Pink Poems

Popular Pink Poems
In Winter In My Room
by Emily Dickinson

1670

In Winter in my Room
I came upon a Worm—
Pink, lank and warm—
But as he was a worm
And worms presume
Not quite with him at home—
Secured him by a string
To something neighboring

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Minnie And Winnie
by Alfred Lord Tennyson

Minnie and Winnie
Slept in a shell.
Sleep, little ladies!
And they slept well.

Pink was the shell within,
Silver without;
Sounds of the great sea
Wander'd about.


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How I Got That Name
by Marilyn Chin

I am Marilyn Mei Ling Chin
Oh, how I love the resoluteness
of that first person singular
followed by that stalwart indicative
of "be," without the uncertain i-n-g
of "becoming."Of course,
the name had been changed
somewhere between Angel Island and the sea,
when my father the paperson
in the late 1950s

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Love Is...
by Adrian Henri

Love is...

Love is feeling cold in the back of vans

Love is a fanclub with only two fans

Love is walking holding paintstained hands

Love is.


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The Night Game
by Robert Pinsky

Some of us believe
We would have conceived romantic
Love out of our own passions
With no precedents,
Without songs and poetry--
Or have invented poetry and music
As a comb of cells for the honey.

Shaped by ignorance,
A succession of new worlds,

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Recent Pink Poems
Pink
by Evelyn Judy Buehler

Dawn
coral
skies mixed with
purple and gold.
Daisies glow in bright
field of strange sunrise light,
midst birdsong, nature's finest.
Classical music morning's come!
Yellow bees roam the world humming joy
in the regal sun's colored procession.

......

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To the Dogwood He Came
by Evelyn Judy Buehler

Down hot sunny lane came pink robin,
With a beautiful song in his heart!
He perched on a dogwood in my garden,
A moment of rapture, soon to depart.

Blooming days in my garden of delight.
The afternoon dragged waiting for him;
And he came singing long before night,
Like a rainbow's appearance on a whim!

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When Lilacs Last In The Dooryard Bloom'D
by Walt Whitman

from Memories of President Lincoln

1

When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd,
And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night,
I mourn'd, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.

Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring,
Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west,

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Two Roses
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

A humble wild-rose, pink and slender,
Was plucked and placed in a bright bouquet,
Beside a Jacqueminot’s royal splendour,
And both in my lady’s boudoir lay.

Said the haughty bud, in a tone of scorning,
‘I wonder why you are called a rose?
Your leaves will fade in a single morning;
No blood of mine in your pale cheek glows.


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At The Window
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Every morning, as I walk down
From my dreary lodgings, toward the town,
I see at a window, near the street,
The face of a woman, fair and sweet,
With soft brown eyes and chestnut hair,
And red lips, warm with the kisses left there.
And she stands there as long as she can see
The man who walks just ahead of me.

At night, when I come from my office down town,

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