Enter the Day Seven Prize Draw Today is the last…
Spring Poetry Competition
This competition has now closed, The Pen Company would like to thank everyone for their entries we really enjoyed reading them all. After much deliberation we have chosen…
Lesley Fletcher – The Scripter
Well done Lesley, we will be contacting the winner shortly to arrange delivery.
Calling all poets; at The Pen Company we naturally believe ‘the pen is mightier than the sword’ as you can probably guess. To celebrate the written word we would like to invite all budding poets to enter our Spring Poetry Competition.
The winner will receive a Graf von Faber-Castell Guilloche Fountain Pen in a choice of colour.
Colours to choose from include; Chevron (engraved black), Coral, Indigo, Black, Cognac and Rodium (metal finish)
Competition Rules & Entry Requirements
- Poems should be themed around Spring (the season)
- Poems will be uploaded to our blog, so by submitting your poem you agree to this
- All poems must be original and not published anywhere else
- Entries from all over the world accepted, however they must be written in English
- Entries should be emailed to; [email protected] with the subject containing Poetry Competition and then it will be uploaded to our blog (here)
- Unfortunately poems containing profanity cannot be accepted
- We reserve the right to not publish a poem which we feel is ‘unsuitable’ for our website
- In order for your entry to count, please share this page of entries on at least one social media site, such as Facebook, Twitter or Google+… and why not ‘Like’ us on Facebook or follow us on Twitter too!
We believe that poetry is best judged by the people and as such we will be using social shares as part of the judging process.
Terms and Conditions
Competition open to anyone, anywhere in the world. Only one entry per person will be accepted. All entries must be received by 1st May 2013 at midday GMT by email. The winner will be notified within 7 days of the competition closing. No cash alternatives will be offered as an alternative to the prize of a Graf von Faber-Castell – Guilloche fountain pen.
Below are a list of all the entries in no particular order, other than that which we received them. If you like one please free free to share it on Twitter, Facebook, or Google+.
View our full range of Faber Castell pens in our online pen shop
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Suzanne Griffiths, Cheshire
A splurge of purple,
teeming mass and blooming tangle,
dances its way through decaying leaves
emerging as joyous, self-effacing crocus
bobbing heads rhythmically
to welcome in the Spring.
The Coldest March since 87 ~ Is This Spring!
Its March, It should be spring,
The bright daffodils unfurl and their trumpets herald that thing
But the bee sting cold ends of my fingers,
Is telling me, winter lingers.Its March It could be spring
Let our moods as one up swing
Rebirth re-growth renew,
Camelia flowers bathed in morning dew.
Its March it would be spring
But winter has us gripped and is spoiling the whole darn thing
It’s said, hope springs eternal
But this winter grip is infernal.
I smell spring in the air
Can it be true?
The country is under snow
The public are blue
In my street the sun shines
There are only blue skies
My cat ventures outdoors
I see his surprise
Chasing his shadow
Amongst new-budded grass
The bin-men are whistling
Happy as they pass
It gladdens my heart
I let out a sigh
Throw open the windows
As winter’s gone by!
Now that Spring is almost there, make “The Pen Company” your place to share,
New born lambs, buds awakening on the trees, and the scent of the flowers in the air!
The upcoming spleandour of beauty and colours of flowers wherever you look,
What a shame, not to write down these wonderful sights, for all to read, in a book.
A fountain of life appearing everywhere and all the people liberated by the purity of the air,
Bees buzzing as they visit each delicate flower, Butterflies appearing, seeming to have no care.
Oh what joy to all the Spring can bring, everything blossoms and the lives of new lambs, are seen to begin,
Birds sing a chorus for all of us to adore and the winter shadow, is lifted once more, for the sun to come in.
Spring is a time for all to be happy and carefree, just look around you and you are bound to see,
Everyones happier and somehow, things always seem much brighter and better than they used to be!
I grad my boots, my rainy day hat to keep out the April showers
Stroll to the park greeting daffodils and snowdrops on my way
The swing sway with screams of spring delight from winter hidden children.
Watching the spring lambs jumping with glee, being born and bleating for mum
.. there is no better place than Shropshire in the Spring time..
I grab once more for boots for hoots and screams in the evening air..
replacing bleak nights of winter chill..
long now forgotten in spring fresh air..
Maureen Fleming, East Kilbride
Spring is here or so we’ve been told,
but how can it be if the weather’s so cold?
and all of the gardens are covered in snow.
Spring is here?
How do we know?
We can’t see the flowers or leaves on the trees,
we don’t hear the birdsong
or buzzing of bees.
There’s no lambs a leaping,
there’s no fields of clover
is Nature still sleeping?
is Winter not over?
But wait everyone,
be of good cheer
I’ve just seen the Sun
SPRING IS HERE.
buds push through
Seeing grey skies,
they bow their heads
in frosty air.
The Season of Prosperity
The calm stillness of the air at sunrise,
Spring has resurfaced note the sun’s reprise.
The dew that glazes the awakening grass,
Glistening and enriched by the nurturing forecast.
In the newly laid Aspen tree which was recently bare,
A gilded Goldcrest’s tune chirps through the air.
A fluttering butterfly weaving its way,
Inherent within the splendour if for only one day.
A myriad of colours splattered across,
Dahlias and orchids and Wall Screw moss.
Blossoming and resurgent the embodiment of hope,
Promise flickering brightly within spring’s flourishing scope.
The subtle beauty of Cherry blossom alluring,
Sunglow strands and carnation petals incurring.
The sweet aroma of Honeysuckle emitted,
The faded stifled colours of past seasons omitted.
Spring being nature’s way to cicatrize,
With its subjects rejoicing following winter’s demise.
