In The Pink Poems - Poems about In The Pink

Marvelling in the pink afternoon, pretending to crochet a drawstring. I’ve done it before, at least once before, followed the pattern. Closed the purse. I can’t nearly begin to learn that not all things are meant to bring pleasure to me…they are oft’ meant to gift, to love, to let go of. Don’t pull too hard…enclose a piece of your heart on a little...

Continue reading...

Into the store dressed completely in pink He looked like he wanted to kick up a stink The legs of his pants had decided to shrink And was that man angry, well what do you think He read my name badge and he growled, ‘Mr Purvis… The sign on the ceiling says ‘Customer Service’ I’ve worn this suit one time and...

Continue reading...

I think pink is a colour for the young, It's also the colour of our tongue and lips, And if we are caucasian, even our hips. Sugarplums, babies bums, shell-like ears are pink, Some jewellery I think too, Pearls, Beads and bangles, to mention just a few. Pink champagne all froth and bubble, Don't forget the pink flamingo, Falling in love and all...

Continue reading...

Her name was not Virginia Neither was it Pat I remember her as June Because of her lovely pink hat. June is a pink hat month, you see With its flowers so charming, so gay Yes, I know her name was June I remember her quite that way. She spoke so softly, gently I'd say I thought she'd scarcely be heard But her pink hat...

Continue reading...

I'm surrounded by the down and out. Look too tired to shout. Seems like they only want to pout. Me, strong feeling I'm missing a link, without a doubt, would put me in the pink. While observing their plight, I could be taking flight. It's a signal from inside, indicating my heart is open, but missing something. Now a slight ache, not a sharp pain, telling me to make...

Continue reading...

My granddaughter is in the pink From her double chins to those drawers that stink She looks just like a kewpie doll She’s chubby, pink, and oh so small Her cheeks are a rosy-pinkish hue Her toes and fingers, they’re pink too When she gets sleepy she’ll protest Then fall asleep there on my chest Her eyes will close – her lips will...

Continue reading...

Morning is a cistern; its beauty laid out bare to my naked eye. Round, golden-amber flame, gradual is your eager burning one with significant strength and worth. Your potent, pinkish explosion is placed in view, in which, my eyes are glazed over what falls before me. Your blushing tone angles as it also reflects itself above the sound of water so perfected, brimming of detail; coming in to fully...

Continue reading...