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  • Writer's pictureB F Gypsy Scholar

Spring-Easter Poetry

This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,

Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes,

Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between

Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes.

I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration

Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze

Of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration,

Faces of people streaming across my gaze.

And I, what fountain of fire am I among

This leaping combustion of spring? My spirit is tossed

About like a shadow buffeted in the throng

Of flames, a shadow that's gone astray, and is lost.

~D.H. Lawrence, “The Enkindled Spring”

Ah, through the open door Is there an almond tree Aflame with blossom! - Let us fight no more. Among the pink and blue Of the sky and the almond flowers A sparrow flutters. - We have come through, It is really spring! - See, When he thinks himself alone How he bullies the flowers. - Ah, you and me How happy we'll be! - See him He clouts the tufts of flowers In his impudence. - But, did you dream It would be so bitter? Never mind It is finished, the spring is here. And we're going to be summer-happy And summer-kind. We have died, we have slain and been slain, We are not our old selves any more. I feel new and eager To start again. It is gorgeous to live and forget. And to feel quite new. See the bird in the flowers? - he's making A rare to-do! He thinks the whole blue sky Is much less than the bit of blue egg He's got in his nest - we'll be happy You and I, I and you. With nothing to fight any more - In each other, at least. See, how gorgeous the world is Outside the door!

~D,H. Lawrence, "Spring Morning"


My townspeople, beyond in the great world,

are many with whom it were far more

profitable for me to live than here with you.

These whirr about me calling, calling!

and for my own part I answer them, loud as I can,

but they, being free, pass!

I remain! Therefore, listen!

For you will not soon have another singer.

First I say this: you have seen

the strange birds, have you not, that sometimes

rest upon our river in winter?

Let them cause you to think well then of the storms

that drive many to shelter. These things

do not happen without reason.

And the next thing I say is this:

I saw an eagle once circling against the clouds

over one of our principal churches—

Easter, it was—a beautiful day!

three gulls came from above the river

and crossed slowly seaward!

Oh, I know you have your own hymns, I have heard them—

and because I knew they invoked some great protector

I could not be angry with you, no matter

how much they outraged true music—

You see, it is not necessary for us to leap at each other,

and, as I told you, in the end

the gulls moved seaward very quietly.

~William Carlos Williams, "Gulls"


The air is like a butterfly

With frail blue wings.

The happy earth looks at the sky

And sings.

~Joyce Kilmer, “Easter - Poem”


Far from this foreign Easter damp and chilly My soul steals to a pear-shaped plot of ground, Where gleamed the lilac-tinted Easter lily Soft-scented in the air for yards around; Alone, without a hint of guardian leaf! Just like a fragile bell of silver rime, It burst the tomb for freedom sweet and brief In the young pregnant year at Eastertime; And many thought it was a sacred sign, And some called it the resurrection flower; And I, a pagan, worshiped at its shrine, Yielding my heart unto its perfumed power.

~Claude McKay, "The Easter Flower"


Calendar of the Soul - Easter Mood (First Week)

When out of world-wide spaces

The sun speaks to the human mind,

And gladness from the depths of soul

Becomes, in seeing, one with light,

Then rising from the sheath of self,

Thoughts soar to distances of space

And dimly bind

The human being to the spirit’s life.

~Rudolph Steiner, "Spring"


I speak of love that comes to mind: The moon is faithful, although blind; She moves in thought she cannot speak. Perfect care has made her bleak. I never dreamed the sea so deep, The earth so dark; so long my sleep, I have become another child. I wake to see the world go wild.

~Allen Ginsberg, “An Eastern Ballad”


flower and heart are equal. as one unfolds

the other is closing. the fist of charm.

the dance of fathoms. of voids. of veils.

layer after layer. wall after wall. there

is always more. there is always more after.

the scalloped edges of further valour.

the vigil of soldiers. foot and circular.

the waving tremors of empty warriors.

a thorn in the wound of love. of torture.

another immeasurable pain to suffer.

first dealing w/entry into the spirit.

the wall is pierced and the will assaulted

is vaulted. is shimmied into. is fenced.

fencing defending the sheets of the flesh

winding and binding and then to relax.

seconds of suspension in the pass of pain

wailing, exhaling. passed thru the strange.

this is the formula. the force of the father.

the hand that extends. the heart that is bleeding

hard then harder then silent and beating.

in a space warm and glowing. infinite yet dense.

the tune of chain caught then stretched.

the is the communication of the future.

death is a dance. a ballroom. a glove

an extension of total abandon in/love.

~patti smith, "Easter" (la resurrection)

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