Poetry competition CLOSED 15th April 2024 4:12am
WINNER
nightbirdblue
nightbirdblue
Spring is in the air....
Poetry Contest Description
Tell me why you love or dislike this time of year
New writes only
No collabs
15 lines or less
use why you love/dis-love in your title
no AI
No comments in the comp
keep it clean, non sexual, not 18+
this is all about nature and what she does/doesnt do for you.....
No collabs
15 lines or less
use why you love/dis-love in your title
no AI
No comments in the comp
keep it clean, non sexual, not 18+
this is all about nature and what she does/doesnt do for you.....
No compositions by Vivaldi
I was born in the twilight of centuries,
when the sun, tired from its journey,
sinks into the golden horizon
and the moon emerges shy and silvery.
O nature, wise and ancient,
you owe me the sighs of the trees,
and the murmur of the dancing brook.
The scents of wild flowers.
You owe me the whisper of the wind
that caresses the leaves and hair.
And the embrace of the ground, firm and welcoming,
that supports my uncertain steps.
You owe me the birdsong,
echoing valleys and mountains
and the silence of the starry night
when the universe reveals itself in secrets.
Nature owes me the freshness of the rain
that washes away sadness and worries.
And the heat of the sun, which ignites hope,
even on the darkest days.
Nature owes me the spectacle of the seasons.
The dance of the leaves in autumn,
the renewal of life in spring
and the stillness of winter or summer.
But, above all, nature owes me
the opportunity to exist in this moment.
Of being part of this vast and mysterious cosmos,
and to contemplate its beauty and mystery.
So, I accept what nature gives me,
that imprecise and tenuous gift that is life.
when the sun, tired from its journey,
sinks into the golden horizon
and the moon emerges shy and silvery.
O nature, wise and ancient,
you owe me the sighs of the trees,
and the murmur of the dancing brook.
The scents of wild flowers.
You owe me the whisper of the wind
that caresses the leaves and hair.
And the embrace of the ground, firm and welcoming,
that supports my uncertain steps.
You owe me the birdsong,
echoing valleys and mountains
and the silence of the starry night
when the universe reveals itself in secrets.
Nature owes me the freshness of the rain
that washes away sadness and worries.
And the heat of the sun, which ignites hope,
even on the darkest days.
Nature owes me the spectacle of the seasons.
The dance of the leaves in autumn,
the renewal of life in spring
and the stillness of winter or summer.
But, above all, nature owes me
the opportunity to exist in this moment.
Of being part of this vast and mysterious cosmos,
and to contemplate its beauty and mystery.
So, I accept what nature gives me,
that imprecise and tenuous gift that is life.
Written by PAR
(PAULO ACACIO RAMOS)
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Because it is Spring After All
Surrounded by lights in the dark
The birds sing
To make their voices heard above the traffic
Because it is spring after all
The breeze is warm through the window
And tomorrow the sun will shine hope
Into my box of a room.
Because it is spring after all.
Sunlight fell across my feet yesterday
From the west
And I smiled
Because it is spring after all
The birds sing
To make their voices heard above the traffic
Because it is spring after all
The breeze is warm through the window
And tomorrow the sun will shine hope
Into my box of a room.
Because it is spring after all.
Sunlight fell across my feet yesterday
From the west
And I smiled
Because it is spring after all
Written by bookrabbit
(Lu)
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A New Season
Winter suddenly hides away
waterfalls once frozen
flowing downward into the bay
Lonely sidewalks decay, after before
suddenly spring has arrived
the end of the bridge lies an open door
Broken dreams picked up where they last fell
the emotional wasteland sleeps again
my love through words, encouraged to tell
waterfalls once frozen
flowing downward into the bay
Lonely sidewalks decay, after before
suddenly spring has arrived
the end of the bridge lies an open door
Broken dreams picked up where they last fell
the emotional wasteland sleeps again
my love through words, encouraged to tell
Written by Vision_of_insanity
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Sneezing Season
Admiring daffodils as they start to arise
Erecting from roots up to clear blue skies
Eyes are watering but it's not from a cry
Sneezing begins as pollen quickly rise
Despising allergies as nose begins to run
Loving scenes but snot blowing is not fun
The Sun's shining so whining ain't allowed
I'll just keep staring at marshmallow clouds
Erecting from roots up to clear blue skies
Eyes are watering but it's not from a cry
Sneezing begins as pollen quickly rise
Despising allergies as nose begins to run
Loving scenes but snot blowing is not fun
The Sun's shining so whining ain't allowed
I'll just keep staring at marshmallow clouds
Written by da_poetic-edifier
(Damon)
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A Description of a City Scour
*
Awakened by the lyric strain upon my window pane,
toot sweet I hurried hard to eye the springtide rain's refrain,
the gutters clogged with beer cans smashed by liquor bottles cracked
and broods of baby duckies drowned, the last black quack quick quacked,
with feral kittens dragged to ashen cig-butt depths below
where puppies lost lay tossed all crossed beneath the undertow
as canes and wheelchairs bounding down an inundated street
by walkers and prosthetic feet fleet tripped were off their feet
while sweeping swift detached upon the flood straight out to sea,
each crowded day care passed me by without one absentee.