The cotton clouds which sail on by,
Now have free wonderment to roam in the sky.
What the equinox started the solstice will end,
Into astringent darkness we will now descend.
But the blessings that the refulgent season has planted,
Illuminating simplicity, spring leaves us enchanted.
Every twig is so fresh, it shakes my flesh,
It sends fragrance to everybody,
Spring yawns and I become a helper to its yawn.
We mingle all together to be in harmony with God
And sky of Weather.
Every drop of Spring pretends to be a ring,
Ringing loud and absolutely proud.
Every drop of Spring has a twin,
It is like me and you aspiring at sin.
It is a core twist transforming every mist.
Ayesha Sahar Mirza, Karachi, Pakistan
The wonderful colour green,
Can now be seen peeping out of the leaves.
The soft twittering of the birds,
Can now be heard.
The vibrant colours of the earth,
Are now meeting the eyes of life on earth.
The shy Sun hiding from the world,
Can now be seen smiling upon the world.
The pleasant voices of children’s play and pleasure,
Give the tense old folk’s some sense of leisure.
The withered old trees,
Can now be seen as well as they can be!
The flowers that the winter had cut,
Are now forming into bloomingly beautiful buds.
As the night approaches,
The young moon in the west recurves, and shining low,
Looking like a slender shaving thrown up from a bar of gold.
Suddenly, the harmonious night air was filled with a sweet melody,
Of a band nearby playing a charming melody.
All singing tunefully a musical phrase:
‘Spring is a beautiful creation that God has ever made!’
birds and bees sense they’re welcome
sweet perfume envelops
Signs of Spring
The nights get lighter,
The sun shines brighter,
New flower’s greet the day.
The rabbits come out
And run about
Chasing Winter away.
And one last thing
That heralds Spring,
It is a merry sound.
That tinkling tune
Just after noon,
An ice cream van on its round.
Blossom petals on warm breezes,
Birdsong in the trees.
Sunshine sneaking through the clouds
And lambs gambol in lush velvet fields.
Spring jolts our senses from Winter’s drear….
Sally J Blackmore
Furl and flick of buds sticky with
newly-risen sap, set to
twist, twitch, burst – defying
frost’s icy burn.
Shrug of cherry blossom, heavy
with pastel petal or late-snowflake,
Fidget of springald sapling
chastened by capricious wind.
Fickle glow of virtue, blushed
by early-season sun, cruelly
sliced by hoar’s untimely turn.
Growth undimmed by Spring’s
fitful whimsy. Giddy senses
at full flame, flirting in the face
of implacable renewal
Falls and falls
Green shoots alive
the tawny owl
A bare oak branch
Neither blinks nor shivers
The sparkle on the lake has lost its splendour
Gnarly hands that held the pen
Through this writer`s frigid nights
Absorbing, retreating, relieving from arthritic joints
As sunlight fills again
Warming words and page and ink alike
Playing softly into dusk`s hour
Springing life into the struggling
Writings of the scripter.
Filling, feeling, telling the joys
Of tulips, crocus, daffodils
It`s spring time in the yard
Alors mon dieu, je dit merci!
Encore une fois. Encore.
Lovely Lady Spring
Spring I love you, but where are you?
Come sing the song of spring to me
Sing to me with steely determination
And throw your flowery arms around me.
In your flowing gown of green moss
Wearing your crown of irises and tulips
Dancing across the land of time
Nearer ever do you come.
I am bent under the weight of winter
I need you to put spring in my step.
Sing to me with steely determination
And throw your flowery arms around me
Everything is born anew.
Early morning excitement
When the glorious sun is shy,
Saying goodbye to England
At the speed of light I fly.
Arriving on foreign soil
I find many people surround me,
But the sun beats down on my head
And my heart is filled with glee.
Minutes and hours move forward gently
Day and days – they pass me by,
As I breathe in the floral air
I spot a fragile butterfly.
Reluctantly I return back home
Complete with a heavy heart.
My mind shuts down and I hear no sounds
Again I’m waiting for spring to start.
It is typical nowadays to give everything a tag, to invent a new name, a label to brag.
We are told on TOWIE that everything is ream and we all know the expression – “living the dream”.
There’s a new obsession daily, it’s on the front of every mag, but they all share one thing incommon – an expiry tag.
For a tag is a label which we use to define, to identity, describe, it’s a bit like a sign.
But these tags we use, only tell half of the tale, like the tag on the clothes in a department stores sale.
Until you look close and have a thorough dig through, will you then find what you already knew.
For that tag on those clothes is merely a lie, as the sale is for items you would never dare buy.
So if you ever dreamed of being a WAG, a pin-up on Facebook or even the next hash tag.
Do bear in mind what you are trying to achieve, is simply a tag we all agree does deceive.
For it’s the tags that exist which we cannot see, those labels undisturbed by greed or vanity.
A thing such as love and its ubiquitous ways, a word which is timeless and not the latest craze.
Love is a tag, attached with invisible string, it will never cut, tear, fade or even singe.
It needs no introduction, no lights to dazzle; it’s not pretentious or garish unlike a vajazzle.
Love is bold but it is far from brash, love is tag with no timeline, it doesn’t end with a link or start with a hash.
Its the tag of love that we should cherish in life, like the tag of a friend, a husband, a wife.
But lets start right now and create a new trend, type #Love, now just press send.#
Zully Bartley, Michigan USA
Daydreams In Spring
Spring you came
in a snowy flurry.
Teasing our warm
She dreams of days
that soon shall be here.
Days of summer
Where walks in parks
across a planked bridge
listen to her footsteps
across the rivers pond.
Paddle boats await
for those to ripple
the waters along
Tall feathered grass
mixed with cattails
sway in the breeze.
