My favorite poet is the Englishman, William Wordsworth (1770-1850). For fun, I have tried my own hand at creating verse. Here are some lines on the theme of springtime flowers that were inspired by drives through the Great Falls section of Fairfax County, here in Northern Virginia.

Poetry: Springtime Flowers

by Neil V. Stern © 2015

Bluebells

I saw amid
a field of green
a patch
of baby blue

It proved, indeed,
a jolly scene
just as
more near I drew

And learned I then
what it did mean
for Nature
to renew

So as I knelt,
examining,
this thought
within me
grew

That should
I see
another thing
of such
a pastel hue

It shall not
vie
with azure sky
as Nature’s
bluebells
do

Pink Tree

O dogwood tree
I wish of thee
mine eyes
to take a drink
Along my way
upon this day
that I should
joyous think
That for this time
my heart should climb
to set upon the brink
And righteous be
in harmony
within your world
of pink

Irises

The last of the great ones – the flowers of spring – the color of Advent and Holy Week – all royal purple and ogee-curved and dripping horses’ manes of wispy yellow hairs – bridging the high spring to the waxing summer climes of May – their flat leaves like a spread-open hand of cards – tall stalks and bright blossoms in the ever climbing sunlight – they are the last of the great ones

Grandmother March

And so the crystalline snows of February
Recede to the shadows
Again — as the sun returns
And the fresh chilled air
Mixes with the melt
The soil is awakened and
She returns to sweep in the first hints of spring
She takes pity on her children when
She gives us the gentle blossoming cherry
She bids warning when
The cold winds and flurrying snows linger
With her blessing and
Under her direction
Crocuses and daffodils begin to poke up
Their shoots like little asparagus
The ends of branches become pregnant and
Ready to burst with the softest hint of pink
And if we are good and
She is feeling charitable
She will send us a host of robins
Upon the first warm breeze of March

Daffodils Forever

Now that spring is drawing nigh
The path is not so dreadful bare
For daffodils are growing high
And spreading yellow everywhere
Yellows pale and yellows deep
A touch of orange, as well
Crowded tight like little sheep
The better to cast their spell
With stalks that grow so very high
And petals open wide
Presenting every passer-by
The miracle inside
Tho’ trees above yet still are bare
The borders of the path grow full
With hundreds o’ the flowers there
To warm the heart and calm the soul

Azaleas Around the Bend

While driving down the road one day
I noticed that upon a turn
Before me there a vista lay
That in my mind commenced to burn
Of reds, magentas, pinks, and whites
And such botanical delights
That evermore I shall recall
This most fluorescent scene of all

It was the third or fourth of May
Azalea time, I was to learn
I don’t know how I came this way
It really was of no concern
I only know that on the bend
There came a beauty without end
For rows and rows of fuchsia flowers
Demonstrated Nature’s powers

Tulips

Obedient perennials
Absorbing the cold
And breathing out beauty
From bulb to shoot to bloom
Inviting all of the colors to play
The reds and the purples
Yellows and whites
Pink and
Peach
And
Mauve
And
Open
Like cups
To catch
And to hold
The sunshine
Blanketing the fields
With visions of April

May Day

Kwanzan cherry petals are lofted in swirls by the warm wind
Until they are piled at the curb like a hot pink snowdrift
I drive through this slow-motion blizzard
As time stops and the world becomes unreal
The last morning frost, but a faded memory
Fading as fast as the last maples can leaf out
Adding their soft, yellow-green calm
To the masterfully painted landscape
Of which I am a part
Passing cars and trucks are indifferent to this staging beauty
There is only this moment
A sea of pastel perceived only in the peripheral
Marking a ghostly passage
From the milk of spring
To the grown child of summer

The Lightest Purple

I looked upon a redbud tree
Its tint a pastel lavender
It made me sigh most joyfully
The whole day ever after
The very thought that Nature could
And would cast such a chrome
The lightest purple of the Spring
Reserved for it alone
Did make me think the violet end
Where Springtide’s spectrum shone
Now, try I will to keep this vision
Within my head alive
At work or rest, through deep decision
That joyful shade shall thrive
‘Til kind winds set the blossoms free
And leaves do sprout so tender
I will remember all I see
With Nature my defender

First Color

White unto white
The frozen blanket of sleep
Gives way to white blossoms
Bradford pear and snowdrop
White crocus and cherry
All mimic the shrinking snow
And are the first to awaken
And begin the gentle arc
To the first of yellow
Forsythia so bright
And jonquil
That lead to
The fairest
of pink

Late Spring

As pale and wan as the spring hath begun
So doth it appear when its time is done
Ivory, white, and cream of hue
These blooms announce that summer’s due
Dogwood and Honeysuckle
As May turns to June
Magnolia, daisy
And yarrow, too
Traces of spring
Fade into white
As lengthening day
Conquers the night
The season’s goodbye
With first firefly’s light

Saint Patrick’s Day

See the robins belly laugh
While hopping through the field of clover
Joyous for the sunlight’s bath
That washes them all over
Spring is here — spring is here
Despite what Father Winter said
Warm days are near — so have no fear
The Ice King has been put to bed
Now green returns in many shades
Tho’ most of them are soft at first
The chartreuse and the sparrow’s egg
Soon cue the richest greens to burst
So that the life returns at last
Renewing faith in Nature
To wipe away the winter’s past
And hearten every creature

Jonquils and Daffodils

Jonquils and Daffodils
Related by their frilly bonnets
Often do their deckled frills
Inspire many silly sonnets

Though all in all it must be said
When all the words be written
And all the poets all o’er the world
Be truly, deeply smitten

There be no other perfect love
Or beauty pure of form
Than daffodils and jonquils be
When first to Spring are born

April

A dozen moons hath the year
Though all be not the same
Some – ‘tis true – be full of cheer
While others, somewhat plain
But there is one of all the months
That surely must be lauded
When all of Nature blooms at once
And begs to be applauded
That month be April to be sure
With colors soft and gentle
That make a woman wax demure
A man, wax sentimental
It’s April’s door that swingeth wide
To open up the year
And let us all proceed inside
Our righteous path made clear

Mertensia Virginica (Bluebell Imaginings)

Innocently delicate
Little crepe paper cups
Formed like Gabriel’s trumpet
Heralding mid-April
Their electric blue
Modulating
At a frequency tuned to soothe
The world-weary mind
As bunches of vibrating color
Jounce and bob
Billowing in the breeze
And picked up
In the corners of the eye
Through a flashing semaphore
Of sunlight
Filtering through
The gently swaying trees

Psychedelic Orange Caterpillars

I walked for blocks and blocks
Back to where I had turned the corner
Into Old Waterford
Back along the narrow road
To the yard where
Speeding past
I caught a glimpse
Of late season Irises rocking
Back and forth
On this Memorial Day
Maroon and white and yellow
Striped like an okapi’s rump
Wonderfully satiny petals
Beards like psychedelic orange caterpillars
That I stroke with my index finger
As I think that it was worth
The long walk back