To ones who love flowers, poetry is partly a very romantic and passionate soul that is indispensable. And when it comes to tulips, people immediately think of the beautiful Netherlands, where tulips symbolize for the wealth and perfect love. Here are the most popular and favorite Tulip poems to share with you.
Tulips have a lot of different colors, and each color represents a particular meaning. Colors of tulips include: red tulips, yellow tulips, white tulips, black tulips, blue tulips, orange tulips, purple tulips, pink tulips,… Choosing and giving tulips to either relatives or loved ones has a special meaning to the other person.
After all the above poems, which poem about Tulip do you like most? Please spread the message of wealth and perfect love through colorful tulips to relatives and lovers.
I wonder about tulips…how they somehow find a way
To grace us with their beauty before they slowly fade away.
If only people were more like tulips and could somehow find a way
To grace this world with beauty before they slowly fade away.
I tiptoed through the tulips on a sunny day in May
My feet touched nature at its best
And all I had were memories
No camera to record events
And so I stood awhile and wallowed in the feeling
Storing my thoughts deep within
And when I re-booted, I recalled them
And strode on with my May Day walk
Happy in the thought that I would not forget
The sun gets so yellow it gets nose
Bleeds ‘fumbling for oxygen as the little
Children lead one another away
They are climbing up the orchard,
They are pushing up the swings’
They are acrobats in charge of their own
Holiday ‘singing to no one as they please’
Pretending to map the extinct paths of
Conquistadors ‘settling down to eat
Something sweet they have stolen,
And then getting up again
To steal into a Catholic church in the middle
Of the afternoon’
To fall around dizzily beneath the rafters in
Their headlong canopy,
Or to collapse next to the water fountain
And oleanders out of doors,
To become mottled as the sun freckles her
Branches ‘to languish there,
Lungs falling and rising again like membranous
Wings without any reason at all.
4, The Tulips © Savita Tyagi
That was the year I planted tulip bulbs.
After a year of eager and patient waiting
The gorgeous red and yellow flowers
Of mellow beauty filled in the garden.
I watched every morning in quiet admiration,
The dew drops and bees circling on soft petals.
The young tulips in mischievous breeze made,
Flower bed sizzle with life, vibrant and aerial.
As morning rays spread to light up the sky
From tall glass windows of my living room
Their exquisite brilliance and soothing aura
of beauteous harmony entered into my being.
But I didn’t know much about tulips then.
Soon I came to realize that each stem
Bore just one flower, and their delicate
Flashy bloom lasted only for a week most.
I felt chagrined and cheated for my labor.
A sadness prevailed as the flowers wilted
And the single stem soon started to limp.
This was my first intimate tending of gardening.
Nothing much I could do but to miss the tulips
And endure the hurt of their short span of life.
As spring advanced into summer, the long
Herbaceous plants also withered to ground.
To see flowerbeds devoid of green was a blow.
The intricate planning of nature felt erroneous.
The showy life and the quick decay, that the
Tulips exhibited was new to my experience.
Or should I say that for the first time I was
Touched so deeply by the natural ending of
plant life. Like the devastating loss of my mother,
The saddest encounter- I took long to recover.
But nature is still kind and benevolent.
It takes our loved ones never to return again
But blesses us again with family and friends.
Tulips too bloom every year again and again.
They give me a week of their life filled with
Amorous beauty and post a cruel message
Wrapped in quiet tenderness to accept
Mother Nature’s workings at her behest.
As for that pretty spring girl
it is or is it that pretty and young,
kind perhaps in this kind of season her winter
has moved us past.
The soil is free and finaly,
owing too the top of the leafy, ‘which is put off no more.
Heavan comes to him in short pants
and as for that other though it is placed
on the large branch of her herself and sandle wood
which now by the smell his arrival.
It has accidentally,
it catches to the pool of the river.
As for her they of they whom climb out on the limb
over the house of the fish,
low upon entering and leaving,
her reflection and his way you swim up to the top
and bottom of the stairway, leads off her foot.
