We’re celebrating spring this month at Postconsumers, and this year we’ve returned to our old blogging and article practice of sometimes just stepping back and sharing some of our favorite new poems with you as a way to help everybody (us included) de-stress and breathe for just a bit. So sit back, grab a beverage of your choice (warm or cold) and enjoy the magic of words as applied to spring. You may also want to backtrack to our collection of favorite spring quotes and favorite gardening quotes.


Spring is like a perhaps hand
(which comes carefully
out of Nowhere)arranging
a window,into which people look(while
people stare
arranging and changing placing
carefully there a strange
thing and a known thing here)and

changing everything carefully

From “Spring is like a perhaps hand” by E. E. Cummings

From  you  have  I  been  absent  in  the  spring  (Sonnet 98)

William Shakespeare, 1564 – 1616

From you have I been absent in the spring,

When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,

Hath put a spirit of youth in everything,

That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him,

Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell

Of different flowers in odor and in hue,

Could make me any summer’s story tell,

Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew.

Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white,

Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;

They were but sweet, but figures of delight,

Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.

Yet seemed it winter still, and, you away,

As with your shadow I with these did play.


Spring  Snow

Arthur Sze, 1950

A spring snow coincides with plum blossoms.

In a month, you will forget, then remember

when nine ravens perched in the elm sway in wind.


I will remember when I brake to a stop,

and a hubcap rolls through the intersection.

An angry man grinds pepper onto his salad;


it is how you nail a tin amulet ear

into the lintel. If, in deep emotion, we are

possessed by the idea of possession,


we can never lose to recover what is ours.

Sounds of an abacus are amplified and condensed

to resemble sounds of hail on a tin roof,


but mind opens to the smell of lightening.

Bodies were vaporized to shadows by intense heat;

in memory people outline bodies on walls.


Mud  Season

Tess Taylor

We unstave the winter’s tangle.
Sad tomatoes, sullen sky.

We unplay the summer’s blight.
Rotted on the vine, black fruit

swings free of strings that bound it.
In the compost, ghost melon; in the fields

grotesque extruded peppers.
We prod half-thawed mucky things.

In the sky, starlings eddying.
Tomorrow, snow again, old silence.

Today, the creaking icy puller.
Last night I woke

to wild unfrozen prattle.
Rain on the roof—a foreign liquid tongue.


Do you have a favorite spring poem that you’d like to share with us? Post it on the social media channels below.

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Photo Credit: Xavier via Flickr