Along the grassy way
angel feathers stripped
from their wings found.
Where she smiles
at the sun facing
the gods sweet kiss.
With camera in hand
ducks do pose gallantly
spreading their feathers
with a “look at me” way.
In the end a soft swirl
of ice cream cone calls
as the gazebo whispers
sit in here with me for awhile
As you gather
of this day.
Spring time daydreams
oh how they flow.
When the seasons change…
The warm sun melts away the snow
Creating a place for the flowers to grow
Butterflies are fluttering and birds are soring
The air around us is much more warm
Colours of the rainbow and the smell of flowers
This gives this season its power
Decorative eggs, tweeting chicks, hoping bunnies
So much to see and do with Easter we celebrate
It’s what we love to do
With spring there is a change
Taking us from the cold into the warm April rain
We celebrate this season with all the festivities and activities
Labour Day and May Day
Spring break and Easter
And let’s not forget our spring cleaning, a fresh start for a fresh season
With spring time you don’t need a reason.
The beginning of a cycle that is flawless from nature
the fresh vigour of life that is so copious and real,
misty hazy dew in the dawn of the early morning
the drizzling of rain awakening all that is sleeping,
the dislike for the despondence of a melancholy winter,
the prime element of spring arising from its awakening,
leading up to rich and plentiful growth,
exquisite flowers blossoming and beginning their giving life
A Popular sight
Trees take shape
Bird chorus song
So a seed
Caitlyn Marie, Michigan, USA
Looking out on my deck, I see the sunlight shining bright.
The snow is melted and grass is here
A bird’s nest has reappeared.
Joyous sounds fill the air
No more leaves and no more grey
Only warmth after April and in May.
The cold finally ended
Fireplaces were how we depended.
It used to be hot coco
Now it’s time to be loco.
Picking flowers, the fresh smell of pollen everywhere.
All the bees abuzz and bears awaken.
Trees are living and growing, everyone’s shaking
Berries are sprouting, kids are picking
Weddings are being held, bells are chiming
Citizens are rhyming.
Oh what inspiration Spring can be.
Winter has gone, and taken with it the snow
spring breathes its life into nature once again
nights are still cold, we’ve yet to see warmth’s weekend
upon this day, we’ll wait for nature to welcome us
mourning winter’s passing with flowers in hand.
To compliment © Aval-Ballan. Painting No.10
The dark depths,
Tired from tossing us like matchsticks,
Is now still,
Cold air dances,
Whipping our cheeks like playful hands.
We wait, and we pray,
Bones ache with the rot of fatigue,
Hands are withered from rope,
The mist which envelopes us,
Hiding the world,
Seems to finally clear,
Through the denseness,
Something rises, something wonderous.
Do we dare trust our eyes?
Ahead, as the crow flies, could it really be…
‘Land!’ comes the shout from a haggard throat.
‘Land!’ the glee is echoed.
The word we have dreamed of,
The release we have longed for.
The mist parts but briefly to reveal before us,
Land and the welcoming approaching dawn.
The wind marches off in a huff,
blown over the hills on a sugar puff,
tinkling chimes as it goes,
then queues up behind now distant snows.
April the next in line,
wasn’t ready quite on time.
So June arrived instead,
but May casts a clout around her head.
April now showered and fully dressed,
picks up the cobwebs all distressed
and puts them up where they look the best,
as nets on windows they now rest.
She sweeps the mad March Hares away,
washes the dishes of disarray,
scrubs the corners of all the floors,
reigning through the house, completing chores.
She rhymes and reasons as she goes,
dusting up high on tippy toes,
thinking pleasant thoughts and singing in the rain,
then all washed out…she showers again.
Great expectations, managed
All through winter we sit tight and hug our knees,
Begging for spring to bring leaves to the trees,
Begging for lambs and for no more rain,
And begging to see the sun again,
Now your holy shrines, I hate to desecrate,
But, well the truth is spring isn’t that great,
Rain still pours from clouds up high,
And I don’t see the sun lighting up the sky,
So on the first of March it’s not going to mark the end,
Of thick duvets and snow, so let’s just pretend,
That gloves and hats have been fumbled into our cellars,
(Instead of still being constant hallway dwellers.)
I’m not mean I just don’t want you to be upset,
When three days of sun, is the best you’re going to get,
Because spring is good, but not as great as you think trust me,
I mean after a whole year anyone’s memory will be a little rusty
Spring is the thing that I rarely forget:
Freshly cut grass is often smelt,
pretty leaves are often felt,
singing birds are often heard;
all are left undeterred.
For those reasons, and others too,
I bet spring is the thing that you rarely forget.
Lo! Behold the springtime’s here!
That knows not sunless dusks;
No rush says autumn – dear
Me, the life’s so full of husks.
None is Life but a moated grange,
Thou the king and thou the pauper.
Frets arise and awe so strange
O’er reckless times so much steeper.
And though, Life bestows its love
For all who asketh, friend or foe,
Gladness to thee, it shall be;
Such pure a dream that thee must know…..
My beloved goddess
Can’t you smell the ink into the wind?
Spring, my goddess, is taking a sip from her warm cup.
Every flower dances and seems to write a word on her emerald dress.
“Life!” is the eternal word she writes on every single petal she gives birth to,
that’s how my beloved spring comes to life for me once again…
The ripples of a shimmer,
as sun, glistening, sets
The night of a dawn
In summer’s laze an early yawn
For winds outstretched,
And transgressions born
Leaves flutter uselessly
blanketing the ground
Crackling with a whispering sound
Of glacial stillness, not a soul to be found
Then in the dead of cold’s transcendence,
Fading fast the spell’s incandescence
wombed tears fall to wash away
the remnants of the year’s decay
an awaiting bloom left in its lay.