The cloud tops part and it carries her body
apart to that starting point directly.
As for her the river is never blind and the man
who overlooks the surface and itincludes,
her water the rain soaking our face,
Springs Up Between Her Tulips.
It was a dance for two
Call it a Floral Ballet afar
A vertible blossoming pas de deux
Beautiful as ‘Les Tulips’ By Renoir
Oh, the colurs were so vibrant
A dance of pastel stroked measures
A French trifled daliance of lovers
A bountiful safe of artistic treasures
Contra to all light there is
No straight paths – but one.
So, if yours is a rainbow, after a storm:
You’ll still reach home a chosen one.
God’s rainbow is strong…
His – is a double helix, bound up?
Close to your own heart and soul.
You’ll chalice all His love up
Like a hopelessly sinking vessel
Then you’ll be his radiant golden tulips.
Even; if your stem too is bent.
For God’s love is strong for you.
Contra to all light there is
No straight paths – but one.
Black tulips, tulips red, tulips gold
They warm my heart from the bitter cold.
On bending stems they curtsy on the wind
Bob on the air, like sunlight, been pinned.
In frozen earth crossways hatched at night
They weep – close – fall asleep till daylight.
Black tulips, tulips red, tulips gold
They warm my heart from the bitter cold.
I wish I were a snowdrop an astronaut.
Above the clouds but I’m not, I’m an inkblot.
Tiny Tim would probably tiptoe through the tulips.
He and his sweetie would lay there and drink mint juleps.
They would enjoy the beautiful sunshine.
And he softly kissing his lady so fine.
And softly stroking her hair of blond.
Enjoying the colorful pretty tulips and having so much fun.
You are in love,
Before the dance;
And, with the shades of purple.
Seeing eye to eye;
Meeting face to face;
With the creative and the attractive mind of love.
Because you did, I too arrange flowers,
Watching the pistils just like insolent tongues
And the hard, red flesh of the petals
Widening beneath my eyes. They move like the hands
Of clocks, seeming not to move except
When I turn my gaze; then savagely
In the white room, they billow and spread
Until their redness engulfs me utterly.
Mother, you are far away and claim
In mournful letters that I do not need you;
Yet here in this sunny room, your tulips
Devour me, sucking hungrily
My watery nourishment, filling my house
Like a presence, like an enemy.
Geared to your intervals as the small hand
Of a clock repeats the larger, I,
Your too-faithful daughter, still drag behind you,
Turning in the same slow circles.
Across the years and distances, my hands
Among these fierce, red blossoms repeat
Your gestures. I hope my daughter never writes:
‘Because you did, I too arrange flowers.’
12, Song of Spring © Melissa Lynn Valle
Cool rain on my face
Smell of Lilac
Tulips swaying in the breeze
Wet grass under my feet
Mother Robin warming her eggs
Earthworms wriggle in the blades of grass
Splashing feet through waterpuddles
Watch the sun come out from behind the clouds
Chase the rainbows dancing across the sky
13, Brave Little Crocus © John Herlihy
Brave little crocus, the first to face winter chill,
Intrepidly poking its head under my windowsill.
You waited patiently for this season of resurrection,
To bow your budding head in praise and discretion.
The yellow daffodils awaken, tulips purple and pink,
Each open their weary eyes with a nod and a wink.
In deep ground a place where only flower roots grow,
Their instincts sense the first thaw, they simply know.
The mercy of dreams lies in this unexpected awakening,
The roots, buds, and flowers never the spring forsaking.
In velvet folds or exploring fingers, the petals form cups,
Peeking in rows and clusters from the warm earth’s ruts.
The dark ground shakes with the timber of a ghost’s voice,
Memory’s voice again sings sweetly, aroused to rejoice.
Winter’s curtain is drawn open to reveal the sun’s light,
Wiping clean those innocent faces of the winter night.
Saluting shyly the wind and drenched in morning dew,
The unruly blossoms reveal the secret they always knew.
14, Tulips © Sylvia Plath
The tulips are too excitable, it is winter here.
