Quotes about tulips, page 2
Roses smell Good
Violets make me think,
Tulips are pink.
Roses smell funny,
but Corn brings in the money
poem by David Darbyshire
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I'm going to do an adaptation of the Italian film, Bread and Tulips. I really like that film.
quote by Norman Jewison
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In My Garden (Quatrain)
In my garden, I did see
a fairy staring back at me
lying in a tulip bed
stars sparkling round her head.
poem by Heather Burns
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The Mauve Basket
Purple like a tulip in a spring field. Swaying calmly with the wind, under a violet sky, beckoning you to come closer, and closer. A Mauve Basket coming closer and closer.
Then a hand picks the plum flower, covering the tulip with warmth, and whispering it's secrets to it.
The flower looks back at it's past home, a wild violet field, waiting to get placed in the purple pocket, but instead finds a new home, in the Mauve Basket.
poem by Vindya Pon
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Can I lie dormant
As tulip bulb in winter
To hibernate,
And come up feeling better,
Spread joy in good weather.
tanka by Mamta Agarwal
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How can you be content to be in the world like tulips in a garden, to make a fine show, and be good for nothing.
quote by Mary Astell
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Les 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
June 6,2009
poem by Theodora Onken
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Indiscretion
RED tulip-buds last night caressed
The sacred ivory of her breast.
She met me, eager to divine
What gold-heart bud of hope was mine.
Nor eyes nor lips were strong to part
The close-curled petals round my heart;
The joy I knew no monarch knows,
Yet not a petal would unclose.
But, ah!--the tulip-buds, unwise,
Warmed with the sunshine of her eyes,
And by her soft breath glorified
Went mad with love and opened wide.
She saw their hearts, all golden-gay,
Laughed, frowned, and flung the flowers away.
[...] Read more
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Hora Stellatrix
The stars hang thick in the apple tree,
The south wind smells of the pungent sea,
Gold tulip cups are heavy with dew.
The night's for you, Sweetheart, for you!
Starfire rains from the vaulted blue.
Listen! The dancing of unseen leaves.
A drowsy swallow stirs in the eaves.
Only a maiden is sorrowing.
'T is night and spring, Sweetheart, and spring!
Starfire lights your heart's blossoming.
In the intimate dark there's never an ear,
Though the tulips stand on tiptoe to hear,
So give; ripe fruit must shrivel or fall.
As you are mine, Sweetheart, give all!
Starfire sparkles, your coronal.
poem by Amy Lowell
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Slaying The Dreamer [2008]
Sweet tulip graveyard of despair,
Lull the dreams I adore.
Dark lords seduce me in a glare
In worlds wielding unused lore.
Sweet tulip graveyard of despair,
Those meadows of heaven
Share the scent of a prayer
Slaying the romantic eleven.
Lull the dream I adore
For I am a lost maiden of poetic art.
Rotting along crimson shores,
Summoning thy slayer’s heart.
Dark lords seduce me in a glare
Leading astray to dreamer’s hideaway.
Receiving letters from faraway nightmares
Shall red suns enlighten the dreamer’s decay.
[...] Read more
poem by Catherine Beahl
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Spring Day
Bath
The day is fresh-washed and fair, and there is a smell of tulips and narcissus
in the air.
The sunshine pours in at the bath-room window and bores through the water
in the bath-tub in lathes and planes of greenish-white. It cleaves the water
into flaws like a jewel, and cracks it to bright light.
Little spots of sunshine lie on the surface of the water and dance, dance,
and their reflections wobble deliciously over the ceiling; a stir of my finger
sets them whirring, reeling. I move a foot, and the planes of light
in the water jar. I lie back and laugh, and let the green-white water,
the sun-flawed beryl water, flow over me. The day is almost
too bright to bear, the green water covers me from the too bright day.
I will lie here awhile and play with the water and the sun spots.
The sky is blue and high. A crow flaps by the window, and there is
a whiff of tulips and narcissus in the air.
[...] Read more
poem by Amy Lowell
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The Gator That Ate It's Tree Frog.
....................A Rain Forrest Tree Frog
.................................plays Peek aboo with
........................................an Allegator down in the
........................................
. ....................................Florida Everglades, right
.............................behind a mutated Tulip...
