"springtide" poems
I wonder if the sap is stirring yet,
If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate,
If frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun
And crocus fires are kindling one by one:
Sing, robin, sing;
I still am sore in doubt concerning Spring.
I wonder if the springtide of this year
Will bring another Spring both lost and dear;
If heart and spirit will find out their Spring,
Or if the world alone will bud and sing:
Sing, hope, to me;
Sweet notes, my hope, soft notes for memory.
The sap will surely quicken soon or late,
The tardiest bird will twitter to a mate;
So Spring must dawn again with warmth and
bloom,
Or in this world, or in the world to come:
Sing, voice of Spring,
Till I too blossom and rejoice and sing.
7.1k
Verse, a breeze ’mid blossoms straying,
Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee—
Both were mine! Life went a-maying
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,
When I was young!
When I was young?—Ah, woeful When!
Ah! for the change ‘twixt Now and Then!
This breathing house not built with hands,
This body that does me grievous wrong,
O’er aery cliffs and glittering sands
How lightly then it flashed along,
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,
On winding lakes and rivers wide,
That ask no aid of sail or oar,
That fear no spite of wind or tide!
Nought cared this body for wind or weather
When Youth and I lived in’t together.
Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like;
Friendship is a sheltering tree;
O the joys! that came down shower-like,
Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty,
Ere I was old!
Ere I was old? Ah woeful Ere,
Which tells me, Youth’s no longer here!
O Youth! for years so many and sweet
’Tis known that Thou and I were one,
I’ll think it but a fond conceit—
It cannot be that Thou art gone!
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet tolled—
And thou wert aye a masker bold!
What strange disguise hast now put on,
To make believe that thou art gone?
I see these locks in silvery slips,
This drooping gait, this altered size:
But Springtide blossoms on thy lips,
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes:
Life is but Thought: so think I will
That Youth and I are housemates still.
Dew-drops are the gems of morning,
But the tears of mournful eve!
Where no hope is, life’s a warning
That only serves to make us grieve
When we are old:
That only serves to make us grieve
With oft and tedious taking-leave,
Like some poor nigh-related guest
That may not rudely be dismist;
Yet hath out-stayed his welcome while,
And tells the jest without the smile.
2.9k
Who goes amid the green wood
With springtide all adorning her?
Who goes amid the merry green wood
To make it merrier?
Who passes in the sunlight
By ways that know the light footfall?
Who passes in the sweet sunlight
With mien so virginal?
The ways of all the woodland
Gleam with a soft and golden fire -- -
For whom does all the sunny woodland
Carry so brave attire?
O, it is for my true love
The woods their rich apparel wear -- -
O, it is for my own true love,
That is so young and fair.
2.5k
time steals up soft in autumn’s haze
through fallen leaves and frosted morn
no longer smiles through summer days
bears dreadful gaze of mercy shorn
scribes lines upon youth’s winsome face
and brings the ache of stiffened joint
gives halting stride and slower pace
age piled like leaves does thus anoint
yet in thine eye dwells springtide’s bloom
in ardor’s dance is lightened tread
warm voice dispels autumnal gloom
at gentle touch are decades fled
for love knows naught of count of days
let the years flow as they will
unclouded passion’s flames yet blaze
I shall be thy lover still
Jun 14, 2022
Jun 14, 2022 at 8:58 PM UTC
** we were strong, we were swift, we were brave.
Youth was a challenge, and Life was a fight.
All that was best in us gladly we gave,
Sprang from the rally, and leapt for the height.
Smiling is Love in a foam of Spring flowers:
Harden our hearts to him -- on let us press!
Oh, what a triumph and pride shall be ours!
See where it beacons, the star of success!
Cares seem to crowd on us -- so much to do;
New fields to conquer, and time's on the wing.
Grey hairs are showing, a wrinkle or two;
Somehow our footstep is losing its spring.
Pleasure's forsaken us, Love ceased to smile;
Youth has been funeralled; Age travels fast.
Sometimes we wonder: is it worth while?
There! we have gained to the summit at last.
Aye, we have triumphed! Now must we haste,
Revel in victory . . . why! what is wrong?
Life's choicest vintage is flat to the taste --
Are we too late? Have we laboured too long?
Wealth, power, fame we hold . . . ah! but the truth:
Would we not give this vain glory of ours
For one mad, glad year of glorious youth,
Life in the Springtide, and Love in the flowers.
