Something Red

All the poems on this page were inspired by something red.

Sonnet to a Scarlet Rose

In gardens where the morning dew does gleam,
A scarlet rose stands tall, in splendor dressed.
Its petals, like the strokes of a painter’s dream,
In vibrant reds, the artist’s love confessed.

Each droplet holds a world within its sphere,
Reflecting light, a dance of dawn’s embrace.
The rose, in quiet strength, does not appear
To wilt or shy from nature’s soft grace.

Oh, symbol of a love that’s deep and true,
Your hues outshine the finest rubies’ glow.
In you, the essence of passion we view,
A testament to beauty’s lasting show.

In this quiet garden, where dreams are sown,
A single rose, in regal red, is shown.

Crimson Sunset

Beyond the day’s last whisper, skies ignite,
In crimson hues and golds that softly blend,
The sun, in grand descent, bids day goodnight,
As evening’s cloak, in shadows, does descend.

The ocean mirrors fire from above,
A canvas vast, where sun and sea converse.
In this serene display, the heart does love,
To find in nature’s art, the universe.

The silhouetted birds, in flight so free,
Adorn the sky, as stars await their turn.
Each wave, a gentle brush of harmony,
Reflects the sun’s last kiss, in colors burn.

In moments such as these, we find our rest,
In awe of nature’s crimson sunset crest.

The Red Balloon

Above the city’s gray, a splash of red,
A balloon dances free in open skies.
Against the backdrop of life’s busy thread,
It floats, a dot of joy to wandering eyes.

In streets where haste and purpose blend and blur,
It moves with grace, untouched by worldly care.
A child’s lost treasure, perhaps, or a spur
To memories, in hearts of those who stare.

It glides past windows, towers of glass and steel,
A lone bright sentinel in urban sprawl.
In its simple journey, there’s an appeal
To the child within us, one and all.

In every heart it passes, light and free,
The red balloon sparks dreams of what could be.

Autumn’s Red Leaves

In woods where autumn whispers through the trees,
A tapestry of red and gold unfolds.
Each leaf, a painter’s stroke of memories,
In nature’s hand, the season’s tale is told.

The forest floor, a mosaic, richly laid,
With leaves that danced their final, graceful twirl.
A stream reflects the canopy’s vibrant shade,
As waters mirror this ephemeral world.

The sun, through branches, casts a gentle glow,
Illuminating paths where shadows play.
In every fallen leaf, the beauty shows
Of time’s relentless march and sweet decay.

In red leaves’ rustle, autumn’s voice is heard,
A fleeting symphony, in silence stirred.

The Red Dress

In a ballroom where lights and shadows dance,
A lady in red commands every gaze.
Her dress, a vibrant flame in the expanse,
Speaks of boldness, where elegance meets blaze.

Around her swirls the crowd in muted tones,
Yet none can steal the radiance she holds.
In her, the fire of confidence is sown,
A story in silk and crimson unfolds.

The chandeliers cast a soft, golden light,
Reflecting in her eyes, a sparkling jest.
Each movement she makes, graceful and light,
In the sea of formal wear, she’s the crest.

In her red dress, she’s more than just a sight,
A symbol of passion, in the night’s delight.

The Red Umbrella

Amidst the city’s rain-washed, somber streets,
A solitary red umbrella blooms.
Its color bold against the gray retreats,
A vibrant defiance to the gloom.

The raindrops play a rhythmic, soft refrain,
Upon this canopy of bright allure.
Against the canvas of the mundane,
Its presence speaks a hopefulness, pure.

Around it, shadows drift in muted tones,
Umbrellas like the whispers of the crowd.
Yet, in this sea of sameness, it alone
Stands out, a fiery statement, clear and loud.

In every droplet’s fall, a truth is spun,
Beneath the grayest sky, color has won.

Ruby Harvest

In orchards where the sun’s warm fingers reach,
A harvest of red rubies does unfold.
Strawberries like jewels, within gentle reach,
In baskets lay, a story sweetly told.

Each berry, plump with summer’s tender kiss,
Gleams brightly ‘gainst the backdrop of the green.
The hands that pick, in nature find their bliss,
In this dance of life, so serene.

These fruits of labor, born from earth and toil,
Reflect the cycle of the seasons’ turn.
From fertile ground, they rise, a loyal spoil,
Reward for care and love in which they burn.

In every ruby fruit, life’s sweetness dwells,
A tale of summer’s joy, each berry tells.

The Cardinal’s Song

In winter’s grasp, where silence holds the land,
A flash of red, a cardinal takes its perch.
Against the snow, a vibrant contrast grand,
In leafless trees, it seeks a lofty church.

Its feathers, like a flame against the white,
Illuminate the stark and frosty scene.
A beacon in the short and sunlit light,
A burst of life where cold has laid its sheen.

Its song, a melody of warmth and cheer,
Resounds through air as crisp as crystal glass.
In this serene expanse, it rings out clear,
A testament to life that does not pass.

In winter’s quiet, beauty finds its part,
The cardinal’s song, a work of living art.

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