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Madeleine Toerne Jan 2015
It is worse for a tulip to live again and be renewed
than for the tulip to die and be dead.
“What happens when you die?”
I asked several romantic partners over the course of my adolescence.
“You’re dead,” they answered.

It is worse for the tulip to be born again,
dust to dust, dirt to dirt, true god from true god,
in a process that spiritual peers define as, reincarnation.
No tulip is an individual (that is clear), but a process.
A perfecting oneness.

I can’t admit or bend to any resounding belief that every tulip is the same.
That FernGully was a farce and Pocahontas, a phony.
That is just not going to fly.
Maybe it is the environmentalist inside me speaking,
or maybe it is God.

I refuse to believe the prodigies and professors of renewal and rejuvenation.
I can not discount individuation, even in tulips!
Tulips are victims of suburbia, they have been relegated to the lawn, to the mulch bed,
but inside of them there are remnants of humanity.

I couldn’t believe it, ever.
Not ever, even if you convinced me or bribed me or seduced me.
No chance.
In a field of red roses by the lake,
A white rose calls up to the sun
With her beautiful petal scarf
And her cheerful smile
Over another field, a tulip stands sad
He is one in the crowd, no one special
“Smart,” some say, “too shy” others may
But he struggles, moving his cheek

The tulip looks at the ethereal rose every day
Wondering how such a flower grew from the floor
An angel’s tears of joy, he might think
A kiss from Gaia, he would have hoped

Tulip doesn’t know much of the rose
And fears never being able to embrace her
He feels that both have too much in common
But his inner parasites would hurt her
For a majestic rose that dances with the moon in the water
Such normal tulip will never have a chance
Her perfect stem is made of silk
His is damaged and made of paper

Still, the tulip dreams
Wishing one day to fly, as his roots would rip
Detaching from the floor, from his forlorn life
Flying towards the star reflected in the lake, where his solitude would end

The white rose doesn’t realize, still
How much he admires her strength, cleverness, and beauty
Until the tulip sends his seeds of love
In the form of this poem and painting

For a more radiant future he fights
Forever aligned with the Astraea of his heart
Because she glows in the night
Inspiring him to be better
And even if the rose doesn’t recognize the tulip
She should know that he is right there
In an everyday battle to talk to her
He is smart and shy, but eager to give all his petals to see her smiling for him
The motif of flowers is key to the second chapter. We know Rose already, so Tulip is the next character the anthology introduces.
Jessica Jarvis Feb 2018
Upon the dark night, striking three;
A tick representing each step in time,
but time overwhelmed by a trinity
of peace, and a plan greater than one's wildest dreams.

As the trees clap their praises unto a summer wind, and
waves flood the skies with their roaring rumbles of exaltation,
a bird sings unto the dark night her song, unique, sweet, and free-spirited

Another beauty upon the night, a tulip,
blossoming, not fully grown, in admiration of this free spirit, the bird.
The tulip observes from a distance the song the bird sings

A praise, a never ending thankfulness
"Thank You for the trees,
Thank You for the waves,
And thank You for me," the bird sings.

In awe of the song bird, the tulip longs to grow, to blossom, to fly, to sing;
Oh, the joy, the praise, the song she'll bring
when fully grown to exemplify her thanks to the three

But, Hold! The clock ticking three, a breath He takes.
The songs of beauty the bird once sang
are silenced more than a whisper

Oh, dear, wilting Tulip; she wonders,
"Why?" she misunderstands, "Why has the bird's song been hushed?"
Oh, so joyful with praise, the songs she sang,
but now unto another Audience, unheard by the flower;

However, the sun rises, the flower realizes,
A new day is upon her. The trees clap their praises unto a summer wind, and
Waves flood the skies with their roaring rumbles of exaltation,
Just like any other day.

Partaking in full bloom overnight, grown, she hears the call of three:
You're unique, sweet, and your free-spirit will sing,
for the steps of time past quicker than the steady rhythm of that clock ticking

Fly free, song bird,
Your legacy will only grow sweeter with time
As the bloom of a tulip smiles and praises the One unto which your song once thrived.
Written sometime around January, 2017.

This was written out of pain: legitimate heartbreak, but I suppose most poetry is, right? This was my first "real" poem that I've ever written. This began as an assignment and became a coping mechanism with a serious loss. I did, however, learn an important lesson: loss can be beautiful... I was very particular and purposeful with this poem, so there is a lot of symbolism. Interpret it as you please.
Ronald J Chapman Apr 2016
Why does the red tulip float?
Why does the flower shine through the window?
The warm breeze shrinks the breathtaking green.
Can't smell a flower, through a cold window.