Look how white everything is, how quiet, how snowed-in.
I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly
As the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands.
I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions.
I have given my name and my day-clothes up to the nurses
And my history to the anesthetist and my body to surgeons.
They have propped my head between the pillow and the sheet-cuff
Like an eye between two white lids that will not shut.
Stupid pupil, it has to take everything in.
The nurses pass and pass, they are no trouble,
They pass the way gulls pass inland in their white caps,
Doing things with their hands, one just the same as another,
So it is impossible to tell how many there are.
My body is a pebble to them, they tend it as water
Tends to the pebbles it must run over, smoothing them gently.
They bring me numbness in their bright needles, they bring me sleep
Now I have lost myself I am sick of baggage
My patent leather overnight case like a black pillbox,
My husband and child smiling out of the family photo;
Their smiles catch onto my skin, little smiling hooks.
I have let things slip, a thirty-year~old cargo boat
Stubbornly hanging on to my name and address.
They have swabbed me clear of my loving associations.
Scared and bare on the green plastic-pillowed trolley
I watched my teaset, my bureaus of linen, my books
Sink out of sight, and the water went over my head.
I am a nun now, I have never been so pure.
I didn’t want any flowers, I only wanted
To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty.
How free it is, you have no idea how free –
The peacefulness is so big it dazes you,
And it asks nothing, a name tag, a few trinkets.
It is what the dead close on, finally; I imagine them
Shutting their mouths on it, like a Communion tablet.
The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me.
Even through the gift paper I could hear them breathe
Lightly, through their white swaddlings, like an awful baby.
Their redness talks to my wound, it corresponds.
They are subtle: they seem to float, though they weigh me down
Upsetting me with their sudden tongues and their color,
A dozen red lead sinkers round my neck.
Nobody watched me before, now I am watched.
The tulips turn to me, and the window behind me
Where once a day the light slowly widens and slowly thins,
And I see myself, flat, ridiculous, a cut-paper shadow
Between the eye of the sun and the eyes of the tulips,
And I have no face, I have wanted to efface myself
The vivid tulips eat my oxygen.
Before they came the air was calm enough,
Coming and going, breath by breath, without any fuss.
Then the tulips filled it up like a loud noise.
Now the air snags and eddies round them the way a river
Snags and eddies round a sunken rust-red engine.
They concentrate my attention, that was happy
Playing and resting without committing itself.
The walls, also, seem to be warming themselves.
The tulips should be behind bars like dangerous animals;
They are opening like the mouth of some great African cat,
And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes
Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me.
The water I taste is warm and salt, like the sea,
And comes from a country far away as health.
15, Chenies Tulips © Mary Havran
Tulips, brazen painted hussies,
Part their bright lips trying to seduce
The busy buzzing bees
Far too bold for dainty tussies
Vibrant Tulip flowers produce
Visions certain to please
16, For The Tomance Has Begun © Anonymous
Pastel pink this flower runs
Yellow petals brighter than the sun
Tulips bow feathered like a kiss
All wrapped in Laurel to signify bliss
17, The Tulips © Anonymous
The can has become dirt in
The same spot she left the hurt,
Deep inside the oranges
Which always gave her strength
Like sunsets and tulips
Discarded lives, and who is
Left with the loneliness but
The flowers who always listen?
18, Tulips © Anonymous
If in boast, the tulips flame,
If sorcery conjured spring
And each echo came
a flower’s drum
as though the drunk
that filled the fields
was longer than a
19, Spring Tulips © Anonymous
And once again,
Tulips line my path
To you, my blossoming love
I look to meet and drink
From your moon-eyes, milk
From your flowers wild
20, Poem with Flower as Central Image © Emily Jaeger
Last time you called me flower
I punched you in the face.
Who needs a blood bank now?
You like to call me horrifying
things: your wall against the sea,
I go to the herbarium
fortnightly, stick my thumb
in all the pitcher plants (it’s free).
You’re on the bus, hoping
to find yourself at each skipped stop.