2.1k
Cups of coffee and plates with sugar crumbs
from pastry warm with cinnamon and cardamom,
and books overturned on antique tables
with scruff marks and scratches, loved, well-used,
(and me, in the middle of it all, listening to the
heartbeat of this country and its sincerity,
learning wisdom through small things).
He is a six foot springtide of caffeine and literature,
effervescent with sincerity and kindness and warmth.
I smile at him over the rim of my cup, and
suddenly I am swept up and moving with
his current, in love with him and a summer
spent scribbling into casebound notebooks
and with my hair flying in the wind that rustles
the trees around us, and with his lips on my neck.
Wild roses on brick walls and wooden window frames,
and the lavender growing on the curb all smile,
content to witness summer love bloom like
all things tend to do, in this season and this place.
I let him explain to me the stars in nights that
never seem to really begin but last forever;
he teaches me in not-quite darkness what
they mean, and I tell him under fairy-lights
how small I feel in the multitude of this universe.
He nods solemnly and I feel his breath in my hair,
holding me on this earth as he shows me galaxies.
- lund. cs.
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 11:49 AM UTC
.
A thatched and wicker basket-nest
Cradles a cluster bright and new
And delicate and coolly blue,
With speckled royal freckles blessed.
The cherry blossoms pink the trees.
A snowy fall of tiny white
And quickly flipping petals light
Into an errant summer breeze.
Diffusely, prodigally blows
A heavy opiate-like scent,—
The lilac's prized accomplishment,—
The greenest envy of the rose.
And everywhere I idly walk
I see, in all the lightened notes
And whited tones and frosted coats,
The springtide paints that mix with chalk.
^ ^
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 5:28 PM UTC
Long have I longed, till I am tired
Of longing and desire;
Farewell my points in vain desired,
My dying fire;
Farewell all things that die and fail and tire.
Springtide and youth and useless pleasure
And all my useless scheming,
My hopes of unattainable treasure,
Dreams not worth dreaming,
Glow-worms that gleam but yield no warmth in gleaming,
Farewell all shows that fade in showing:
My wish and joy stand over
Until to-morrow; Heaven is glowing
Through cloudy cover,
Beyond all clouds loves me my Heavenly Lover.
1.6k
the hardest part was starving it
every ideal like springtide flowerets
you turned to archaic grisly gravel
watch them crash through
weathered rooftops
watch them fall
drawing maps with hungry voices
winding staircase. hidden street.
drained from stepping on recurrent
cryptic papers scattered floorboards
no matter how many times they're
cleaned, there they are
bright coral turns vile muddy brown
when it stays in the sun too long
alone, everybody knows that
that's what they thought
beneath a brittle beacon, cloudy day
they'll keep pretending, it'll be okay
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 9:43 PM UTC
As children, in this springtide of the year,
my two brothers and I would venture deep
into our woods, exploring all that had thawed.
Walking along, there was little need for talk,
absorbed as we were in the scents and sights
of lovely nature, awakening all around us.
Following a line from the artesian well that fed our home,
we listened for signs of an undiscovered, woodland stream.
There, we heard it. That secret, lovely gurgle, somewhere
hidden under soggy brown, deciduous leaves.
Excitedly, we used sticks of hickory and oak
to dig down, to free the living water.
Once we had found it, clear and singing,
we leaned in, working together to ease its path.
Time disappeared from our minds,
this self-appointed team of junior engineers.
Somehow, though we wouldn't have known it then,
that freshly springing water was life itself to us
surging forth once more, finding,
like each of us, its own way home.
Now I understand, remembering
our common sense of purpose,
the way we worked together,
with single-minded focus, why
freeing it really mattered to us,
mattered so very much,
and always will.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 8:44 PM UTC
think I shall be springtime; such clumsy
scent of the world collapsing not with nets
but hands not upon trellis but bodies –
sleep shall carry us to inches
of terrible speech such somnolent world senses
quietness in the rivers of our blood;
how murmurously veritable moment
leaps forth ripe in the air of such splendidness
when it was not mountains
but your breasts deep within the Earth of me
and I rain cleaving the scent of the world
into two separateness until the
enormously nude moon plunges within;
I shall be a tree
and you, a rose or springtide, or everything
that
blooms, withers,
dances – new beginnings;
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 8:39 AM UTC
.