Springs grow like warm breezes.
Courage, awakening, and blushing in the springtime,
All blossoms show strong, blooming red flowers.

God, such brilliance!

Never smell a tulip through a closed door,

Flower calmly like cotton clouds floating in the sky,
The sun paints red tulips, with an artistic brush,
Red flowers shake like misty sunrises.

Flowering warmly,
The small life calmly desires the clouds.
And reaches for the sky,
Blushing like a shy girl.

Copyright © 2016 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
Red Tulip Bloom, Spring April 14, 2016
Ant Mar 2015
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
Hisham Alshaikh Jul 2018
You laugh
Angels weep out of jealousy
Devils have no single conspiracy
Demons dancing in harmony
Men hearts go broken with no remedy
Women eyes tearing continuously
Violins break out of envy terribly
Composers have no more creativity
Music plays with no melody
Silence starts listening joyfully
Happiness laughters left in agony
Beautiful words describe nothing but misery
Tulip flowers become colorless shamefully
Believers lose their faith immediately
Infidels drop their convictions instantly
Hearts start beating rapidly
Lungs oxygenating quickly
Living ones laying listening carefully
The dead come back miraculously

--Hisham Alshaikh
You Laugh. Version 1.
Richard j Heby May 2014
tulip blooms
pebbles cemented into sidewalk
we notice neither
Josh Murphy Nov 2013
When I look at you,
It's like looking at a tulip on a rose bush.

When I talk to you,
It's like hearing a puppy purr.

When I hug you,
It's like hugging a soft, warm cactus.

And when I kiss you,
It's like kissing a pleasant wasp's sting.

You are the confusion that is love,
You are my tulip on the rose bush.
Sarina Nov 2012
I let go too soon, of these three fingers
pinning a white dress to my knees,
such a strut they possess, and psychic
for the waggle I do on my tulip-days:

mama said that the lace came from an
elves’ head, I could not wear it.
I put it in a dresser drawer, as I lost
my appetite for marriage and friends.

She said that father wanted to see it,
I should parade my red, pulsing veins.
A torpedo, it became, cowering until
liftoff  and glory hallelujah first kisses.

Was it not funny when I, poor chap,
kept garbage in my teeth and laughed
when you slithered your tongue inside,
like Friday penetrating the weekend?

You are a Leo; I am far from such, but
I understand why you may be insulted,
as mama garbs turquoise as the sky
and all our daffodils burn like rubber.

Each says it is because they love me,
railing cat-scratches with a stitch –
but I do not want that, see earthquakes
that hammer on  our tulip-days, dear.
Ashley May 2018
Two tulips, two tulips.
The two tulips love each other. And they both love tulips.
The two tulips hold hands. People cry, people scream.
The Two are split up.
2 tulips become 1 tulip, and another tulip.
A tulip, forced to marry a rose. The rose didn’t have a tulip.
The rose only had a Rose.
“A tulip and a rose is the way to go.” People shouted through out the streets.
Tulips and Roses. Women and Men.
Eileen Auger May 2014
Single red tulip
nods its lonely head
in a light Spring breeze,
satin petals flaring open
in a last show of beauty.

Eileen Auger

sinandpoems Feb 2011
You do not deserve to know everything about me
I am a yellow tulip amongst red roses
Come closer, you may like what you find
Come closer, you may find that you don't

I will not make any promises that I am any good
Although unassuming externally, you may find that
when you sift through my petals,
that when all is said and done,
I am nothing more than an ugly lie
And I will not care

I do not live or die for anyone
The Earth is my Mother
The Sun, my Father
I will grow whether you water me or not
My life will be the buzzing of the bees, the rainy days, the occasional bunny nibbling on my fragile leaves
I will die when the ground is tired of my presence
I will wilt because it was meant to be
Not because I was crushed by the unforgiving sole of your shoe

Destroy me.