Just don't ask me
to explain this
Rare but strange>>>>>>>>>
Happinstance.>>>>>>>>
I still don't know what>>>
A Tree Frog is doing
in the florida Ever Glades.
or how a Tulip
sprouted too.
Don't be
dumb
said
the
fly.
[...] Read more
poem by Michael Gale
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Magic Meadows (Somewhere In Fantsayland)
In soft green magic
meadows
Quiet, lush, and serene,
Pattern a beautiful carpet,
Near a peaceful water
stream.
There will be little houses,
Standing in a row,
Around the houses, planted
lots of mistletoe.
Heathers lite the passion,
Between their world and
mine,
Planting lots of fruit trees,
So our fairy friends can dine.
Roses, Pansies, and Tulips
have lovely heads,
[...] Read more
poem by Heather Burns
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Saddest Photographs I: Library Picture
I can picture you
In the quietude of the library
Sauntering past the hulking shelves
With the grace and levity of a gypsy
And vague in the opalescent visage
Though you are scarcely touched
By the cascading fluorescent lights
Snooping through the grave of books
That conceals the picturesque vision
Of the dexterous infection of a smile
Whilst your nimble hands graze
The sleeping books on the case
And stir the stationary dusts
Into rippling mystical shards
Until you make your choice
And haul out your book supplely
Like picking up a wild tulip
Whilst I muse upon the scene
Inside a forlorn alley ensconced
In a book left ajar in my palms
[...] Read more
poem by Norman Santos
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Undocumented Immigrants' melancholy song fades in the serene sky?
We're the Roses
We're the Tulips
We're the Daffodils
And we're all the flowers?
But not attached to the uprooted plants
And we've no a legal soil?
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Tulips
An age being mathematical, these flowers
Of linear stalks and spheroid blooms were prized
By men with wakened, speculative minds,
And when with mathematics they explored
The Macrocosm, and came at last to
The Vital Spirit of the World, and named it
Invisible Pure Fire, or, say, the Light,
The Tulips were the Light's receptacles.
The gold, the bronze, the red, the bright-swart Tulips!
No emblems they for us who no more dream
Of mathematics burgeoning to light
With Newton's prism and Spinoza's lens,
Or berkeley's ultimate, Invisible Pure Fire.
In colored state and carven brilliancy
We see them now, or, more illumined,
In sudden fieriness, as flowers fit
To go with vestments red on Pentecost.
poem by Padraic Colum
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News Of The Gold World Of May
News of the Gold World of May in Holland Michigan:
"Wooden shoes will clatter again
on freshly scrubbed streets--"
The tulip will arise and reign again from awnings and
windows
of all colors and forms
its vine, verve and valentine curves
upon the city streets, the public grounds
and private lawns
(wherever it is conceivable
that a bulb might take root
and the two lips, softly curved, come up
possessed by the skilled love and will of a ballerina.)
The citizens will dance in folk dances.
They will thump, they will pump,
thudding and shoving
elbow and thigh,
[...] Read more
poem by Delmore Schwartz
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Sunny Weather
Sunny weather
Sweet, moist, makes you want to run around in circles,
Bright, sun-filled, shining, summer,
Tulips, roses, spring, soon it will be brighter-
Sweet, shining, sunny weather.
Tulips For You
I had, for reasons of expediency
done all my chores, took out the files
to weed old wisdom and the silverfish
out of my life, it had been overdue.
Thus, time ran out and slammed the hollow door,
taking all pens and pencils, every one
I, in my youthful drive to clean the slate
had shredded all remaining paper. It was done.
The poem I was set to write for you, it must
wait for another time, perhaps you're fine to wait?
Meanwhile may I present a little treat today:
One hundred hectares, yes, a sea of tulip kisses,
guarded by windmills and a dike not made from clay.
You'll get to meet Hans Brinker, all in stone
and see the fossil of his clever finger bone.
And while you count in Dutch the tulips in the sea,
I'll write a lovely limerick for you, from little me.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Eating A Tulip
One day writes about
A poem that looks life
A map
For some directions
To a location
Of a hidden rock
Of gold and i
Who dream of
One day getting
Rich read it,
Only to find
This Woman
Smelling my Tulip
Wanting to eat it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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