After a while, spring doesn’t touch you,
Sunlight is harsh, even through
Your eyes are like an
Over exposed film
Craving for the dark,
Or maybe it touches you so much
That everything blurs
Like a highway seen through
the windscreen of a speeding car.
You are so still, so silent, so solitary,
That the flicker of a moth’s wing
Shatters your reserve,
Or moving so fast, so suddenly,
That the slow motion
Universe of mundane living
Seems like a mysterious inhibition.
You are clothed in
Layers of compulsion,
An oversized snowman melting
in the April heat.
You are not supposed to love spring,
Or only love it
In the language of solecism,
You think experience
is benumbing, you think
A skin tough like leather
Armours your quivering inside,
But then you throw your face
Against the sun,
And you are nothing more
Than a three year old child
With a skinned knee.
Shapes in the Clouds
The only time we lose the magic in life,
Is when we stop searching for it within ourselves.
Squint your eyes to see sparkles in the light,
Take your childhood books down from the shelves.
Lay in the park with a daisy chain in your hair,
Turn the pages and open your imaginations.
Know that this is a moment and be there,
Be inspired by a stranger’s creations.
When the light fades and the stars come out,
Wish on the first and wish for something impossible.
Be so full of hope that there is no room for doubt,
Believe that not only do fairies exist – it’s probable.
Lay down on your pillow and dream while you’re still awake,
Be certain of the perfection in the people that you love.
Trust that nobody will ever break a promise that they make,
And tomorrow, look for shapes in the clouds that are above.
Vivacious spring, what a beautiful thing!
But the essence of nostalgia still haunts me
As the ever present white blanket of snow covers the streets
I feel so oppressed because I cannot go on a shopping spree!
Grass is swiftly encrusted with sharp,pristine icicles whilst I’m indoors
Swept by my warm, thermal sheets
Unaware of what remains on the ground floors
Still in denial , that spring and I will meet
Dominant winter sets the scene
The thought of spring keeps me keen
Days later my wishes are granted
Spring has never been so enchanted
Vivid signs are abundantly clear
Spring,spring, spring is here!
Reviving my sense of smell from the dead
My eyes are blinded by the nature forming next to the shed
Spring,spring,spring is here.
winter yawns and covers her cold mouth with her pale, milk skin, white hand.
the bright auburn / yellow warm light of spring illuminates my faded rustic curtains.
i address the day with much hope and excitement as i get out of bed
and open my window, breathing in a new freshness, as i gaze happily
at the pink and white blossomed trees and emerald green shrubs.
orange and purple wildflowers dot the mildew – speckled shining new grass.
new feelings, emotions, baby animals and new beginnings are everywhere.
bumble bees skate awkwardly over flower tops like little fat stripey zeppelins.
monarch butterflys with red and black sails dance gracefully amid the swan plants like
winter’s mountains are reduced to molehills! as a cheerful benediction like a meditation
engulfs my mind ….. Soft As Syrup.
i walk through the electric, colourful park and see lines of ducklings following their mother
in single file,on the lakes diamond sunlit wavey water’s surface.
young lovers holding hands, smile as they walk passed me, their eye’s glazed with romance, while others embrace on park benches whispering and laughing now and then.
as i walk my mind wanders to the eternal, still, secret place where i feel the creator,
the loving force of the universe telling me to enjoy my intuition, my heartfulness, and joy,
as the warm golden sunlight cascades through the tall , statued old pine trees.
I sit in the tall yellow heather grass,
around me children joyfully run and play shouting and squealing happily,
chasing eachother, and radiating utopia and energy.
I smile again on this perfect, enchanting spring day full of heavenly light.
i stand up , dust my self off , swing my jersey around my shoulders
and walk the long track back home……….
Spring at the moment is hard to tell,
Whether your camping away or in a hotel,
The reason for this horrible pain,
Is that this spring is nothing at all but simply rain.
The parks are drenched from head to toe,
So this spring is really a low,
The way people sit at home,
Bored and cold and still as a stone,
So basically what I’m trying to say,
Is please rain just go away!
I’m bored stiff waiting for the post,
All my family just have to boast,
Boasting about the big buff pillows,
Whilst there singing with the armadillos,
Another country isn’t that great,
In fact I don’t give them a rate,
Perhaps there warm, fun and up to date,
But at any point can come an earthquake!
You can’t be sure that spring is here,
Not when your a man in a pub full of beer,
Staying inside is a real old bore,
Nothing to do especially when your poor,
So going outside is just as bad,
So i suppose I could say I’m pretty much glad.
I don’t show off about my new sofa,
But if you want to know come a bit closer,
Sometimes a smile is all you need,
Everybody needs it, is that agreed?
So now go outside but mind the mud,
Get stuck in it and I’ll give you a tug.
I get the post and all I see,
Is “oh there’s so much sun, oh look at me!”
Spring Is Perfect
How many petals must spiral from my Anemone
before I realise this love is unfading,
My twirling cane is perpetual, for your touch
is eventual – warm shivers of the body pervading.
Meanwhile Mizpah cradles us, cradles lust
and cradles love. Both ubiquitous.
Thus never worry for it plagues the heart
with blackness merely a figment,
An apprehension of drowning in the future,
But the powerful current is not malignant.
I embrace love now and the Phoenix will fly again
through raging blazes, ages transpire.
We respire. Live.
Between the polar transients of beginning and end,
In which a kiss falls upon the lips
like a single stone obdurate to pressure,
Through Eden ascend, Heaven – you are sainted.
Crown my heart in its victory
for you are complex, yet simply beauteous.