I will always grow back.
asg Mar 2014
The skinniest tulip
Sways gently in a breeze
Comfortably and serene
Never does it ask why or how
It just knows that life is nice
And the sun is warm against it's growing leaves
Then a storm comes around
And the tulip finds a new emotion
And as she trembles she begins to wonder why
A sky that hung blue and brilliant above her
Decided to rain it's wrath down upon her
When she is innocent of anything
And though the tulip
Loses a petal that day
She's grown a little taller
That tulip continues to thrive that season
She gets very used to the rain and terror
So no longer does she ask why
But suddenly the winds get colder
And the tulip begins to wilt
With nothing to help her
As she spreads her leaf to the sky
She wonders
How a caring world
Could watch her die
Could see her helplessness
And seize to aide
Why Mother Earth, so prosperous and great
Let the tulip down that day
How something that helped her grow
That told her to always be strong
Could it let her down that way?
Jimmy King Jun 2014
If we were the kind of friends who unironically
raised our glasses in toasts,
I would give one to the generation too comforted by the ease
of a honeybee in the plaintively nonexistent mind
of a tulip

To the generation, or at least its subset
that wrongly feels representative, who stumble drunkenly
or maybe just tiredly out of tents
to **** in the view of their friends, who are still at the fire
because the tent was too cold

To those who did raise their glasses in a toast
on New Year’s Eve at what felt, with the ball drop
not screening in luddite protest, enough like midnight.
Beginning with “dear friends” and a couple laughs;
concluding with “now let’s get ****** up” and
a couple more

To those who proceeded
as directed, clinking their shot-glasses
and swigging them back. If only because
they were not tulips.
Annie Quill Jun 2014
Is a flower
That is a way to say
I love you
To the one you give them to
Ironatmosphere Apr 2013
You are like a tulip in a sea of dandelions.
Parker Wallis Nov 2011
O Tulip Tree,
Towering titan true,
A fond memory I have
Of splendorous ventures long ago!

O Tulip Tree,
Timid and taciturn,
I remember when you,
Paragon of the forest,
Stood tall with power
And eclipsed the noontime sun!

O Tulip Tree,
Tallest tree that be,
I recall when you,
Pillar of perfection,
Were as mammoth in my youth
As you are this day!

O Tulip Tree,
Tremendous yet tender king,
I pray for you,
Noble giant,
That envious naysayer
And usurper alike
Stay their distance
From your domain!

And when the hour is nigh,
O Tulip Tree,
I shall stand tall with pride
Between these vile fiends
As you taught me to long ago!
Jordan Harris Jan 2015
cup of poison rage
pint of verdant, bleeding tears
and pinch of fever
Just a little haiku about tulips
duncanwrite Feb 2014
Today my long tall tulip fell
His pearl-pink bulb had dared to swell
But blushen hung now like a bell

His slim and slender stem once towering
Arced to earth with posture cowering
Burdened by his glory flowering

How quickly he had seemed to climb
To bask in sudden sunlit prime
The longest flower, the shortest time

His adolescent orb once closed
With youthful promise, then exposed
More beauty than we all supposed

And eager straight he stretched to see
The furtive squirrels’ revelry
And blue jays jostling high in tree

His handsome head became a hand
Outstretched to welcome wide and grand
We who’d pale beside him stand

But now his palm points to the ground
Where loyal subjects once were found
A fallen king with withering crown

I saw you flower – be sure of this
Your scented cheeks I bent to kiss
Nor did a day of beauty miss

Though brief your waxing and your wane
Your colours left the purest stain
That in my mind’s eye does remain

In all the world where flowers grow
We sallow souls rush to and fro
Preoccupied, we miss the show

But when we pause to smell the blooms
Held captive by arresting plumes
Forget the sundry that consumes

Thus precious harried minutes take
Our reverie to gaily break
I noticed you -- make no mistake

I studied you that rare of gift
You gave my care-worn spirit lift
Then cut its soaring hopes adrift

Today my long tall tulip fell
Surrendering to Nature’s knell
And left us where he deigned to dwell
Sierra R Oct 2012
one Yellow tulip
in a sea of Red and White
standing Tall and Proud
Despite his Lonely plight

he is Not Afraid
to bare his Golden Face
No Fear of being different
to Keep him in his Place

I wonder if he's Lonely
in that flower bed
Surrounded by his Peers
of colors White and Red

I would like to Pick Him
and take him Home with Me
where his face would be Enjoyed
and make us Both Happy
Regina Ligutan May 2017
Your love is like a tulip.
As you hold me, I feel free from pain;
Free from thorns that keep the wounds alive when holding it tight.
As you stare at me, you appreciate the natural beauty of me;
Beauty that blooms in your sight, a rare beauty which hid on others' eyes.

