8 junio, 2024

21 original flower poems and classic authors

Enjoy this selection of poems about one of the objects of inspiration for poets, lovers and nature lovers; flowers.

Flowers are objects of admiration for human beings; we use them to give to others, we observe their fragility, we smell them, we decorate our gardens and homes with them, and we admire their beauty.

For poets it is also like that; well-known authors such as José Martí, Jorge Luis Borges or Federico García Lorca have been inspired by them to create some of their poems. Below we show you a compilation of flower poems by classical authors, as well as original poems by our author.

Poems about flowers by classical authors

«I grow a white rose» (José Martí)

Cultivate a white rose

in June as in January

For the honest friend

who gives me his free hand.

And for the cruel one who rips me off

the heart with which I live,

Thistle or nettle cultivation;

I grow the white rose.

Reflection: The poem expresses the value of friendship, which must be cultivated just like a rose.

«A rose and milton» (Jorge Luis Borges)

Of the generations of roses

that in the depths of time have been lost

I want one to be saved from oblivion,

one without mark or sign among things

what they were destiny holds me

this gift of naming for the first time

that silent flower, the last

rose that Milton brought to his face,

without seeing her Oh you red or yellow

or a white rose from an erased garden,

magically leave your past

immemorial and in this verse shines,

gold, blood or ivory or dark

as in his hands, invisible pink.

Reflection: the poem is full of nostalgia and the desire to save something lost.

«Casida de la rosa» (Federico García Lorca)

The Rose

I was not looking for the dawn:

Almost eternal in its bouquet

I was looking for something else.

The Rose

I was looking for neither science nor shadow:

border of meat and sleep

I was looking for something else.

The Rose

I was not looking for the rose:

motionless across the sky

I was looking for something else!

Reflection: the poet expresses the continuous search for love and uses a rose as a medium for his message.

«Flowers of the soul» (José Tomás de Cuellar)

wandering bird, crossing infinity

I pass through this world.

The law of matter entertains me

between pleasure and crying.

And going from the cradle to the grave

Well I know that, unfortunate.

I have to become cold ash

for own and strangers.

But why not forget even my name

when the noise of my footsteps dissipates,

flowers of the soul in my lovers verses

with joy I pour out,

and so the pure souls that love me

they will take them, thinking

that, tomorrow, perhaps for that garment,

there in eternity we know each other.

Reflection: a nostalgic poem in which the author expresses the value of poetry as a means to find immortality after being read even after death.

«The restlessness of the rose bush» (Alfonsina Storni)

The rose bush in its restless way of blooming

it burns the sap that feeds its being.

Look at the roses that fall from the rose bush;

there are so many that the plant will die of this disease!

The rose bush is not an adult and its impatient life

It is consumed when giving flowers hastily.

Reflection: the poet wanted to express her concern about how youth lives in a hurry.

«To the flowers» (Pedro Calderón de la Barca)

These that were pomp and joy

waking up at the dawn of the morning,

in the afternoon they will be a vain pity

sleeping in the arms of the cold night.

This nuance that defies heaven,

striped iris of gold, snow and scarlet,

It will be a lesson to human life:

So much can be done in a day!

The roses rose early to bloom,

and to grow old they flourished:

Cradle and grave in a button they found.

Such men their fortunes saw:

in one day they were born and expired;

that past the centuries, hours were.

Reflection: life and the passage from youth to old age are compared, just like the life of a flower. It talks about how time goes by so fast.

«The Street of Flowers» (Manuel García Romero)

Sonnet to the street of the Flowers of Chipiona.

Every afternoon when the sun goes down

I entered the street of Las Flores,

and absorbed with its magical colors

enchanted garden I imagine.

Slowly my spirit walks

inhaling pure odors

the stars give you their brilliance

and the moon its light from corner to corner.

Geraniums, coralites and gypsies,

carnations, bisicus and bougainvillea,

with rival hatching proliferate.

In the Plaza and the Parochial Temple,

by a miracle of floral effusion,

Summer turns into Spring.

Reflection: a poem that expresses admiration for a street in Chipiona that has the quality of being surrounded by beautiful spring flowers.

«Ignored flowers» (Antonio Carvajal)

ignored flowers

of humble herbs

I brought him from the field.

sumptuous books

—showcase flowers—

you put in my hands

game and alliances

most smiling

with the quietest

I don’t know if we have

the fragrant fingers

ink or petals.

Reflection: the poet talks about the value of books, which, like a field flower, are often left aside, despite their great beauty and quality.

«Jasmine flower» (Ángeles Asensio)

They put jasmine on it, for being pretty;

because they make bows out of their flowers,

and fills the room with smells

when he spends the night on your table.

They gave her jasmine because she was little,

because it has climbing stems

and a subtle scent of air fresheners

in the white that each leaf shines.

We picked the cocoons we wanted,

crimping an almost full hairpin

that we wear her hair on.

But all that beauty so serene

only lasts the night we had

lucky to have her. And that’s sad.

Reflection: a jasmine is compared to a person and how volatile life can be.

«The flower of my hope» (Manuel Reina)

a flower is seen

in the dark field of battle,

and its leaves, moved by the wind,

of smoke and blood are glazed.

