For you, my love, I’ll be a single rose
of crimson hue, and velvet to the touch.
So warm in contrast to your fallen snows,
yet yearning for the thrill of winter's clutch.
Soft petals form a heart so firm and true,
unyielding to the tempest of your reign,
and though a cold wind nurtures doubt in you,
such purity of love I could not feign.
Dilemmas of the soul so keenly felt.
Bestow my love? or must it stay a dream?
for if I warmed your heart 'twould surely melt
and I would lose you to the flowing stream.
And so, my love, this single rose I’ll hide
and keep the love I feel for you inside.
Upon a deep blue rose, a scented song,
so delicate of harmony and sweet;
a melody, whose strains of love replete
I mused upon. To whom could it belong?
To claim such ballad ought have felt so wrong,
but I could ne’er its memory delete;
each note an echo in my own heart’s beat,
alluring me to drift and sing along.
Though how I wish I’d never found the rose
whose music stirred a restlessness in me;
where love once blossomed only sorrow grows
from searching for a love that cannot be,
and timelessly a tear-blue river flows
through heartache’s vale to discontentment’s sea.
you can love
in a just a single moment
that the loss
is felt for a lifetime
it doesn't take time
to form love's bond
sometimes it is immediate
a connection of heart and soul
that defies logic or explanation
these thoughts crowd the mind
as flowers she lays
among her memories
petals with tears
for blue eyes now closed
forever gleam brilliantly
smiles given so eagerly
with tiny lips of kisses
still hold her heart captive
so she lays a white rose
for every day
that her little girl
blessed her with her presence
and one red bleeding rose
to represent the pain of her loss
for even in the agony,
the joy far outweighed the pain
time means nothing when you love
the gift is to love at all...
Across the countryside and into the grassland pastures;
inhabits the battle fields that segregate a Peony Rose.
Such as the gentle beauty of the rose that threatens those,
who are drawn to the undisturbed meadows of the divine,
and become caught in the thorn barb and twisted twine.
Coveted by the splendor of our sight,
we horde the natural beauty as it is our given right.
The Peony Roses are captivated in our possessive might.
The beauty must defend or to shatter and remain in a vibrant tatter.
For each life is to begin in the epoch,
of uncertainty, fruitless, and in a perilous world of bitterness.
As for all the desires to be fulfilled in the end of the epoch;
seeking meaning and clarity as their souls,
reaching for sweet unity.
In the courts,
man throws his mighty stick,
changing the rules, scheming a new trick.
See the weightless power of man
and the fear at hand that he brings.
In the churches,
the prayers of woman
in a quiet peace,
for a faithful praying
as she sings.
A vicious world with beauty,
hiding as a flower.
Attraction to peril in fury,
as we deviate from a greater power.
Was it a Greater Being’s perfect mistake,
or a beautiful mistake by elements of chance?
In the birth of creativity,
allowing mistakes to creep in.
Seeking the perfect form in nature,
while there is no true formality.
Living with these two extremities,
of the hot desert summers days
and the cold arctic winter nights.
The Peony rose hiding away in the sun rays,
and sleeps under the distant star lights.
Vanity or our pride of youth,
we become prisoners of our own devise.
Dreaming of tomorrow as a given truth.
Selfish thoughts we never considered unwise,
we desire for the things we can never own.
We covet what we see
The beauty we can never be.
The danger of the rose.
The aggressions of a Man
and the tenderness of a Woman
can be read by the hardness of his hands
and the softness of her touch.
Is it the end of a gentle beauty of the rose,
To look at her pedals, smell her sent,
feel her touch,
and still be pained by his thorns in the stem?
rose petal's garden
thorns raking an open eye
trimmed bush barren bare
blood let the face of mourning---
sweet cherry of virgin light
Contest: Tanka me a Dream
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
Written August 21, 2013
There's a girl in the garden
She's messing with your rose bed
Plucking weeds out from your head
And watering the seeds in your bed
But where will she wander
When the roses are dead
Will she come back for more
When they turn back to red
She can run all alone
Write this story in stone
On concrete slabs
Of skin and bone
Every rose has its thorn,
Every person that's born
Is both thorny and sweet as perfume.
So are some when they grow,
As you likely may know,
Naught but thorns, or forever in bloom.
For the bush clad in thorns
The kind gardener mourns,
Yet he cares for them just like the rest;
But the roses that grow
He replants in a row
So the people that walk by are blessed.
If each deed that you do
In a rose garden grew,
Would your branches be roses or thorns?
Would you be on display
Or be hidden away
In the shade of the blackberry thorns?
Would you be but a shrub
That the passersby snub,
Or a rosebush admired by all?
Growing thorn after thorn
Will but heighten the scorn,
But a rosebud is lovely, tho' small.
I do not know?
My Wishes are Simple
My wishes are simple,
my desires few,
to gaze upon an ocean,
and marvel at a solitary drop of dew.
My wishes are simple,
my dreams not too grand,
to feel the waves teasing my tired feet,
with no footprints left in the cool, wet sand.
My wishes are simple,
my thoughts serenely gentle, calm,
my heart resting beneath a swaying palm,
healing my being, caressed by nature's soothing balm.
As rose petals wither in the autumn of life,
Days hasten in orbits, some dull, some are bold.
my muse rises to hoist a setting sun hung in gold,
gleaming light abiding as daughter, mother, and wife.
Glorious blessings entrusted outshine loss and strife.
Circling paths of heaven and earth, charms conjured unfold
as rose petals wither.
I hum a lighthearted song from an innocent time
and soar higher than summer to tranquilly reminisce.
Then, receive autumn with thankful heart, tho' spring I do miss.
Warm days dash by, distant Christmas bells chime
as rose petals wither.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, July 22, 2012
for Nette Onclaud's RONDINE THE TRAFFIC OF LIFE Contest
That pen just lies there on the pale white blank pad page__no activity; that sorry pen has O D on something dangerous_passed out_hardly breathing..Come on pen sit up_here sip on this strong coffee..That's it click, look around, life is active, inviting_write it down..Come on now_here eat up of these grits and red-eyed gravy; now that is an eye opener..You've slept through the last rose of summer that was deep burgundy long stemmed on the bush. You missed that lucious kiss under the pale pink rose that on the trellis grows. Winter is coming on, sober up, get busy for you missed the Hummingbird sip nectar from the Wild Petunia then fly away leaving hundreds of Yellow Butterflies to get intoxicated upon its blooms..So you say you are awake now..Here let me kiss you beautiful ink flowing 'pon the page!
I think my pen OD on chocolate though!!!
Sponsor: Joann Grisetti
Contest: Drunken Pen Round 2