Red Poems | Best Poems about the Colour Red


    A Red, Red Rose Poem by Robert Burns

    O my Luve’s like a red, red rose
    That’s newly sprung in June;
    O my Luve’s like the melodie
    That’s sweetly play’d in tune.

    As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
    So deep in luve am I:
    And I will luve thee still, my dear,
    Till a’ the seas gang dry:

    Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
    And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:
    I will luve thee still, my dear,
    While the sands o’ life shall run.

    And fare thee well, my only Luve
    And fare thee well, a while!
    And I will come again, my Luve,
    Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.



    The Red Wheelbarrow Poem by William Carlos Williams

    so much depends

    a red wheel

    glazed with rain

    beside the white



    Daybreak In Alabama Poem by Langston Hughes

    When I get to be a composer
    I’m gonna write me some music about
    Daybreak in Alabama
    And I’m gonna put the purtiest songs in it
    Rising out of the ground like a swamp mist
    And falling out of heaven like soft dew.
    I’m gonna put some tall tall trees in it
    And the scent of pine needles
    And the smell of red clay after rain
    And long red necks
    And poppy colored faces
    And big brown arms
    And the field daisy eyes
    Of black and white black white black people
    And I’m gonna put white hands
    And black hands and brown and yellow hands
    And red clay earth hands in it
    Touching everybody with kind fingers
    And touching each other natural as dew
    In that dawn of music when I
    Get to be a composer
    And write about daybreak
    In Alabama.



    Little Red Riding Hood And The Wolf Poem by Roald Dahl

    As soon as Wolf began to feel
    That he would like a decent meal,
    He went and knocked on Grandma’s door.
    When Grandma opened it, she saw
    The sharp white teeth, the horrid grin,
    And Wolfie said, ‘May I come in?’
    Poor Grandmamma was terrified,
    ‘He’s going to eat me up!’ she cried.
    And she was absolutely right.
    He ate her up in one big bite.
    But Grandmamma was small and tough,
    And Wolfie wailed, ‘That’s not enough!
    I haven’t yet begun to feel
    That I have had a decent meal!’
    He ran around the kitchen yelping,
    ‘I’ve got to have a second helping!’

    Then added with a frightful leer,
    ‘I’m therefore going to wait right here
    Till Little Miss Red Riding Hood
    Comes home from walking in the wood.’

    He quickly put on Grandma’s clothes,
    (Of course he hadn’t eaten those).
    He dressed himself in coat and hat.
    He put on shoes, and after that,
    He even brushed and curled his hair,
    Then sat himself in Grandma’s chair.

    In came the little girl in red.
    She stopped. She stared. And then she said,
    ‘What great big ears you have, Grandma.’
    ‘All the better to hear you with,’
    the Wolf replied.
    ‘What great big eyes you have, Grandma.’
    said Little Red Riding Hood.
    ‘All the better to see you with,’
    the Wolf replied.
    He sat there watching her and smiled.
    He thought, I’m going to eat this child.
    Compared with her old Grandmamma,
    She’s going to taste like caviar.

    Then Little Red Riding Hood said, ‘
    But Grandma, what a lovely great big
    furry coat you have on.’

    ‘That’s wrong!’ cried Wolf.
    ‘Have you forgot
    To tell me what BIG TEETH I’ve got?
    Ah well, no matter what you say,
    I’m going to eat you anyway.’

    The small girl smiles. One eyelid flickers.
    She whips a pistol from her knickers.
    She aims it at the creature’s head,
    And bang bang bang, she shoots him dead.

    A few weeks later, in the wood,
    I came across Miss Riding Hood.
    But what a change! No cloak of red,
    No silly hood upon her head.
    She said, ‘Hello, and do please note
    My lovely furry wolfskin coat.’



    A White Rose Poem by John Boyle O’Reilly

    The red rose whispers of passion,
    And the white rose breathes of love;
    O, the red rose is a falcon,
    And the white rose is a dove.

    But I send you a cream-white rosebud
    With a flush on its petal tips;
    For the love that is purest and sweetest
    Has a kiss of desire on the lips



    Every Time I Kiss You Poem by Nizar Qabbani

    Every time I kiss you
    After a long separation
    I feel
    I am putting a hurried love letter
    In a red mailbox.


    Child In Red Poem by Rainer Maria Rilke

    Sometimes she walks through the village in her
    little red dress
    all absorbed in restraining herself,
    and yet, despite herself, she seems to move
    according to the rhythm of her life to come.

    She runs a bit, hesitates, stops,
    half-turns around…
    and, all while dreaming, shakes her head
    for or against.

    Then she dances a few steps
    that she invents and forgets,
    no doubt finding out that life
    moves on too fast.

    It’s not so much that she steps out
    of the small body enclosing her,
    but that all she carries in herself
    frolics and ferments.

    It’s this dress that she’ll remember
    later in a sweet surrender;
    when her whole life is full of risks,
    the little red dress will always seem right.



    Flame-Heart Poem by Claude McKay

    So much have I forgotten in ten years,
    So much in ten brief years! I have forgot
    What time the purple apples come to juice,
    And what month brings the shy forget-me-not.
    I have forgot the special, startling season
    Of the pimento’s flowering and fruiting;
    What time of year the ground doves brown the fields
    And fill the noonday with their curious fluting.
    I have forgotten much, but still remember
    The poinsettia’s red, blood-red in warm December.
    I still recall the honey-fever grass,
    But cannot recollect the high days when
    We rooted them out of the ping-wing path
    To stop the mad bees in the rabbit pen.
    I often try to think in what sweet month
    The languid painted ladies used to dapple
    The yellow by-road mazing from the main,
    Sweet with the golden threads of the rose-apple.
    I have forgotten–strange–but quite remember
    The poinsettia’s red, blood-red in warm December.

    What weeks, what months, what time of the mild year
    We cheated school to have our fling at tops?
    What days our wine-thrilled bodies pulsed with joy
    Feasting upon blackberries in the copse?
    Oh some I know! I have embalmed the days,
    Even the sacred moments when we played,
    All innocent of passion, uncorrupt,
    At noon and evening in the flame-heart’s shade.
    We were so happy, happy, I remember,
    Beneath the poinsettia’s red in warm December.



    A Red Flower Poem by Claude McKay

    Your lips are like a southern lily red,
    Wet with the soft rain-kisses of the night,
    In which the brown bee buries deep its head,
    When still the dawn’s a silver sea of light.

    Your lips betray the secret of your soul,
    The dark delicious essence that is you,
    A mystery of life, the flaming goal
    I seek through mazy pathways strange and new.

    Your lips are the red symbol of a dream,
    What visions of warm lilies they impart,
    That line the green bank of a fair blue stream,
    With butterflies and bees close to each heart!

    Brown bees that murmur sounds of music rare,
    That softly fall upon the langourous breeze,
    Wafting them gently on the quiet air
    Among untended avenues of trees.

    O were I hovering, a bee, to probe
    Deep down within your scented heart, fair flower,
    Enfolded by your soft vermilion robe,
    Amorous of sweets, for but one perfect hour!



    Gray Room Poem by Wallace Stevens

    Although you sit in a room that is gray,
    Except for the silver
    Of the straw-paper,
    And pick
    At your pale white gown;
    Or lift one of the green beads
    Of your necklace,
    To let it fall;
    Or gaze at your green fan
    Printed with the red branches of a red willow;
    Or, with one finger,
    Move the leaf in the bowl–
    The leaf that has fallen from the branches of the forsythia
    Beside you…
    What is all this?
    I know how furiously your heart is beating.