Not one more night of you:
sated then dysphoric, leaving me
to quasi-come in the bathroom,
every other woman suddenly interesting.
I’m not your night bloom,
serious and ceroid. I’m the fly
that clawed its way back
from the pitcher’s trap.
21, Silly Flowers © Papa Paul
It seems silly
To give you flowers
Like giving King Midas gold
You turn everything you touch
Into a Lilac a Tulip
Or a Yellow Rose
I suppose you’ll want bouquets anyway
For birthdays anniversaries Valentine’s Days
And especially any ordinary Tuesday in May
Don’t walk away,
For the days are full of sorrow;
Don’t keep them waiting,
Future moments of tomorrow.
This is our world today,
But it won’t be forever;
Children come and children go,
Reaching the future together.
So it is and always will be,
Everything just comes and goes;
Summer songs for you and me,
Just for a moment, in green grows.
Yellow tulips and roses red,
Wither, for tomorrow will be here;
Sometime in winter is your garden bed,
Lost in its blooming, in need for care.
Don’t walk away,
Though your dreams didn’t catch up with you;
Don’t give up your hope,
Maybe later dreams will come true.
This is our world today,
Maybe you will change its course;
Though children will never stay,
They’ll grow up, and become like us.
23, The Blushing Dawn © Sakina S. Dossaji
The blushing dawn,
In rouge of pink and pearls,
Adorn the sky.
Green veil of leaves,
Hover around red
Tender bud of tulips,
Sea waves in sweet slumber
Relishing the moments of a moonlit night.
A new day like a lotus shines,
With its petals open
To receive all the warmth and love.
Larks sing sweetly,
And the dolphins at play,
And birds in a singsong.
One more day in your wake,
To embrace and live,
Leaving footprints of memories
In the sands of time.
24, Highway Tulip © Aabbram Bom R
Like a ray of hope I stand truly strong.
you have thrown away knowingly wrong.
my roots deep inside the tarred road.
I have learnt for survival on the dot.
No water for my thirsty soul,
No nutrients for my empty bowl,
No protection from the scorching heat,
No respite from people’s threat.
I watch them go in my life,
With no hurt in my hive.
Rejected for I was not beautiful indeed.
Dejected for I was not useful in deed.
Like a desert soul among the desert sand,
Biting the heat among the soulful rant.
Today I stand tall amidst all,
Enrobed in golden call.
By the love of my mother,
Who babed in the couch of her.
Today I wait for my life ever,
Encladed in hues forever.
I am no longer an unknown name.
I seek no longer fame.
All I do is the hope for all,
That journey is is for the call.
I am your highway tulip,
Life is for you to live.
25, Garden of Remembrance © Eric Harvey
This garden of remembrance
where Tulips and wild flowers dance,
so quiet where your ashes lie
except for trains that shuffle by.
This garden where we spent our days
next to the field where cows would graze,
Where sedge and sorrel fought for room
amidst the lavenders perfume.
Twas there we sowed our own wild seeds
our bodies lay – crushing the weeds,
Chrysanthemums and roses red
lay next to us in their own bed.
The Alliums and Lilies grow
above the bindweed down below,
While Dahlias and Asters kiss
By Poppies and Bearded iris.
Cosmos to attract the bees
Salvias next to pink sweet peas,
Angelica and Lupins bloom
leave Asters struggling for room.
The path where slugs and snails trailed
where some lay crushed – their dreams curtailed,
of reaching Hosta’s heart shaped leaves
stealing small bites like slimy thieves.
The Jasmine climbing painted wall
white scented flowers calling all
the insects, birds and bees
from the nearby apple trees.
Warm evenings spent hand in hand
our dreams weren’t grand but well planned,
Six children would be raised right here
In tranquilness and far from fear.
Twas here we raised our loving brood,
next to the field where cud was chewed,
They grew and left the family nest
with their own children they were blessed.
Then, you became so ill, so frail
your skin turned grey so very pale,
The doctor said ‘ There’s nought to do’
tumours had taken hold of you.