*
Poetic Form: Rhyme in Iambic Heptameter
Major Poetic Techniques: Swiftian Irony / Imagery Sharp
Theme: The rational observer wise may still foretell the hour /
the same sure swift prognostics yet portend the grave spring shower."
-- The Age-Old Waste
Awakened by the lyric strain upon my window pane,
toot sweet I hurried hard to eye the springtide rain's refrain,
the gutters clogged with beer cans smashed by liquor bottles cracked
and broods of baby duckies drowned, the last black quack quick quacked,
with feral kittens dragged to ashen cig-butt depths below
where puppies lost lay tossed all crossed beneath the undertow
as canes and wheelchairs bounding down an inundated street
by walkers and prosthetic feet fleet tripped were off their feet
while sweeping swift detached upon the flood straight out to sea,
each crowded day care passed me by without one absentee.
*
Poetic Form: Rhyme in Iambic Heptameter
Major Poetic Techniques: Swiftian Irony / Imagery Sharp
Theme: The rational observer wise may still foretell the hour /
the same sure swift prognostics yet portend the grave spring shower."
-- The Age-Old Waste
Written by Jordan
(D.O.C.)
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Spring My Savior
Finger prints pressed on the foggy window
Slow breath cleared a centrical view
How has Spring once more betrayed me
I’ve pleaded with her to come and save me
Cold breeze stung my configuration
Bright big sun that brings no warmth
Have you no shame, Spring’s false prophet
How much longer will you make me endure
Sunset flickers on the fresh snowfall
I long for beauty that can be grasped
Without relinquishing all my feelings
Spring please thaw me from the inside out
Slow breath cleared a centrical view
How has Spring once more betrayed me
I’ve pleaded with her to come and save me
Cold breeze stung my configuration
Bright big sun that brings no warmth
Have you no shame, Spring’s false prophet
How much longer will you make me endure
Sunset flickers on the fresh snowfall
I long for beauty that can be grasped
Without relinquishing all my feelings
Spring please thaw me from the inside out
Written by Isgyppie_
(L.C. McQuillen)
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Song of Spring
There's a soft subtle change to sunlight now
perhaps bringing an echo of some spring,
and a great bustling sound now all around
the various garden birds twittering
within the still cold barrenness of trees
but, there's a kinda lightness to the rain
falling on the snowdrops on the browned green
of last year's grass, as the crocuses strain
to bring their colour into this new light,
and crisper brisk beats to people's swift feet
mimicking scudding clouds in their bright heights
in hurriedness of new mornings to greet.
I used to think spring was somewhat misnamed
Being the winter slugabed, spring changed...
perhaps bringing an echo of some spring,
and a great bustling sound now all around
the various garden birds twittering
within the still cold barrenness of trees
but, there's a kinda lightness to the rain
falling on the snowdrops on the browned green
of last year's grass, as the crocuses strain
to bring their colour into this new light,
and crisper brisk beats to people's swift feet
mimicking scudding clouds in their bright heights
in hurriedness of new mornings to greet.
I used to think spring was somewhat misnamed
Being the winter slugabed, spring changed...
Written by Rew
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Springtimes letter
Springtime’s letter
Arrived like the unexpected letter
with the date stamp smudged
lost in the blizzard of the winters
confusion, meant lost or delayed? to find its way and lift the
senses, expected visit from a friend
like reading heartfelt words warming my core
standing in the weak sun, by patio doors
the hawthorns confetti
came like the postman’s drop
startles! like the bark of the dog
as I read on, the ink turning green with budding leaves,
tinted with yellow primroses and daffodils
hues of blue violets and bluebells
the brightly coloured stamp
and it is franked
and signed by Mother Earth
Arrived like the unexpected letter
with the date stamp smudged
lost in the blizzard of the winters
confusion, meant lost or delayed? to find its way and lift the
senses, expected visit from a friend
like reading heartfelt words warming my core
standing in the weak sun, by patio doors
the hawthorns confetti
came like the postman’s drop
startles! like the bark of the dog
as I read on, the ink turning green with budding leaves,
tinted with yellow primroses and daffodils
hues of blue violets and bluebells
the brightly coloured stamp
and it is franked
and signed by Mother Earth
Written by slipalong
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