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Flower Personification Poems | Personification Poems About Flower

These Flower Personification poems are examples of Personification poems about Flower. These are the best examples of Flower Personification poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Personification |

The Little Flower

               In the same garden, side by side, two flowers began to bloom,
               One, small and fragile, knew her life would be over soon.
               The other, a boisterous rose, felt far superior to her friend
               For she knew that she would live to see the stars and moon   
               Straight through to summer's end.
              
               The little flower did not have the heart to tell her 
               That longevity can bring pain,
               For who would be there to protect her from the elements, 
               The blistering sun and numbing rain.
               Or perhaps an overzealous lad would clasp her in his grip
               And pluck her petals one by one just for the fun of it. 

               And as the rose rambled on and on about all the delights she'd see
               The little flower closed her eyes to dream contentedly.


Details | Personification |

The Traveler and The Rose

A strange blue rose - alone
midst an array of clustered flowers -
a few of them her friends -
the shy violets, lovely white lilies, and bold marigolds.
In the gracious garden spot the traveler singled her out -
his gaze resting admiringly upon her.
Each day as he passed that spot,
she was the one he sought. . . 

And day by day the traveler came around,
speaking through the fence softly in sweet sounds
that wafted her way with the wind.
Persistent wasp, in guise of a honeybee,
he tried so hard to wear that flower down. . . 
till unexpectedly, he strode right through the gate,
and blissfully ignorant of a rose's care,
plucked her up, swept her high up into the air,
and uprooted that blue rose from her safe soil.

But he did not a gardener make.
Knowing nothing of roses,
he knew very little of any flower he pursued.
Moreover, one mere blue rose cannot long compete
with the other bright fanciful flowers
which, along that traveler's path, he was sure to meet.

Those soft whispered words
that caressed her blossomed cheek
soon ceased.
And the water to her soul (if a rose has a soul,
he did not care to know), stopped its flow. 
Scars he left -
new thorns on her stem that grew outward
from his cruel cut, 
but she'd go on. . . . 

Long time replanted now in solid refuge ground,
the strange blue rose
has gained self-understanding,
that one thing for himself (she imagines)
which the traveler she so briefly knew
has never found.


Details | Personification |

Pulse

One moist patch, like dewy grass,
surrounded by a field of weeds,
emerges first and breathes at last, 
through openings, the air it needs.
Cut off from, and cut off of;
counting on, and counting in;
from down below, to up above - 
A smack on tender, crimson skin.
	There is a pulse.

One spring bud, like seedling stems,
surrounded by a garden wall,
is standing out from all of them, 
despite the fact, they're just as tall.
And though the bud has not yet grown,
the soil and the water see
more than just the seed they've sewn.
They see the flower it will be.
	There is a pulse.

One tall stem, like climbing vines,
surrounded by its petals' plumes,
shares its elegant designs,
and stretches as it blooms.
And when the wind begins to call,
the flower spreads it's pollen 'round.
It falls in love, and loves in fall,
and falling love renews the ground.
	There is a pulse.


Details | Personification |

I'm a Little Flower

I’m a little flower
Being seared by the sun
My petals are now wilting
My life is almost done

I’m a little flower
My colors are fading fast
I’m parched to the core
And yet you move on passed

You water other flowers
Little sprinkles you give me
While I struggle to hold on
My beauty for you to see

I’m a little flower
That you once called divine
Now you have lost interest
I’m no longer glorious...fine

I’m a little flower
You’ve neglected for a while
But I’m still struggling on
Longing to see your smile…

I’m a little flower
This is my final plea
Remember my first bloom
Promise to revive me

Oh, water me, my love
My petals do caress
I’ll open as before
Show'ring you with tenderness

Eileen Manassian Ghali


Details | Personification |

Nature's Art

Mother Nature took her paint brush,
and eloquently tipped each petal
With a multitude of glorious colors.
She awoke the morning sun and coaxed
the pedals to greet the morning rays.
She dropped, droplets of morning dew,
watching the moss green carpet
stretch to catch each  drop.
She painted nature's floral bouquet,
and they happily, danced in the breeze.
Her landscape, soon became a work of art.
A scenic wonder, that soon brought the bees,
Who busily, flew from flower to flower 
tasting each, nectar filled blossom.
They happily flew to the hive and back,
Bringing excitement over the floral find.
The flowers continued to flourish under,
the fine painters hand.


Details | Personification |

THE FRAGRANCE OF VIRTUE RISES TO THE HEAVENS

The blissful flower landed on the earthly dirt
And rooted its seeds on the bosom of mankind.
The flower blooms only in fruitful pure heart
Which grazes its petals like one hungry hind.

Virtues are the atoms of God, the holiest one.
The more we attain it, the more we appear near
To Him, His being, Virtues and godliness anon
As our soul drenches with immortal holy tear.

The earthy flower blooms, dies in perched air
With a fragrance that melts, melts, melts away.
But the fragrant flower of Virtue is always fair,
Its fragrance rises towards heavenly stairway.


Details | Personification |

--LOVE STORM--

My hummingbird found me
A cactus i used to be
Instead she wrapped around me
she kissed my deep buried heart
Rose petals surround me
All around me 
All around me 
I am a dancing flower now
Dancing On the beats 
Of her cute fluttering sound...




Details | Personification |

death 'married' death to death

 
  Death looks at a flower and you screaming, 
I am beautiful, look, look..
look here I am, come and eat me, alive.
Death hovers, smiling, never waiting, walking always 
walking by, walking in side, you knowing that, 
any thing that touches, it will soon also, come to *sigh*.
Death is love, love is death, what are you both, death 
is your pet pink pig and deaths two flying bagged pearls.
Slapping you for ever and ever about your red face.
Death is a dry cracked nipple, sleeping, holding on
to the flesh untill it falls off, still dripping.
Death is a bullet fixed, never moving, why does the 
world move you through it.
Death is a voice always quite, sounding alarms to
walk across the street knowing you look both ways, 
while you come running very quickly out across, 
just to stop in the middle and wait.
Death is a woman, who is crazy, thinking the world is 
spinning into her coffee.
Death to all men who think they can save each woman
by marring death and eating her tuna fish sandwich.
Death fingered you, you loved it, now you finger me, 
leaving my bee exposed on the flower, you buzzed it. 
Death's own flower is always sweet and poignant on you..
It is always open for death to smell..............
and it's red alarms, you ignored... 
still here it comes, never alone....to see you as you really are.... 

Is It Poetry 
 
 


Details | Personification |

Devil looks in the mirror

Sin is what covers the devil's skin... lies on his grin that hides from within. Evil that drips from his 
chin... grows a flower from the soil deep within a cloud from hell. Growing a flower with an evil 
scent, turns the soil in a cloud darker then ever... making our grey skies that we have today.


Details | Personification |

Then and Now

I use to be a flower 
that sprouted from a seed
The soil as my mothers womb
through fertile flesh to feed

The bees are dear beloved
attracted by my scent
They carry strife but still remain
Resourceful and content

I've many brothers and sisters
that starve before the rain
Kidnapped and beaten by the heat
wishing death more than pain

I gave praise to the firmament
to open up the sea
The waters fell and gave the weak
the strength that of a tree

I use to be a flower 
that sprouted from a seed
The soil as my mothers womb
through fertile flesh to feed 

The children now are not content
a mandrake of a seed
That nature neglected as an
antagonistic weed
The soil as my mothers womb
through fertile flesh to bleed


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