I held your hand that summer day
as cancer took your life away,
A flood of tears flowed down my face
and this became a lonely place.
Our children visit.. endless hours
say their prayers, bring you flowers,
Grandchildren that you never knew
through parents have strong love for you.
And me? I sit here with my dreams
our garden now has changed it seems
To a garden of remembrance
where tulips and wild flowers still dance.
26, Love In A Tulip © Belinda Hicks
Roses are beautiful for a show
Daises are nicer for their peaceful nature
But if it’s true love you want to show
A red tulip is the way to go
The red tulip has always been
The real declaration of true love
It’s black center showing
The hearts burning with passion
Roses are nothing but a mere decoration
As for daises its serenity and peace
If love is what your going for
Then give her a tulip and she will know
The love you have for her
27, Tulip Tree © Dan Chiasson
Out late and the night is a ruin, my voice says
the night is a ruin, my voice doesn’t say a thing,
my poem says my voice doesn’t say a thing,
your voice says my poem says my voice
doesn’t say a thing. Your parents own the tulip tree
we lie under, but they don’t own the night.
Nobody does, not even taxpayers! That’s why
instead of overhearing a guitar or, from behind curtains,
watching people change, instead of telling stories
I “obsess,” as you say, about my tone of voice.
People change. Sometimes at night, curtains drawn,
they turn infinite upon each other, just for fun.
I want fried clams, the ones with gritty fat bellies.
If I strike the apocalyptic tone you like, won’t you
drive up Route 1 with me, right now, to find those clams?
28, Tulips from Amsterdam © Anonymous
When spring comes
I will send you
Tulips from Amsterdam
When spring comes
I will pick for you
Tulips from Amsterdam
When I return
I will bring you
Tulips from Amsterdam
A thousand yellow ones
A thousand red ones
Wish you the very best
What my mouth
Tulips from Amsterdam
29, Tulips of Amsterdam © Jo Barber
grow like weeds
through swaying reeds.
In her head
exists a garden
as bright and as varied
as the tulips of Amsterdam.
Each canal lined with bikes,
the water flowing from one to the next.
If not careful, though,
that mind will overflow,
overgrow with the seeds
of past ill deeds.
She sits still now,
thumbing through her prayer beads,
pleading for the protection
of some modern-day Diomedes.
30, Tulips in Amsterdam © Anthony Shacknofsky
Enchanting is the joy of spring
when merrily the songbirds sing,
and budding blossoms dress the trees,
while daffodils sway in the breeze.
In Amsterdam the tulips grow
when sunshine melts the icy snow.
Amidst the pastures fresh and green
they make a vibrant coloured scene.
They bloom in purple, red and white
from dawn till dusk, then sleep at night,
their petals closing one by one,
until the rising of the sun.
And in the meadows where they bloom
they fill the air with sweet perfume,
and brightly coloured butterflies
now flutter through the clear blue skies.
31, Two Tulips © Tark Wain
You walked past
the speed of life hit me
Like two tulips touching
because the wind blew
in a certain direction
with a certain strength
that it never had before
pushing those two tulips together
for the first time
but hopefully not the last
32, Kissing Tulips © Peter Balkus
I’ve been kissing tulips today,
and it felt great.
Not as great though
as kissing her lips.
I’ve been kissing tulips today
that I’m kissing her.
It wasn’t the same though,
it wasn’t the same.
33, My Sweet Tulip © Ant
A tulip of deep lilac
my sentiment to you
my key to your heart
thanking for all you do.
Its fragrance reminds me
of your sweet perfume
like your beauty these tulips
brighten up any room.