Tulip had withered nonstop, but its fragrant leaves on.
While time long past, odorous love of yours remains.
Your love is like a tulip.
As you smell me, scent reminds memories;
That keeps flashing in mind.
As the time flies, I sniff the potpourri and your love lingers in the air.
spysgrandson Dec 2012
tufts of grass sit in the yard  
hairy green patches of tenacity
in a field of neglect
half a screen guards
a **** stained door  
where someone painted, 214
the pit sits behind it
waiting to be fed
or to be chained again
to the stake
where, like any beast
bound by gravity
and the grave, he
will make ceaseless circles,  
smaller  e a c h  day,  
unwitting sentry to those
two legged creatures
inside, who
with or without the pit,
lie prostrate,
in dreamless
bug rich beds    
when they fall from sleep
they too make circles
bound by their own
stakes and chains
that can’t be seen
but their pull is felt
their eternal rattle heard
no matter how far from home
the prisoners of tulip roam
DISCLAIMER: if you live at 214 Tulip, and you have a Pit Bull, this is NOT about your house
The stereotype of the female type/ packing more than you give yourself credit for/
Spineless, backstabbing ******* in backless dresses fronting to impress dogs who are/
Barking at ******* that are easy to prey on/ hoping to get a good **** to sniff/
While your tail is out there waggin/ makin’ their tongues turn stiff/
There are many who live in that dog eat dog world/ And boy it can get pretty rough out there/ catch that innuendo?
You see, effing around is simple and it works like this; you F what you see/
Sometimes you find what you think to be ‘the one’ only to be deceived/
Because you believed what you saw and didn’t take the time to dig deep/
Next thing you know, your heart has been sunk in the pool of tears you weep/
You resort to a resolution to that’s easy to keep/ rectify to the erectified/
Yes, maybe some of this is harsh/ but if you cant handle the truth/
You wont know the difference between what’s right and wrong to do/
There’s a difference between a princess and a queen/
A princess who’s prince-less will settle for the frog/
While a queen knows how to stand on her own two feet/
Royalty is respected and they stand tough even when they’re rejected/
It’s hard to see something beautiful be used by a tool who’ll/
Only add her to the collection of his tool box/ then look for a new one/
But the reality of realism is/ reality can be pretty unreal sometimes/
And Miss Congeniality secretly believes the fallacy/ she wasn’t born to shine/
Selling herself at a price her mom would hate to see/
Giving out discounts because she can’t even count on herself/
The worst part is, it’s all manipulating her moral health/
And it’s demeaning her demeanor, being treated like Miss Demeanor/
But she didn’t mean for/ her life to turn to this/
She made three-left turns/ only to find the fourth right doesn’t exist/
Maybe a forthright person is all it takes to set her straight/
Boost her confidence/ make her feel great/ and tell her it’s never too late/
To find a new place to start over/ and get your mind in a better state/
That’s why this poem is called Tulip Teaser/ your own two lips are teasing you/
Impeding you from being you/ misleading you through your own garden/
But you’re better than that/ and there’s more to your garden than you think/
Just stick to your roots and let yourself grow to be the beautiful flower everyone likes to see/
A slam poem of mine off of my project I'm working on.
Joyful Sadness Apr 2015
the bulb in the ground is not enough
not enough to brighten the path
not enough to cut and place in a vase
not enough to give as a gift with chocolate
not enough to let dry and fold into a book
certainly it's not enough
but we see promise in the bulb
we water it
we tend to it
we protect it
we make sure sun shines on it
and even though it's buried
and we could dismiss it
we could say it will come to nothing
we watch, we wait, we help
and it's a tulip
six days
Tulip blooms, she smiles
The pebbles cemented into the sidewalk
And why didn't we notice it earlier

Tulip blooms, he smiles
Piles of tulips in deep lilac

His sentiment to her.
His private messages delivered to her heart 
Thank the tulips for all they do.

Tulips blooms, she smiles
When these fragrances reminded her
Tulip blooms, he smiles
Leaning on his solo path.

Spring is here.
A symbol in the journey they take
a petal for each milestone

Tulip blooms, she smiles.
Tulip blooms, he smiles
A swap role in each chapter they make

Who is trying to save them,
really, who is it? If Tulips were fragile,
like them too?
By Angel.XJ 29/01/2020

In wonder of the world
of her mysteries
sitting here dreaming alone
I wandered over a hill one day
seeking expecting
and she appeared
like a vision
shimmering perfection

I had been admiring
for years
the beauty of his heart
I had watched
from a distance
never letting myself
become apart,
  there were times
   he would approach
     the top of the hill
      always stopping
        and turning back
       my pounding heart
     would then painfully still.
    I sent him dreams
  of a sweet first kiss
sprinkled visions
of starlit bliss
then one day
by the touch of grace
I looked up to find us
standing face to face.

