Spring
by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Nothing is so beautiful as spring—
  When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
  Thrush's eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;
  The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
  The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.
What is all this juice and all this joy?
  A strain of the earth's sweet being in the beginning
In Eden garden.—Have, get, before it cloy,
  Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,
  Most, O maid's child, thy choice and worthy the winning.



The Enkindled Spring
by D.H. Lawrence

This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,
Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes,
Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between
Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes.

I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration
Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze
Of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration,
Faces of people streaming across my gaze.

And I, what fountain of fire am I among
This leaping combustion of spring? My spirit is tossed
About like a shadow buffeted in the throng
Of flames, a shadow that's gone astray, and is lost.

I remember reading somewhere that a serious poet must write a spring poem every year if he really wants to be taken seriously.

Think about writing one and posting it in this thread.

Feel free to post your favorite ones by other poets, as well.  Maggie

Maggie

This is an emerald, Maggie!
Maybe move it to Discussions? Interesting how many of the "rules" of poetry writing he flaunts.
Tom

I will move it at the end of the day, Tom.

I like how he's out there and then brings it into focus; the metered cheeks of my gemini muse's IP-self
are flaming, to borrow his metaphor.

And I will steal his 'bonfires green" but use it as bonfire greens some day.

later, dude.

I put this in Submit.
Hi, GM!
Hi, DH!
 -Tom http://www.poetrycircle.com/index.php/topic,21702.msg158461.html


Can't Someone Cut that Dead Branch Down?

New green is budding out
but this one limb of dry brown leaves
that never dropped
is still a limb of dry brown leaves
that never dropped.

Who holds onto dead stuff like that
unless they believe it's the last crop
they're going to get?

The newly deceased
never take off their clothes
and never let any acquaintance go
but make them rattle in the breeze
for absolutely no reason.

What I really love about the poem below is the memory it evokes in me.  My mother memorized this in parochial school at quite a young age and always remembered it.  Instead if singing lullabys to me - she would repeat the poem, softly and the night would close over me.  She is 81 now and can still recite her party piece on demand.

The Daffodils

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A Poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

William Wordsworth
   
   

I remember this one fondly from High School - was one of my favorites. M

in Just-

by: e.e. cummings (1894-1962)

IN Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame baloonman
 
whistles far and wee
 
and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
spring
 
when the world is puddle-wonderful
 
the queer
old baloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing
 
from hop-scotch and jump-rope and
 
it's
spring
and
the
 
goat-footed
 
baloonMan whistles
far
and
wee


"in just" was originally published in The Dial Volume LXVIII, Number 5 (May 1920). New York: The Dial Publishing Company, Inc.

oh yes spring! a doodle i did last week


green tongues poke up
at the air where

earth flicks a switch
lifebulbs ping and

BOOM like guns
with little flags

ode to spring


it’s kite season
when everything rises
for a better view of the new sun
the season of crepes and berries
morning coffee, alfresco
mint juleps with happy-cakes

annual orgies
and tax refunds

Tiko, that "tax refunds" ends up sounding sooo sexy!

julips=juleps?

For some reason, on reread, think of check kiting. LOL.
Great last S. Tom

Yes, to daffodils! I remember the poem.

I just read it out loud, el vee. What a thing!  Tom's opening stanza has that same energy:

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.



New green is budding out
but this one limb of dry brown leaves
that never dropped
is still a limb of dry brown leaves
that never dropped.


Let's talk about spring poems until it's time to write one for fall...;)

marvelous what he does each time with the baloonman

http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/5917

AA terrific read, guys and gals.

that same energy is here.

and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
spring
 
when the world is puddle-wonderful