Your sensual beauty glorious
as petals caress your skin
delicately tracing your body
my desires your sin
Lilac tulips our love story
sweet romance they tell
you brought me to heaven
resurrected me from hell
Sweet tulips for my beauty
a symbol in the journey we take
a petal for each milestone
a role in each chapter we make
34, Pink Tulips © Christian M. Coli
Please know this tragedy was not your fault
take what you hear with a grain of salt
reality filtered through personal perception
resistor radio buzzing broken reception
Sadly sometimes we only receive static
dimming luminous light archival attic
dreary dark filter adjusts automatically
vision voided barren black negativity
Inspiration instead lifting eyes love light
knowing through daily struggles hard fight
spiritual survivors perpetual perfect fatherly love
child cared heart held grace glorify God above
Standing strong resilient right here beside you
His love timeless unconditional eternally true
expect even demons darkest hour shall pass
walking flowered fields freely given green grass
Tethered together healing hearts hand-in-hand
everything ours God granted promised planned
chose charity kept faith observe His command
momentous magnificent majestic glorious grand
34, When Tulips Bloom © Mohsin Maqbool E
When tulips bloom in the summer
in the Netherlands and Kashmir,
tourists smile and their hearts
flutter out of happiness.
When fireworks bloom in
the night sky across the world
on New Year’s Day, people celebrate
with passionate kisses and warm hugs.
When cherry blossoms bloom
in early April in Japan,
the Japanese celebrate
with delicious dishes and drinks.
35, Tulip © James Little
Grand tulip, glory of the garden fair
why haste away post twenty days
to leave your lovers in despair
with nothing but a budding rose
and fading pansy, though we need
a fancied beauty to believe?
Why waste away, your progeny bereave,
with hurried glance this way and that
while bobbing in the wind?
Thou aging apparition of delight
who loves his life the most and mounts
to grandest glory just before exquisite petals metamorphose into dust with us,
give all to form beginning from the end;
thus ever with the cosmos blend.
36, Waiting for Tulips © Lynne’s
Popular spring beauty,
This cup-shaped flower.
Double or single,
Fringed or twisted.
In every color except true blue,
Miniatures and two-feet giants!
Descendants from the Middle East,
Signifying perfect love.
Signifying rebirth to many,
This perennial that graces spring gardens.
Flowers lasting barely two weeks
But most welcome this spring,
If only for a short time.
I am waiting for tulips.
37, Tulips © Wendy Cope
Months ago I dreamed of a tulip garden,
Planted, waited, watched for their first appearance,
Saw them bud, saw greenness give way to colours,
Just as I’d planned them.
Every day I wonder how long they’ll be here.
Sad and fearing sadness as I admire them,
Knowing I must lose them, I almost wish them
Gone by tomorrow.
38, Tulips © Michelle Rene Arch
The tulips make me want to paint,
Something about the way they drop
Their petals on the tabletop
And do not wilt so much as faint,
Something about their burnt-out hearts,
Something about their pallid stems
Wearing decay like diadems,
Parading finishes like starts,
Something about the way they twist
As if to catch the last applause,
And drink the moment through long straws,
And how, tomorrow, they’ll be missed.
The way they’re somehow getting clearer,
The tulips make me want to see –
The tulips make the other me
(The backwards one who’s in the mirror,
The one who can’t tell left from right),
Glance now over the wrong shoulder
To watch them get a little older
And give themselves up to the light.
39, Late February © Michelle Rene Arch
The first warm day,
and by mid-afternoon
the snow is no more
than a washing
strewn over the yards,
the bedding rolled in knots
and leaking water,
the white shirts lying
under the evergreens.
Through the heaviest drifts
rise autumn’s fallen
bicycles, small carnivals
of paint and chrome,
beginning to turn
in the sun. Now children,
stiffened by winter
and dressed, somehow,
like old men, mutter
and bend to the work
of building dams.
But such a spring is brief;
by five o’clock
the chill of sundown,
darkness, the blue TVs
flashing like storms
in the picture windows,
the yards gone gray,
the wet dogs barking
at nothing. Far off
across the cornfields
staked for streets and sewers,
the body of a farmer
missing since fall
will show up
in his garden tomorrow,
as a tulip.
40, Tulips © Will Heard
Tulips – two lips-,
Not too far apart,
Make a magical lure
For one lonely heart
But better by far
Than two lips apart
Would be four lips
Pressed close to
Two beating hearts.
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