A deluge of gratitude will never be enough,
for in my life, you eclipsed everything insidious
I am not perfect, but strive to be
so when perfection stands before me, I see.
Iolanda Foschetti, Italy
It comes lush and vibrant and overwhelming.
It isn’t meek and mild like the lambs in the fields.
This is wild.
It has no time to wait,
It has rested long enough;
hidden, silent, poised.
Now, as if possessed, it pushes and shoves and explodes.
Its power is frightening,
Its life-filled fullness scary.
Relentlessly Spring comes.
Once such a joy.
But now, in these, my Autumn come Winter years,
All is slower, energy wanes,
No longer can it keep up with cutting such rushing grass and clearing such wanton weeds.
Spring is a recurring miracle,
and a warning,
Of time passing,
And of things to come.
A Season of Thaw
Pixies and fairies glittering came,
Mushy musings and zephyr they gave.
Here arrives another spring,
rousing the fields and rivers to the brim.
The kernels of infatuation once again radiating,
Lovebirds, doves and sylvan creatures are wooing.
Sorrows and sadness faded away,
Promises of hope on the way.
Rustling and rumbling leaves and boughs!
In tune the nature, enraptured in a whiff.
Nibbling the dormant sea, mountains and barren land,
Gushing breeze here by passes.
Tinkling them to lives,
Bouncing on the buds,
Dodging the dried leaves,
The whole eco is wrapped in romance.
Forests are strewn in melodies.
Cacophony of the giggles here reverberates.
Sun in the sky bright and fine.
Dew drops evaporated with a shine.
Green grass, pink flowers make us smile
Here comes another spring in my life.
Bitter memories of the past vanishes,
Better toast of life here awaits.
Happy days and joyful nights
If ever my life could be filled with springs!
Fresh and aromatic my journey seasoned.
Never once will I be bored.
This spring, the ring of rejuvenation and energy,
filled my bosom with spirit and synergy.
‘It starts with Demeter’s, joyful rhyming song
Gone is winters blaze that felt eternally strong
As Persephone once more dances on earth
Her Mother sows fertile seeds, her Godly worth
They are such familiar strangers, these lovely stems!
A palette of colour, lovelier than Olympus’ gems
The gold daffodil is neighboured by the lustful rose
While the wildflower dances in brightly made clothes
As mortals walk through these ever changing glades
The Gods feel the envy that immorality pervades
To mark rhyming beauty in these flowering seasons
Contains moments of eternity for mortals reasons’
spring wishes for my child
With sunkissed hair
my winter child
you run across the blooming fields;
i am always by your side.
i may be but a shadow
on the stalks of wheat
or that whiff of shimmery air
carrying a smell so sweet.
Let the dew-encrusted grass
fill your eyes with laughter’s spark
as if my little princess were
sitting next to me at the park.
there’s the warmth of that gentle sun –
soak it in as if it were my embrace
for all I can offer – past memories
and photographs of my face.
“Be strong, little one”
i yearn to call out and
to teach you to climb the tree
Let your spirit fly about.
Feel the wind through your hair,
listen to the songbirds while
you search for the letters
which contain your papa’s words.
The Oncoming Spring
The darkness has lingered this year,
In the bitter mornings and the lonely nights,
The cold is a blanket upon the land,
And not even the Spring can save us.
Snow has poured from the heavens, great swathes of pure white,
Have cleansed the earth, for a time,
Before grey returned in the hurrying footsteps,
And the world was grim once more.
There is joy in the first daffodil,
In bluebells and blue tits and bees,
But the wind has not been tamed and she gives a shrill cry,
as she soars through narrow valleys.
At last, blue skies! And the holiday of rebirth brings hope of reprieve,
Of heat and of the sea,
And we believe, for a time,
That the darkness doesn’t linger, And the sun will never leave.
I wandered ancient cobbled streets
Just after dawn’s first light
Breathed in so deep the Hampshire air
Then felt my heart take flight
My spirit soared – winter’s grasp was gone
Land free from nature’s prowling beast
Its tight clenched fist was now undone –
The icy touch of frost had ceased
The generous hand of spring had come
Palm open, willing now to give
I watched cold back of winter, glum
Retreating as I saw life live
The crocus, once recumbent
Now poked up its golden head
While all around, nature I found,
Was waking from sleepy bed
The primroses in freshening breeze
Welcomed me by them – one by one
I strolled past fields of new-born lambs
Saw some take first steps, others run
Walking through rural English scene
I savoured all and was entranced
Fresh spring-time hazel stood, serene
Its catkin lamb’s tails waved and danced
I ambled under beech and birch
And English oak as well
Anticipating growth to come
Of buds, still yet to swell
The jostling crowds of daffodils
All seemed to call to me
“Look we’re here! Look we’re here!”
A noisy yellow symphony
Spiked stinging nettles teased nearby
“Come close… and feel our bite!”
As dock leaves, gently by their side
Offered such sweet respite
So on I walked, and took the lead
That morn when all were still a-bed
I stood and gazed at dew’s fine jewels
Entrapped on spider’s silken thread
As sun’s now warming rays shot forth
To light the hills on high
I heard morning birds rehearsing
For their chorus in the sky
And many a hazy country lawn
Became a concert hall
For joyous melodies of blackbird,
Robin, starling, thrush and all
A virtuoso orchestra
Played then, slowly, in my mind
As all the notes of nature
Were so gloriously combined
Then… echoing from far off tree
I heard my favourite sound!
A cuckoo proudly proclaimed “spring!”
Rebirth was all around!
When winter’s iron-strong arms release their hold,
Ice crystals shatter, melt; the frozen earth relents.
