Bluebell Poems

Bluebell Fairy

Bluebells are gorgeous. I've written this poem for a friend who loves the Bluebell Fairy. 

Bluebell Fairy 
By Michelle Morris 
21/04/2025

The Bluebell Fairy is real
She will bless you every Spring 
See her dance and play through the garden 
Be delighted by her charms

She'll remind you that there's Hope
She'll remind you to find Joy 
Every single day you're here
The opportunity to celebrate your Life 

For every little thing is Special 
Every butterfly and bee and ladybug 
Embrace the Bluebell Fairy's wishes
And know God's blessings are from Love

© Michelle Morris, 2025

Bluebell Dells

Idyllic illicit illusion…

Complicit daydream delusion…

Explicit panoply profusion…

Other worldly garlanded gems..

Purring poetic…balletic..stirring kinetic aesthetic..

Absurdly drop atop delicious stems..

Heavenly blue hue...serenity’s serendipitous shade..

Or purple patch so plush…fairies blamelessly blush..

Bucolic blossom hush... mother nature's made..

Garnishing..varnishing.. intricate forest floor laid..

Magical mist…delicate..sumptuously sprayed... 

Trysts persist…unctuously dappled glade..

How can you resist..not be swayed?

Flagrantly decadently displayed. 

Fragrantly delectably conveyed...

Casts seasonal smorgasbord spells..

Marvel at the mythical majesty..

Spring’s cocooned woven tapestry..

Festooned filigree of bluebell dells

Bluebell Waits In My Reading Nook

My reading nook is a quiet place, filled with my favorite things.
Books I have read more than twice, plush pillows and cushions.
The sun filters through the cherry blossom tree in the spring.
In the summer I often fall asleep on the blue window seat.

I have spent more hours in this room than any other place in the world.
Taking my time devouring books, snacking on crackers and peanut butter.
My hound Bluebell lies here during the day, waiting for my return.
It is a comfort to know someone is waiting for me all day long.

Bluebell Song

Who will hear the bluebells 
ringing through the prairie? 
Notes dispersed asunder, 
stroked from blooming brushes, 
painted loud as thunder. 

Who will hear the bluebells 
lost in dulcet rapture? 
Symphonies of new birth, 
swaying to the wind’s song; 
chiming with blue blushed mirth. 

         23 Apr 2022

Bluebell River

Bluebells curtsy mildew pasture
Vibrant, submissive, indigo chimes
Blooms convene, witnessing daybreak
Vain, boastful, early spring unveils,
English bulbs amidst sweet woodland scent

Floral rivers flourishing below
The matured red stags weary hooves,
Strength, stamina, amongst delicate, petite
Burnt auburn fur, greets azure petal streams -
Beneath April's succulent trees

Scented Leaves

When bluebells drench'd with dews of summer eves*
open their eyes, she slips from my embrace,
frowns, looking at her watch, puts the long lace
black gartered stockings on and, scented, leaves
my dreams… I wonder why she never wears
a dress. It may take neighbors unawares.

*  “The Scholar Gypsy” by Matthew Arnold

10.11.2019
Scented Leaves Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kim Rodrigues

The Bluebell Wood

Green velvet-covered limbs rest 
on carpet of azure and amethyst.
Chandelier light spilling out
golden shards, illuminating
figures dancing a quickstep.

Orchestra on the wing, melodic,
worshipping delights of Spring.
Whispering of huge, ancient oaks,
fluttering green foliage, re-birth,
emerging from winter’s long gestation.

Tall, strong trunks, feet entrenched
in earth, covered by nodding heads.
Arms reaching to the sky, forming
a haven, an umbrella, a shelter
for all who stay or just pass by.

Sit awhile, listen, these giants
have wisdom, ancient sages.
Breathe in scent, absorb the hues,
let nature’s beauty calm the soul,
with more power than human remedy.  


Ruth Mawdsley
29-4-18

Bluebell Woods

I love bluebells, 
I like their deep scent, 
the way they jingle invitingly in the spring breeze, 
their delicate blanket patchworked by trees,
brief but bold blues against verdant greens, sparkling with white anemones.
This year I look at them and all they are doing is reminding me of the colour of your eyes.

Why Blue

Why is the sky so blue, the reflection of the sea, 
that is what we are told,
why are some folks eyes' shades of blue, 
blue-eyed beauties for me that's true,
Michaelmas daisies, late summer blues, 
no equal to the late springtime bluebell hues,
Tommy Steel, never felt like singing the blues,
he did, it was a ruse, made him a fortune, allegedly,
blue forget-me-nots, memories of a blue I'll not see again,
a warm blue Mediterranean, off Malta's coast?

07/12/18

So glad I went back and read that rule
Not allowed to use the word blue, only in the title
Something must of blocked my view
For that rule was vital!

The Bluebell Concert

Heaven’s orchestra.
The concert begins. 
Symphony played.
Instrumental composition,
Springs violins sounds,
Trumpets call,
The earth rejoices.
Woodwind blows,
Tempo vibrating love.
Dawn chorus! Awakens,
Clashing cymbals,
Bluebells chime.
Beats with poetic rhythm.
The audience watch.
As crescendo of colour,
Blooms.

Wendy Jae

Bluebell Woods

path of bluebells briefed
oaken limbs breathe caution's wind
immanence emits

Lavender lips of light spill forth her embrace
brushed soft glints of splendor 'cross my eye
left low, an aura hanging on a breeze   still
night moons burn   engulfing her grace

Fearless thy sight, guide where mist taints
tired trails forged, drapes heavy irons   held
release past pains, painted in amber tones
and shine steady, lifting up a weary soul

spirits held still
onward notions pure
reverence withdrawn

Bluebell Woods

Unfolding through the woodlands,
A carpet of bedazzled blue,
Bells summoning the fairies,
To the Springtime review.

They've come to make their magic,
To cast their seasonal spells,
The bluebell's nodding head's,
Beckons that all is well.

The fairies fill bluebell thimbles
And drink ambrosia essence,
Sitting on spotted toadstools
Beneath leaves so luminescent.

If you're walking through woodland,
Don't trample the beautiful bells,
It will bring you such bad luck
To disturb the fairies spells.

Searching Bluebell Wood

In springs frost 
the dance begins again
Four four time 
and fluttering wings 
rapid beat 
and anxious breath 
Here in a cold grey mornings rage 
a damp sun failed to rise 
it rains in the drip of quietness
while I exhale on life's stage
All around is strewn with a sparkling light
unwelcome in their private realm 
I find the road and walk back home

Bluebell Woods

Where hazel bushes mix with sturdy oaks
and beech trees densely grow in shades of green
the fairy flowers come in early spring
attired in clothes of violet-blue sheen.
The swathes of bluebells, like a sheet unrolled
before our eyes, breathtaking to behold! 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 
This stanza is a Sexain or Sestet.
Contest: One Stanza
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Placed 4th

© 14th July 2016

Bluebell-Judicious Being

A shade of Turquoise,
Vibrant and lengthy,
Smooth like blueberries,
Thick like quilt,
Wrapped in ribbon,
Neatly and tight.


Eyes like pandas,
Big and bold,
Lashes like spiders,
Most are new,
Some are old,
Like my big red luscious lips (or so I am told).


My big frame and stature,
Is not a match for you,
My retro fashion sense,
Vintage like me,
I'm happy with just flowers,
Gerberas red, pink, yellow and green.

• Short Bluebell Poems
• Famous Bluebell Poems
• Best Bluebell Poems
• Read Bluebell Poems
• Long Bluebell Poems
• Bluebell Quotes