*The tender Willow leaves whoosh softly
with the fickle cherry blossom breeze
Painting the colour
these inevitable days ,
the fragrant scent
of springtide
No longer holding back
the dreams from deep in a heart
waxing gibbous ,
the unopined moon
rose up over an unwritten poem
painting hues with words
shaping the shadows of its song
into a musically dappled tableau
stroked by the tickle of poignant whispers
waft from the veritable roguish winter nadir
― a latent and longing heart
― beneath
a sky full of stars*
✩ ✩ ☼ ✩ ✩
wild is the wind
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 4:31 PM UTC
Velveteen butterflies sail into strawberry way , strike a pose against the meditative , sunny disposition of the coming May
Harlequin horseflies and Bumblebee jesters
Pear bloom ballet , Mayfly soloist , interpretive Ferns are quite dashing in the Alabama breeze , Wood Thrush dancers and Mourning Dove romantics cooing in the Honey Locust trees
Madame April's storybook of Springtide scenes
and fairytale dreams ...
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 6:22 PM UTC
*Momma Thrashers working song , familiar voice of hedgerow levity
Timeless tune of the Springtide brevity
Pitch perfect Maytime sun-kissed divinity
Songs of hope and lasting serenity*
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 1:12 PM UTC
Two young lovers lie facing the moon
As they read lines of my muse passion
In other to discern the secret of my heart
Air of warm kisses kissed their thought
For they never parted not like we're fated to part
As petals of rose withered from my heart
Yet I am sorry to say I love you
For my mind is hungry and wait to devour you
as storm choruses your name into my heart
Maybe dead will be one to separate us at last
As the lilies attract so my love for you shine
jealousy flown away your love for my shrine
No deception for I filled your dream with kisses
As spinning ***** you reoccurred in my heart
I decide to go for the tree of passion will bear no fruit
In my heart I solely love you as a decorated thorns
Running still as water towards a turbine
Generating bewildered lights in our souls
As the energy continues to revamp our love
The springtide will make us fly as doves
Written by
Martin Ijir
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
When he asked me to draw something I made little flowers at the corners of pages and when I grew up they bloomed all over my notebooks, today I pick them up one by one, look through the pages to see him and the evenings humming birds sang on its branches.
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 10:26 AM UTC
*The crying sky with heavy afternoon crystal
drops of heartache tickling
sweetgrass mingled with newfound sunshine
With piedmont wine forming perfect pools ,
ushering streams to awaiting seas
A place to bathe for romantics like me
A home for springtide antics ,
for polka dot bullfrogs , singing daisies ,
red grass blankets and apple tree sergeants
Windemere spiderlings , crooning wood larks ,
hereford dancers crossing purple clover parks* ..
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 6:59 PM UTC
The Music in the Wind
Written by Adam M. Snow
O you sweet ol sound that grasp the wind,
you hold so tight to sway again -
through the branches springtide leaves,
such a tune these wind they weaves.
O that sweet ol song I heard before;
those magic notes, amusing score.
Like a moth's once soon cocoon,
your sweet ol song shall bring a new.
The songs that birds in morning sing,
those chapel bells whom we praise to ring.
Among the wind, they play so free -
O sweet ol sound, play again for me.
Let me hear o rustling branches,
a sound of an octave cord -
that of which o nature brings me,
the songs of which the tune - delights me.
The joy your tune in which it brings,
upon the wind - upon pigeons wings.
Songs of which entwined with man,
like that of many passing cars,
or the coming train to name of some;
a flowing rhythm - their own drum.
O this day your finest song,
I can hear it all day long.
To hear thee, o city music,
a concerto to befit,
- entwined with the sound of nature
- entwined with the earth for sure.
Your tune so great it can be seen,
through the branches, leaves of green.
Such an awe we shall not waste,
the joyance of sweet nature's fate.
http://amsnow.weebly.com
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 2:49 AM UTC
How fair is it to deprive the world of its wildest flower?
I just don’t know! How should I? I may be wrong!
A flower that retains the dew of dawn, a symbol of youth and springtide
The fountain from where the vivid colors rise
Now the last ship has sailed, seeking the meridian of hope,
I heard that hope is the last thing that dies when everything seems lost,
But unfortunately it dies, leaving us numb- oh try to show sympathy!
Through smoke appeared her sparkling eyes
I tried to envision the beauty…
But my dreams are caged in an amber crust
How could I endure to inhale her light?
Oh! Lord please give me strength!
As an image divine sprang forth from the moon,
A dim light surrounded her and I fought hard nay to stare…
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 7:47 PM UTC
"Whose heart was breaking for a little love."