The queen stretches her creaky limbs,
Drops robes of white, in loose and lazy splashes, on the sun-warmed ground;
Pulls on tender golden-green silks, stretching to the sky;
Displaying her spring finery: one hundred thousand jewels,
Pale emeralds that rattle in the warming breezes.
Beneath her, sleeping buds awaken, push their tender snouts straight up,
Proudly, through thawing soil.
Secret Garden in Spring
You take us to your childhood house
its tombstone-marble floors
loose cables knotted in the dark
like pits of rattled-snakes
where upturned cockroaches
collapse under the scent of mould
and stray cats circle the fences
as if they are guarding something valuable.
I escape through a dusty shutter
take to the garden with our girls
where we collect five different shades
of rose petals in wonder, our hands
cupped with colour, velvet and perfume.
The watery sounds of pigeons distracts us,
a family flock cooing in the gutter,
and Lyra pricks her finger on a thorn
a perfect speck-circle of blood
swells in the reverent morning sun
like an oncoming train in the distance,
she squints her eye to magnify the damage
scope the broken bushes and dead birds
embedded in the margins
of an abandoned, irretrievable past.
Inside you greet holographs of your parents,
yourself as a young boy
calling out to your friend across a window,
praying at the foot of your bed.
Your fingers twitch for a sign,
or signal, something to show you
what to do after your father’s funeral,
some kind of answer for his death.
The Brave Flower
I sit here in silence
I sit here and wait
I sit here and ponder
on my fate
The flowers surround me
The flowers so proud
The flowers that outshine me
in the crowd
A little girl walks by,
entranced by the flowers
she bends down to pick one
they all part and cower
except for me
brave and alone
she picks me up
and takes me home
I’m loved by her family now
and its all thanks to spring
the time for second chances
and new beginnings
Should I be wearing
Yellow and red?
(red raspberries and yellow in the buttercup)
Not yet, not yet,
When there is no spring in me
And I am still caught
in the lineaments of time
Surrounded by a geometry of place
Pallid in the veins.
Fingers stained with juice
and pollen on my lips,
I’ll watch these sunsucked cowslips
Turn to seed
And linger by the vine
Til the berries have been picked.
yesterday and today
spring begins again…
off the antlered tips of yearling trees
the air tells you
it is possible
it can happen
there is a chance
you stand in showers of cherry blossom
and know all of your longings
your hands reach up
seize pieces of the sky
It’s a risk with anything new.
Each garden is eager to know
greenness: its flicker, then fade
as driving battalions of snow
assault both bud and blade—
but spring (believe it) is true.
A Celebration in Music
On their backs in the crackling frost, hatless,
a chorus of pensioners listening for the first thrust
of early rhubarb.
A low fat moon glimmers weakly overhead,
fuzzy from the incoming wash of light pollution.
Illuminated dimly, an elderly man
clasped to an ancient apple tree, waiting for those
tender little gas jets to spurt into life.
He reaches up into the veins of the branches,
humming along to Lord Lamborne, Tom Putt,Lady Sudely.
While his wife buries her head in a clump
of unripe primroses.
Coaxing a breathless thread of a song from
those pinkly frozen stems.
All together now,
as one clear voice.
Spring is upon us,
let us rejoice!
A week ago
the woodland floor was brown.
Now days of sun
and showers of gentle rain
have brought on
such a spurt of rapid growth
that not just leaves,
but buds and full blown flowers
above the fallen leaves and grass.
Each yellow flower
with deeper yellow throat
releases poignant perfume
to the air,
to stir the senses
with the scent of Spring.
Shira, South Africa
My path is paved
With a blanket of thorns
The trees howl with vengeful wrath
Leaves are left broken and torn
Roses kidnapped by pink spurge’s
And darkness flourishes
But every morning our roads cross
Spring awakens from its slumber
The brown fields shed its dryness
The light dazzling on fresh water
Luscious leaves shelter
The sweetest fruit in celebration
Springs tranquility liberated
And all suffering forgotten
But as his silhouette fades
Into the distance
It all returns to true form
Of infinite winter nothingness
What is it?
Is it the smell of the newly mown lawn,
or maybe the sight of lambs just born?
What is it?
Is it the daffodil nodding its head,
a carpet of yellow where ever we tread?
What is it?
Days when the sun is beginning to show.
Light that casts shadows on the earth below.
What is it?
We know what it is.
It’s the season of Spring.
Giving life and joy
to every new thing.
Never stop believing,
Watching your mum
Turn up the heating,
Get the music beating,
It’s spring time so let’s cheer up
Paul de Aragon
Autonomy In Four Colours
For A Moments Attention
A White Veil
An Infinite Sequence Of Terms
For Too Long
Silence in the wind,
for too long, until now,
yellow orb slowly awakens
under vagabond clouds
of pinks and purples,
yawning trees, in no hurry
to explode with expressions
of life, like yoga, they breathe
inhaling each succulent whisper,
to capture all beauty inside-
individual buds, as the concert
increases in tempo, earth drums
in steady beat of daffodils loud trumpet,
so crystal clear, as a water splash,
the gentle bells of lily-of-the-valley,
harmonious lyric upon the breeze,
songbirds ignite the spirit,
alive is the breath upon my heart,
this voice, forever, inside my mind,
its painting transcends my vision,
I stand inside the rains of a
heavenly talent called Springtime
Caroline Minnis Carrier
Spring fling !
The knarled hand of winter holds us still,
within the grip of it’s wild winds,
we advance, bent under the frozen crystals dropped upon our bowed heads.
Advancing towards home,
dreams of log fires, hot chocolate, melting butter on crispy toast……….
Why welcome in spring with wobbly body parts ?
Poor sunbeams bouncing in to find ungrateful hearts.