I saw her in dreams before here
she was standing growing
over the hill the whole time

always she had been there

I had just not gone forward enough

I stood in awe

and she like a tulip

dreams, now reality
love floods this heart of mine

I stand in awe
of beauty, so magnificently divine

the essence of love whispered
and I, like a tulip

xtyenia Sep 2013
Beneath the rose, redundancy of death, lie the unquestioned, dances of sleep
spysgrandson Oct 2015
tufts of grass stand in the yard  
hairy green patches of tenacity
in a field of neglect

half a screen guards
a **** stained door where
someone painted, 214

the pit bull sits behind it
waiting to be fed, and to be
chained again to the stake

where, like any beast bound
by gravity and the grave, he will
make ceaseless circles  

smaller  e a c h  day,  
unwitting sentry to those
two legged creatures

who, with or without
the pit, lie prostrate, in dreamless
bug rich beds    

when they fall
from sleep, they too make circles
bound by stakes and chains…

though their pull is felt
and their infernal rattle heard
no matter how far from home
the prisoners of Tulip roam
rewrite from years ago
B Woods Dec 2009
Her sweet scent sticks in my nostrils
from when we were last met,
remembrance of her lips on mine
inspire song divine.
Though I gaze upon her face in photographs,
angelic beauty replicates not.
Shivers she sends me
over the phone.
Oh, I marvel that we
may speak from such distance,
yet I crave her warm embrace,
her breath in my ear,
whispering gently, it’s ok,
and forever will be.
I long to run my fingers
through her silky black hair,
caressingly *******
her mind and its motives,
the clockwork behind
those deep brown eyes,
two chocolatey oceans of no return.
To feel her lie against me
brings a state: pure ecstasy,
no chemical exists
that can make one feel
as they do when abreast
with a lover. Desire
fills me to be with her
but for now I must settle
to view my tulip
from afar.
Jonny Angel Apr 2014
I've always loved
the pretty flowers,
watching them swirling,
twirling in the light breezes
gets my juices flowing.
And you darling,
you are a radiant tulip,
an unfolding cutie,
I crave your
sweet pretty lips
smothering me
with such beauty.
Brett Burger May 2012
I try to forget.
I try my best with
a smile.

The thing is
you didn't promise
me anything. You offered
a hand of friendship.

However it changed when
secrets were released. Friendship
evolved. It blossomed like a tulip.

Until that tulip decided to become
frozen. Frozen in my feelings I felt
for you. The tulip remains frozen until
you decide to chip it open
or someone else awakens it with a kiss.

It's hard when I want that kiss
to be yours. However you have
an appetite for a different flower. You
want your lips on a nearby rose.

The worse is I can't use anger to hide my
feelings because I can't be angry with you.
It's not my fault you don't want to unfreeze
my tulip. It's not your fault either.

It's just the way it is.
thymos May 2015
the red of the tulip
contained in my gaze
Some say love's a little boy,
And some say it's a bird,
Some say it makes the world go around,
Some say that's absurd,
And when I asked the man next-door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn't do.

Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,
Or the ham in a temperance hotel?
Does its odour remind one of llamas,
Or has it a comforting smell?
Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,
Or soft as eiderdown fluff?
Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges?
O tell me the truth about love.

Our history books refer to it
In cryptic little notes,
It's quite a common topic on
The Transatlantic boats;
I've found the subject mentioned in
Accounts of suicides,
And even seen it scribbled on
The backs of railway guides.

Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian,
Or boom like a military band?
Could one give a first-rate imitation
On a saw or a Steinway Grand?
Is its singing at parties a riot?
Does it only like Classical stuff?
Will it stop when one wants to be quiet?
O tell me the truth about love.

I looked inside the summer-house;
It wasn't over there;
I tried the Thames at Maidenhead,
And Brighton's bracing air.
I don't know what the blackbird sang,
Or what the tulip said;
But it wasn't in the chicken-run,
Or underneath the bed.

Can it pull extraordinary faces?
Is it usually sick on a swing?
Does it spend all its time at the races,
or fiddling with pieces of string?
Has it views of its own about money?
Does it think Patriotism enough?
Are its stories ****** but funny?
O tell me the truth about love.

When it comes, will it come without warning
Just as I'm picking my nose?
Will it knock on my door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my toes?
Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love.
Faith Wiggins Oct 2014
Lost flower child gone with the wind
as she floats
No one knows where she's going
..not even her
But still she flows with the wind
not knowing where it's
going to end
original by me
brooke Nov 2013
there is something
moving about being
replaced by flowers.
(c) Brooke Otto 2013

— The End —