A galloping steed approaches,

and soon he will step on it;

plus a strong and vigorous hand

stops it, and the flower is saved!

Today this is how it looks

in the dark field of my soul,

a pure white flower:

the flower of my hope

The flying steed of passions

he comes close to destroying her.

Woe to her if your blessed hand

don’t stop your march!

Reflection: the poet talks about hope, love, purity and goodwill.

«The flower» (José Pedroni)

To the fig of the fig tree a picotero

he ate his heart;

and now, unintentionally, the black fig

it looks like a flower.

In the fig tree I will make myself, after death,

a white fig, love,

and you will be warbler or benteveo,

or calandria or finch.

And the day will come when in the garden

you will see me under the sun

and you will sting and sting my chest,

until I make a flower.

Reflection: stanzas dedicated to heartbreak and the hope of loving again.

«Flower» (Romildo Risso)

There is a flower of a penca,

that opens at midnight,

and only a few minutes:

so that they don’t see it.

It may well be, it happen

that having no name,

walk in fear of the world,

how easy it is to misunderstand…

If your condition is good,

you are the same as anyone

named or unnamed: flower.

Reflection: the poet dictates that we are all equal, that one should not feel afraid or ashamed to go outside, and be oneself.

«Orchid» (Jaime Torres Bodet)

Flower that promises to touch a caress

more than the autumn of a perfume, soft

and that, thought of as a flower, ends in a bird

because his death is a flight that begins.

Eyelid with which the tropics warn

of its inner light the arduous delight,

motionless music, streamer in scoop,

vegetal aurora, serious star.

remorse of spring,

color awareness, weather break,

grace that perseveres in denying itself,

why do I ask you for a true soul

if the only fragrance that encourages you

is it, orchid, the fear to be honest?

Reflection: a person is compared to the beauty, tenderness and warmth of an orchid in spring.

“I have a little flower” (Carlos Etxeba)

I have a little flower

born without realizing it

in the middle of the heart

In the land of blood

its brilliance was paid.

It is delicate and dies

without care and without pampering.

requires a lot of attention

against the summer heat

against the winter cold,

against the cruel disappointment

that causes so much damage

over the years.

blooms in the spring,

withers in the summer

and in the winter it dies,

If my hand doesn’t take care of it.

He remains excited!

with the water of love

throw passion flowers

and rejoices in the window,

when the sun caresses her.

It’s all I have!

I don’t know how it happened.

It grew on me, without realizing it,

In the middle of the heart

Reflection: They talk about love and how delicate it is, that it needs the same care as a flower.

«To a flower» (Francisco Sosa Escalante)

Let it print full of tenderness,

my lips on your scarlet petals,

since you showed off your splendor, galana

on the snow of her white breast.

Let the crying and the pain of others

celebrate your sovereign fortune,

lovely flower that in the morning

gentle you will shine in the pleasant meadow.

Oh! already withered as the hours pass

I have to come to find you at the new day,

without the bright inks you treasure!

And so I will keep you!, that my soul

for you he has to remember the seductresses

phrases of the angel that even sends you.

Reflection: the poem refers to love compared to a flower.

«The Rose Family» (Robert Frost)

The rose is a rose
And it was always a rose.
Today the theory outlines
that the apple is pink
And the pear, and also,
I suspect, the plum.
God only knows well
What else will be said pink.
You, by the way, are a rose,
But you were never anything else.

Reflection: a metaphor for how society dictates and interprets beauty. The rose is a traditional symbol of beauty, but the author says that there is not only traditional beauty.

poems about original flowers

«Behind the flowers» (Juan Ortiz)

Behind the flowers many things can fit:

someone hides the certain word that could not,

a man cries on his way to his father’s grave

a child whispers love to his mother,

an abuser excuses his fist and his wound,

the seller expects nothing left

and bring home food like this,

a girl dreams of that night’s bread,

a hidden hummingbird is satisfied,

a cat awaits with a coup de grace,

an empty couple looks at each other at a table,

a grandmother prays in a church without an owner

and his laughing old man thinks of him in a cold ditch.

Reflection: the poem shows the different motives that can be behind some flowers.

«Flowers for the dead» (Juan Ortiz)

They do not forgive mistakes

nor do they smell in what they are,

that heart does not beat:

more flowers for the dead

As if it were true

on the sour, sad grave,

asking for the birdseed bird:

more flowers for the dead

At home, old deserts,

the mother waits for water,

but you burn, guilt, in your forge:

more flowers for the dead

As a child in the street, uncertain,

without bread, shelter or house,

missing coffee in the cup:

more flowers for the dead

because hell does not stop

after some game

to see if it closes the wound:

more flowers for the dead

Reflection: the poem questions the act of bringing flowers to the dead.

«La Margarita where I come from» (Juan Ortiz)

The daisy where I come from is a flower on the sea,

land at the edge of the sun,

the salt,

of fishermen,

sailors,

networks.

The Margarita where I come from marks deep in the blood,

sticks like a longline to the soul of the one who inhabits it,

and if it’s time to leave,

she visits in any dream…

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