorts,
stare on it
astonished.
five sparrows
are playing
on the open terrace
of the morning.
silver spring light drifts
across the mirror’s quiet face;
I watch myself change~
wonder rising in its place.
You still cherish
that rag doll from your childhood.
As if you never grew up.
When you change the water in the vase,
lightly stroking the lily stems,
I am moved…
You always bloom when surrounded by flowers.
And when we lie side by side
for eternity, half-immersed in sadness,
it seems to me that life is not to be taken
too seriously.
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ the flower?
In May, when ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
The purple petals, ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
Made ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ their beauty ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ might ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ the sages ask ¦¦¦¦ why
This charm is wasted on ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ them, ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ Beauty is its own ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ being:
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
I never thought to ask, ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
But, in my simple ignorance, ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
The ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ Power that brought me there brought you.
(Blackout of The Rhodora by Ralph Waldo Emerson)
Our Summer's begun
Neath the gold-plated sun
Past opals of Fall
Winter diamonds enthrall
Chilled whippoorwill cries
Sad obsidian eyes
Thru tears it must sing
Of emeralds in Spring
We think we tread the solid earth. Yet, the earth itself was but a dream.
In the dream, we burned each other's desires and greed,
Filled with the ecstasy of each other's love, we finally became one—
Only to realize we were each other's roses.
We think we know one another, yet we know nothing.
Even this, in the end, was merely a dream of each other.
We thought we were walking upon a dream.
Only to awaken and find ourselves standing upon real ground,
Holding fast to each other's love and warmth.
I neither awaken nor do I dream.
At this very moment,
With a thundering, restless sound, I am born anew.
Someday, when someone reads these words of mine,
I shall be born within your heart and in your eyes—
Not as a dream, but as reality.
==================================
No more writing!
Until my poem calls me, again!
==================================
Spring Categories
Read wonderful spring poetry on the following sub-topics:
beautiful, change, equinox, first day, flowers, hope, life, love, romance, school, showers, transition
and more.
Definition | What is Spring in Poetry?
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.
Related Poetry Forms
autumn, summer, winter, hope, hop, flexibility, leap, bounce, prime, flowering, budding, springtime, budtime, vernal equinox,