Down-stairs I laugh, I sport and jest with all:
But in my solitary room above
I turn my face in silence to the wall;
My heart is breaking for a little love.
Though winter frosts are done,
And birds pair every one,
And leaves peep out, for springtide is begun.
I feel no spring, while spring is wellnigh blown,
I find no nest, while nests are in the grove:
Woe's me for mine own heart that dwells alone,
My heart that breaketh for a little love.
While golden in the sun
Rivulets rise and run,
While lilies bud, for springtide is begun.
All love, are loved, save only I; their hearts
Beat warm with love and joy, beat full thereof:
They cannot guess, who play the pleasant parts,
My heart is breaking for a little love.
While beehives wake and whirr,
And rabbit thins his fur,
In living spring that sets the world astir.
I deck myself with silks and jewelry,
I plume myself like any mated dove:
They praise my rustling show, and never see
My heart is breaking for a little love.
While sprouts green lavender
With rosemary and myrrh,
For in quick spring the sap is all astir.
Perhaps some saints in glory guess the truth,
Perhaps some angels read it as they move,
And cry one to another full of ruth,
"Her heart is breaking for a little love."
Though other things have birth,
And leap and sing for mirth,
When spring-time wakes and clothes and feeds the earth.
Yet saith a saint: "Take patience for thy scathe";
Yet saith an angel: "Wait, for thou shalt prove
True best is last, true life is born of death,
O thou, heart-broken for a little love!
Then love shall fill thy girth,
And love make fat thy dearth,
When new spring builds new heaven and clean new earth."
Aug 7, 2017
Aug 7, 2017 at 4:06 PM UTC
After Many a Springtide Dies the Swan
Once was so glorious in his beauty,
Breathtakingly handsome and full of seduction,
Like a divine tree of a charm in a gleaming appearance,
Fancied many a magnificent birds;
Oh silly splendid birds! You are the travellers of the globe,
Be not fascinated with his calm temptation-
It will decay and fall apart.
Alas! For his gentle shadow, you’re maddest unto the confines.
Give the immortality and never dying beauty,
He prayed for immortal youth and immortal age.
Only if, god would recall his gift,
Only if one could challenge the nature,
Preserve me in the portrait, where I will remain richly fresh,
He exclaimed wretchedly, perhaps one would live forever!
Real was the joy in living young, perhaps, the ultimate joy left?
Shining feathers are greyed with a gloom, and
Luminous vision is fading away.
Eye-catching walks of youth are unsteady now,
The envious stream couldn’t imitate the image of glowing and beautiful,
In his sleepy eyes once more dream of youth twinkles.
Departs the last drop of a tear in silence,
And, after many a springtide dies the swan.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 2:10 AM UTC
She came like springtide,
She left me enticed.
What secret she used to hide,
In her heart deep inside.
She was beautiful per se,
But her eyes were deceptive.
She was beautiful per se,
But her eyes were deceptive.
Her lappet she used to hide,
She came like springtide,
She left me enticed.
Tell me oh my heartbeats,
Oh my heartbeats.
Tell me this much oh my heartbeats,
Who was she that showed me dreams,
The one that came like springtide,
But left me longing and enticed.
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 10:17 PM UTC
*I paused to settle down for a moment , to face the incoming breeze , to briefly rest .. As it began to swirl about me retrospection scrolled through my weary mind , thoughts of the March runaway and his life left behind ...The vociferous purveyor of forgiveness mute and dazed ..To drift across bittersweet periods , to fearfully walk in the tracks of insecurity and the minds malaise ...
Let youth represent Spring , may the child play in the bounty of April and May ..
Recall springtide as the poet , born of creativity , yellow butterflies and red roses ... June befit the Bride , the month of love and laughter , the awe inspiring song of Turtle Dove , the Crows whimsical banter , the Mockingbird and the morning Fig ..
Attain the language writ upon the midday firmament , the voice of turbulent rivers .. The answer beheld , expressed over Sunflower field and Blueridge Mountain .. Forever ..*
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 5:54 PM UTC
*The sapphire surface was dappled
in April sunshine
Evergreen seeds soared in the
morning breeze
Bluejays , Warblers and Finches
announced the rite of Springtide
Songbirds of every color replied
from her hardwood canopies
A psalm from every tree
A shower of blessings unto me* ..
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 2:33 PM UTC