Let us hold back on cakes, biscuits and tarts,
(easy rhyme I must confess, poor offering to the arts)
This morning explosions of colour,
blue sky, cumulus float in the airs,
warmth envelopping me like a long lost lover,
the wild strawberries flowering, promise of fruit
is absolutely nothing,
to do with eating,
desire for feeling,
into the wild and wonderful green grass,
holding on to the essence…..
Is it ?
HELLO SUNSHINE !
knowing already what awaits…..
wild fruit, wild mushrooms, and your warm caress.
feeling, eating, reeling, rolling and falling……
into the arms of the essence of spring.
YES, YES !
Blue Tits – Spring is Sprung.
Come the parents, hurrying,
Back and forth a’scurrying,
For their brood.
Eight nestlings there, awaiting;
Their hunger not abating,
All little beaks agaping.
Food – food – food.
Fly hundreds of trips a day;
Avoid raptors and the Jay,
Who will try to steal away
And nests intrude.
Lots of pollen, nectar, sap.
Insects, spiders, all on tap.
Many seeds to fill the gap;
Takes two or three weeks to fledge.
Weasels, squirrels, on the ledge.
Parents watchful, all on edge.
Upside down, on twigs they’ll cling,
Join flashing flocks, on the wing
And through the year, call and sing.
The Fall of Winter
Eyes of burnt gold,
Eyes of Fire.
Eyes that pierce the cold,
Eyes of desire.
The heart that was stilled with ice
Shall awaken with flame.
The soul that was imprisoned by sorrow
Shall be freed from shame.
Light is rekindled,
The world has changed,
The shrouded veil vanished.
The Earth is silver, the water glass.
The shadows have fallen. Their time has past.
A figure alone stands atop the mountain.
Reflection of splendour in the glimmering fountain.
With staff aloft,
He stirs natures slumber.
His touch silken soft,
Though his voice rolls like thunder.
The wind carried the whisperings of the leaves.
The pale folded flowers opened in the breeze.
A nightingaleâ€™s voice flitters through the trees.
A song of remembrance,
The fallen to grieve.
The silver shall melt,
The glass shall splinter.
Only in springs glistening eyes,
Are the memories of Winter.
Spring in the forest
Through the entwined canopy,
Filtered in the rays
Bearing the message of spring
Ending the dreary days
Till finally the snow,
It melted by,
Slowly and stealthily,
A gradual goodbye
Spring bloomed out
Suddenly ever so,
Unveiling the beauty underneath the snow
The squirrels peered out,
Sleepy in their wake,
Out came the goose,
And out came the drake
The trees their arms opened wide
Spring upon every bird did betide
As silently by the river,
Grew the first ever clover
Dew shining on its leaves
In hearts beat the harmony
That spring always brings.
The Silver Trees
Have you seen the silver trees
framed with golden yellow flowers
that grow at the bottom of campus?
Sometimes I hear their whisper
deep below my mind,
and I know that love truly is possible.
Once a rainbow danced above them,
holding them within its arms
and never more could I
doubt the wonder of God
Spring day dawning bright
Daffodils nodding sagely
New life follows snow
Out of the mist and brittle breeze, they come
And dance across the frosted furrows.
Their joy is momentarily mine as
We bound across the cracking ground.
Another stops before me on the path,
An open invitation in his stance.
A backward glance, he looks into the wind
Then watches as I wait to fall to earth.
Long and dark the winter,
long and dark and cold,
selfishness and sorrow
endemic in the world.
Every mother’s daughter
and every mother’s son
creeps in this petty pace
with faces dour and drawn.
At last a warmer breeze
plays gentle on the hours
bringing bees and swallows
and an opening of doors.
And now she comes walking
across the greening fields,
red clover in her footprints
and daisies in her curls.
She gladdens every heart,
makes every sourpuss smile.
Spring brings hope eternal,
and in her arms, a child.
Please plant these
To feed the bees!
Snapdragons, daffodils, and pansies.
Please donate some lemonade
To the town May Day Parade.
Please don’t feed that to the lambs
(They’ll eat the germs up off your hands!)
Please bet on a Grand National runner
To finance a new wardrobe before the summer.
Please, remember to stay off the grass
Before you all come to picnic en masse
Enjoy your extra hour of spring time sun
And please, we encourage you to have some fun!
Spring , spring up in joy,
Bursting thru’ the cold days.
Shooting up tiny green tongues,
Breaking stones and hard hearts.
to nurture the dead and dying spirits.
Ring, ring in the human senses
New births, birdsongs and berries,
Arias of desires, acres of happiness;
Most awaited symphony of the seasons.
Spring, let the creative juices flow,
with songs, dances, words and colours.
Ink them ,contour them, play them ,
Celebrate every moment of evanescence.
A New World
A new world bursts to life from all around us,
A world of celebration, warmth and joy.
A world with diamond sparkles in the water,
Where topaz blue and white wisps share the sky.
A world of sunshine so intense and dazzling,
That as it warms the backs of creatures sat below,
They sit around and contemplate its beauty,
A beauty that they thought they’d never know.
A paradise with birds with stunning plumage,
That soar and swoop and play so very free.
A world that’s bright and wonderful and perfect,
As spring compels the winter months to flee.
one thousand years
This time around
I wait, despite the Hour
untiring, for you to plant your
eyes on me,
claim my neck
as your territory,
unchartered, perhaps a wreck…
(yet not for long) then
the poison or the pain
past will be drawn when
you come, when you catch
that shiver I suddenly wore.
I’ll keep my watch
for one thousand years or
I think but a little more.
I will wait ’til you appear
by air or sea or land, -hear!
until you capture
my shadow and wear
it on your skin, so bare.
