#flowers poems on Hello Poetry

ProfMoonCake 1d

I Spy

I spy on the little girl.
Her hair was filled with flowers,
her eyes, bright as the sun.
She had love to give—
and gave it freely:
to the old man by the sea,
the woman grieving her son,
the butterfly with a broken wing.

I spy on the little girl.
The flowers in her hair have dried,
her eyes now quiet as the night.
She still has love to give.
But the old man drifted with the tide,
the woman lost her mind,
and no one wants what's left.

I spy on the little girl.
I reach through the forest,
step into the clouds.
I will hold her hand.
I still have love to give—
anyway.

#games #love #little #girl #flowers #butterfly #give

Laura Claes 7d

My first poem

She's a pure hearted girl
with the happiest soul
She talks to the moon
listens to the trees
speaks with the animals
and compliments the flowers

Yet, often she feels sad
because she loves too much
and thinks too deep
Her nights are sometimes dark
But every time
she pulls herself back together
and decides
that her personality
is too positive
to be so negative.

L.C.

#pure #soul #flowers #animals #trees #moon #happy #sad #love #dark

Boma Jul 1

Seeds

The flowers bloomed
I cut them down
You gave me the seeds

#seeds #flowers

Katelyn Jun 29

Peonies

As a child peonies surround me
like my mothers' warm embrace,
these flowers, beautifully unharmed
a reminder of this reality that I live.
I daydreamed of being as free as this flower,
of the ability to just exist, without harm.
I am grown now, my daydreams twisted.
A kiss with a fist, a necklace made of hands.
Petals of black and blue, leaves cracked and broken.
Black and white peonies tattooed on my skin
full of love, full of hope
though sometimes flowing red.
I know anger, I've felt anger
but not my own.
I realized quickly that my life was not this of a flower,
or maybe it was. A lifeless and wilted flower.
One that had been harmed, not beautifully.
That had been grasped, not with a caring touch.
That had existed, with harm.

#peonies #flowers #abuseawareness #loveandhate #pain #life

Zywa Jun 29

[ I lowered myself ]

I lowered myself

into the round pit, covered --

with flowering thyme.

Autobiography "In den vreemde - Kronieken" ("In foreign parts - Chronicles", 2024, Frida Vogels), chapter 'Laren' (1938)

Collection "Trench Walking"

#nature #flowers #thyme

Kalliope Jun 28

I Made You a Bouquet

I only grow flowers with thorns.
Beautiful from afar,
Their petals softer than skin after shea butter,
But poison to the touch.

Their scent so captivating,
You can't help but search for it,
Only to be knocked out once found.

Those brave enough to pick up the stem
Will always regret it.
These thorns are razor sharp,
And they love to embed.

They've never seemed to bother me though

#bittersweet #metaphor #flowers

William A Poppen Jun 23

Ephemeral Serenity

You left your home,
Your flowering tree
That bore you in the springtime.

Once released,
You drifted to the lake below.

Now on the water,
You drift again with the current
To reveal your whiteness

Your buoyancy
Creates gentle ripples

This picturesque scene,
Attracts attention—you're beautiful.

Your petals catch the sunlight,
Bringing feelings of tranquility
Unlike any other.

flowers, water, peace

#flowers #water #peace

rhenee rose Jun 20

I Will Choose to Remember

As the last of the flowers have withered,
And the guests have washed their clothes,
The cemetery has new bodies to entomb,
I still feel your presence very close.

For every waking morning without you on our side,
Demands a tough facade for every new dawn,
With responsibilities piling our plates,
I still hear your voice guiding us on.

At times where people have seem to forget,
And your space at the table has been quietly replaced,
Things and clothes packed neatly into boxes,
I still recall the warmth of your embrace.

For the world that we know will continue to revolve,
With the sun, the moon, and its skies ever so blue,
Your memory lives on in every piece of me;
I will choose to remember every last piece of you.

A poem about grief and memory.

#grief #love #memory #grandparents #presence #flowers #morning #dawn #responsibility #sun

mysterie Jun 20

bloom

you call me petal,
suddenly im blushing
like a rose in the morning
before the sun knows to look away

your fingers brush against mine
and something blooms --
not loudly,
but like orchids
deciding its time.

you always smell like wild lavender
and stolen hours,
like the kind of spring
you never see coming
until it's already
wrapped around your ribs.

i used to hate snowdrops.
they're too open, too soft.
now i plant them into poems
because they remind me of you --
brave
enough
to bloom anyway.

this thing between us
isn't fireworks.
it's passion,
it's roots,
and patience
it feels like sunlight shared on a park bench
where your head finds my shoulder
and stays.

inspired by spring.

date wrote: 20/6/25

#flowers #orchids #rose #snowdrops #love #wlw