Pink poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best pink poems ever written. Read all poems about pink.
This girlchild was born as usual
and presented dolls that did pee-pee
and miniature GE stoves and irons
and wee lipsticks the color of cherry candy.
Anyone here had a go at themselves
for a laugh? Anyone opened their wrists
with a blade in the bath? Those in the dark
at the back, listen hard. Those at the front
Your lungs fill & spread themselves,
wings of pink blood, and your bones
empty themselves and become hollow.
When you breathe in you’ll lift like a balloon
Before dawn wind rushes
driving night’s chill westward
so vestiges of darkness
send shivers along my spine.
Heartaches will never last nor will they ever stay;
sorrow shall go so fast in the passing of day.
Once in a little while, one's heart may break and bleed;
abandoned by the smile, his teardrops want to plead.
The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.
The Microbe is so very small
You cannot make him out at all,
But many sanguine people hope
To see him through a microscope.
I'm thinking about you. What else can I say?
The palm trees on the reverse
are a delusion; so is the pink sand.
What we have are the usual
The abode of the nightingale is bare,
Flowered frost congeals in the gelid air,
The fox howls from his frozen lair:
Alas, my loved one is gone,
When storm-clouds rumble in the sky and June showers come down.
The moist east wind comes marching over the heath to blow its
bagpipes among the bamboos.
Then crowds of flowers come out of a sudden, from nobody knows
In winter we’ll travel in a little pink carriage
With cushions of blue.
We’ll be fine. A nest of mad kisses waits
In each corner too.
The chirp of birds in the early morning
Bless my smiles with their innocent calling
I head outside with my blanket wrapped around
And lay there listening to this memorable sound.
She blew five candles
On her cake, angel
In a pink dress, hair
In little pigtails
If you had come away with me
into another state
we had been quiet together.
But there the sun coming up
My quietness has a man in it, he is transparent
and he carries me quietly, like a gondola, through the streets.
He has several likenesses, like stars and years, like numerals.
I plucked pink blossoms from mine apple tree
And wore them all that evening in my hair:
Then in due season when I went to see
I found no apples there.
Among the blight-killed eucalypts, among
trees and bushes rusted by Christmas frosts,
the yards and hillsides exhausted by five years of drought,
The Color Pink Evolution -
The Beating Heart of every Rose
In the tapestry of colors, pink takes its stand, A hue that's shaped by cultures, shifting like sand. In the 21st century, it's seen as femininity's embrace, But once in the 1920s, masculinity's grace.
My heart yearns, for something pink
Something that won't freeze in the winter
Something pink like the camellia.
A late morning mist of February slowly lifting pink petals.
When I apply pink lipstick
I feel more cheerful and youthful.
I ask myself
'Will I wear pink lipstick after 40?
She must have be strong in facing her life when she was out of blue
When she felt poor in yellow
It was really hard until I saw her beet red
She must struggle in giving Her children tickled pink
Pink, It's A Girl! and all the joy she will bring
Pink, a rosebud blooming in the spring
Pink lemonade so tangy and sweet
Pink a swirl of frosting, oh what a treat
her blouse, flowing on the wind
her shining golden hair
People say my personality is perky, many seem to find me intriguing;
And I greatly enjoy being popular, as I don't find society fatiguing.
Having traveled to myriad places, I have seen many beautiful sights,
Come with a smile, come with a wink
Come to the land of pink pink pink!
For though my best color is emerald green
my 2nd favorite happens to be pink.
Autumn is abundant, infuses, and bemuses; it is pregnant with fruit; but it prognosticates the decay: Autumn is a marvellous display of death! The eye-of-the-bull chrysanthemum stares at you with the autumn's orange stare, in a hypnotic anticipation of perfidious putrefaction: it suggests that it is the time to prepare the marrow in your bones for the frozen times of eternal hibernation: the bleak, albic terrain of desolation and damnation. It says bend on your glacial knees, and pray for spring to de-congeal your static blood: go back into the forest and eat eagerly wild-strawberries and horn-fruit, and spit into the ground the pips of your frigid dreams!
Autumn is the hungry Earth, with its earthly colours of grave, craving the manure, the compost of your flesh, blood, and bones; it eats your veneration: (your body, which, you thought is your possession!) : this Terra is a terrific terror! —Do not worry about your spirit: —it has wings! Birds die in the sky whilst still flying: you are a bird! —Smell the earth! You will return with a body made to be devoured again by the vulture-earth; nothing apocalyptic: you will live, again—and again, for thousands of years: —you are truly immortal—defying Thanatos!
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