I’ll be twenty eight
for a thousand and a year
but I’ll wait
’til you draw near.
With daisies and wasps
And weeping willows too
Taking to the spring field
I dance amongst the sun
With a pen at hand I write
Words filled with music
And music filled with words
Connecting through my ears
I sit in the grass and enjoy
What so many are denied
In the open air
In the air
A child let go a balloon that spring,
a little girl who cried and blamed the sky,
the sky, the place of heaven to her,
but where her balloon had died.
Her mother pointed to the grass,
the violets sparkling along
the bluestone path, the swans courting
each other in the frog pond,
and said, It’s spring, it’s time
to look around,
and she lifted her daughter
high, with the abounding
joy of holding on, and the postponed
pain of one day saying good-bye.
A rainbow of spring
Come gaze apon her Iris bow
Spring’s vibrant colours all on show.
From crimson reds that arch so wide
Reflect the spring,that’s held inside
A blush of orange, beams so fine
Allows her yellow pride to shine.
Then etches greens that will cascade.
To fall on blues of every shade,
soon blend and mix to indogo
Caress her violets warm light glow.
No greater sight can reach the eye.
Our spring, embracing rainbowed sky
Out come the flowers all colourful and new,
Look at the sky it’s exquisite blue.
Look at the leaves back on the trees,
I bet you there’s fairies if we all believed.
Don’t you just love it when it’s spring,
All the birds come out to sing.
See the buttercups shine so bright,
It’s that special spring light.
So it’s spring time that time of year,
When we can all wake up to the sun and cheer.
Late this year
Unopened and unseen
Delayed the mirth of a new year’s rebirth
Tucked away not revealing the stem
The stalk of growth
Prevented, kept beneath
Pushing for light but forced
In the shade.
Waiting with an urgency of
Something nobody can quite describe
The needed warmth, light
The chill can still be felt as
The cold east wind blows its disdain in the face
Of the bloom.
It stands. It waits. It breaths
The warmth kisses the cheek of the ground in which I am suspended.
I am here. I am spring.
add one more blanket, drop
just one more tender layer
around winter’s caustic shoulders
to softly coax out change
purpose soft movements, prompt
buds that pulse momentum
tilting equinox, faltering
falling from night to day
whisk sprigs of birdsong, paint
staccato technicolour hues
sluice lazy, tidal stripes
of splintered earth away
find spring in your steps, burst
freely, whistle sunbeams
to scour the corners out
with novel possibility
In the springtime garden
The birds do sing in tree’s
The delicate rustle of the breeze
Rippling through the leaves.
The sunshine spreads it’s warmth
Tendrils touching all they can
Reaching and embracing
The grass and leaves and budding flowers.
Birds soaring through a clear blue sky
Geese curled sleeping on the grass
Others picking through the dirt
For the finest of tasty morsels.
The rose bushes do lay empty
But soon they will be filled
The skeletal limbs of the tree’s
Shall soon be clothed with leaves.
This is a springtime garden
Where life shall grow again
Sadness and pain have no place here
In the springtime garden.
A Season To Rejoice
The cold dark days of winter recede,
Signs of spring trying to succeed,
Where once frozen soil covered the ground,
Warmth from the sun causes seeds to stir,
New shoots of life begin to show,
Once out of sight under frozen snow
Up above in the warming air the birds now fly,
Searching for their mates in the sea of endless blue sky,
Creatures stir as if transformed
Nature knows a trick or two
The circle of life commencing once again
Spring is sprung you cry,
There is new life for all to see.
The Tree Across the Street
As the world shifts from monochrome to pastel
The tree across the street leaps into life
With an eruption of cherry confetti
They dance with no direction, pirouetting in the breeze
Before swooping down to litter the pavement with fragments of spring
The spectrum blossoms when the first tips fall
A new palette of warm yellows and dew greens painted in broad strokes
Cheeks kissed by stray rays of sun are flushed pink with heat
Charcoal winter thawed and conquered by a more hopeful hue
As we move into the sweeter territory
Of lighter nights and thinner tights
Its reign is glorious yet short lived
The season of the pink monsoon empties the branches of brightness
To give the other shades their moment in the sunlight
Buds on trees,
Daffodils in Yellow,
Grass growing under my feet,
Warmth on my skin,
At last its spring.
Living in Las Vegas the Springs are short,
the flowers barely have time to hold court,
the bees dance to show the way,
the hummingbirds drink nectar without delay,
Summer is coming to melt us all,
So we enjoy all we can and dream of the Fall.
I am Lilly Dee Humblebee,
Year after year you look forward to the spring to enjoy the singing birds and to relax in the sun,
Not me, Madame Humblebee.
Month after month I am working so hard, the birds are my burden, the sun burns on my wings.
I, Madam Humblebee have to be tough, just to realize that my honey is never enough.
Week after week during the spring you enjoy the wonderful smell of the flowers and the nice breeze striking your face.
Not me, Madame Humblebee.
Day after day the same routine, the flowers’ relentlessly smell rings my bell, the wind drives my pollen away.
I, Madame Humblebee have to fly overtime, despite trying my best, the queen complains: “Lilly are you not serving me my bread purest and fine?”
Minute after minute you enjoy the blue cloudless sky and the sound of the stream.
Not me, Madame Humblebee.
Second after second running out of time, the blue sky is my hourglass whose final falling grains warn of the first falling raindrops or the continuously setting sun.
I, Madam Humblebee have to go with the flow of the hive, never to discover the joy of life.
Should I, Lilly Humblebee, not change something to be free?
Season’s sweet green breath
shakes the fledgling season awake
to bask once more
in warming rays
beneath vast squinting skies
while landscape thick with brown
embellished by the verdant threads
of ancient patterns