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Couplet Rose Poems | Couplet Poems About Rose

These Couplet Rose poems are examples of Couplet poems about Rose. These are the best examples of Couplet Rose poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Couplet | |

The Last Rose Of Summer

The last rose of summer is rapidly fading on the vine.

     'Twas once as brilliant as a splendid claret Bordeaux wine.

          Alas, autumn frosts hath wrought their deadly sting.

               Thankfully, another will bring me pleasure come next spring!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw

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Ringing True

A moon smiling shines one golden glow
Holds my attention from far below

Ring around a rose her pearly white face 
Brings to mind a love one's embrace

Inside dreaming Heaven's opens door
keys the lips kissing explore

Faraway treasure star falling wishes grace 
Exploding emotions increases the heart's pace

Winking goodnight sweet angel holds 
Forever and always until the bells toll

Co.written couplets by Liam Mc Daid +Seamus and Maria Mc Laughlin

Copyright © liam mcdaid

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Loved Up

Diamonds smile in her solferino sky tonight.
Henna rose tendrils twine the trellis of her cheek,

lilacs twist and hiss in her hennaed hair,
snaking against the violet velvet backdrop of night.

Behind ecstasy-wide eyes her untold dreams
etch sinuous illusions on psychedelic soul screens.

She'll trip the fantasy light with him tonight,
dancing the razor edge of danger and delusion,

candyflip kisses clinging needily on her loved up lips.
Their iridescent amethyst laser light ride;

treading tracers, wading twilight's violet tide,
twining together in pulsing purple light.

An acid house glasshouse lavender love:
their forbidden hush-hush finger-to-lip love.

The single beam of her mind's strobe light on these nights
when a mauve mist envelops and enraptures her,

ambient trance chants entrancing her ear,
henna rose tendrils clinging damply to her cheek,

the tickle and pull of the dancefloor tormenting her feet.
Twisting and twirling in techno beat heat,

colours swirling, amping in lilac love-light,
whirling the purple heart party haze tonight.

Copyright © Charlotte Jade Puddifoot

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Discourse of a Rose

I found a book from long before
And thought to read the book once more.
The pages, yellowed, slightly torn;
The book well-read, now bent and worn.
And as I turned each page with care
I found a rose was lying there--
The symbol of a love repressed,
A rose between the pages pressed.
And still the rose was bloody red
While uttering the words unsaid.
The rose said all there was to say
So I left it for another day,
And placed the novel in the den
Until the rose should speak again.
The discourse of a bloody rose--
The one I picked; the one I chose.
And even now that flower grows
And sows whatever seeds it sows.


Copyright © Mel Merrill

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He Left Her a White Rose

Its the morning after the night before
As i leave my new wife, whom i lovingly adore

My orders came through, overseas i head
With my band of brothers, not knowing what's ahead

    Married for days, whilst conflict takes him away
    Holding sheets where we slept, my memory bouquet

    At the bottom of our bed, there lies a virgin white rose
    With a note beneath i am in momentary froze

    I sit and stare as to what it might say
    Knowing this is the day my love flies away

My darling Tinks i leave this white rose for you
Its pristine appearance describes my darling so true

It symbolises you, so innocent so pure
With your love in my heart, i will return i assure

Think of the day, from these distant lands from beyond
For the morning after the night before, we will respond

    This virgin white rose, so bridal so pure
    You and its safety i will secure, for you to return for our future

    The day you come home, it shall lay on our bed
    And we will continue our lives, as you have always said

    I will go about my tomorrow's, thinking of you every day
    And prey that this virgin white rose, never turns deathly grey

Copyright © James Fraser

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Frozen Rose

She's teased by autum's last smile
Her velvet petals unfold a short while last chance to pause
Breathe in life, just because

I see there, my honeybees dance
Given this one glorious last chance

I share their joy as I touch
Smell the sweetness, I'll miss so very much

The west is now glowing red
Dark clouds, moving in overhead

Velvet snow petals begin to fall
Time for her to sleep after all......

©Donna Jones

Copyright © Donna Jones

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I am a Red Red Rose

I am a red red rose
A beauty to behold
My texture captivates
My scent invigorates
Petals, a velvet red
Coverings for your bed
Leaves an emerald garb
That hide the hidden barb
Though thorns be on my stem
Touch me, ignoring them
Please, handle me with care
Dethorned, my beauty bare
I am a red red rose
Your passion for me grows
Rose water from me drips *
And wets your precious lips
I beautify your soul
My presence makes you whole
I am a red red rose

Eileen Manassian Ghali

PS...A different take on Robert Burns famous Poem, A Red Red Rose.

*By the way, rose water is used in many desserts in Lebanon. One of my favorites, Mouhalabieh, a white custard that is topped with syrup and pistachios, contains rose water. Yummy....Let your mind run riot with that one! :)

Copyright © Eileen Manassian

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A Beautiful Rose

When speaking on flowers it’s true as can be
My wife is by far the most beautiful to me

She has the scent of both beauty and love
She is a beautiful Rose that I hold above

Like the Rose she burst of color and life
She is the single Rose my beautiful wife

I don’t know about flowers as you can see
But my wife is a beautiful Rose to me

For Brian's Contest

Copyright © Michael Jordan

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a promise of a rose

everybody knows a dead beat dad
someone full of promises things yet to be had
everybody has a loser for a lover
what you see in them we have yet to discover
everybodys been put up and suddenly let down
and still you hold on to that imaginary clown
everybody feels what you felt and left
and you defend that dead beat unto the last breath
always believing the promise of the rose
is not just believing but knowing one knows
to some the promise of the rose is better than the rose

Copyright © John Loving III

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Romance of Rose and Star

The shinning sun, who warmly glows,
Doth send his ray to court the rose.

And enamored with her velvet way,
He proffers her the gift of day.

Then adds a string of dawn and dew,
In tribute to her crimson hue.

Thus blushing in her lovely way,
The rose invites the sun to stay.

The sun then smiling, with a gleam,
Bestows to her a precious beam--

That she may wed, though from afar,
This charming and enchanted star.

M ;-)

Copyright © Mel Merrill

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A rose is a rose is a rose
And why is that? I suppose...
Each one has smooth petals, a stem
Each one has green leaves, then again
Each one has a fragrant perfume
Each one opens wide in full bloom
Each one offers symbol of love...
Each one is a gift from above.

A rose is a rose is a rose
And why is that? I suppose...
Deep russet, bright red, pink delight,
Cream, yellow, pure white to our sight...
Home-grown, cultivated or wild
The fragrance, outstanding or mild
In garden, bouquet or a vase
Each rose is so sure to amaze.

Deep russet, bright red, pink delight
Cream, yellow, pure white to our sight...
A rose is a rose is a rose
No matter in what way it shows.

Sandra M. Haight

~6th Place~
Contest: No More Masks
Sponsor: Catie Lindsay
Judged: 10/01/2015

Inspired by Poetess Georgia Douglas Johnson (September 10, 1880 – May 14, 1966) 
Her Poem: Common Dust (read below)


And who shall separate the dust
What later we shall be:
Whose keen discerning eye will scan
And solve the mystery?

The high, the low, the rich, the poor,
The black, the white, the red,
And all the chromatique between,
Of whom shall it be said:

Here lies the dust of Africa;
Here are the sons of Rome;
Here lies the one unlabeled, 
The world at large his home!

Can one then separate the dust?
Will mankind lie apart,
When life has settled back again
The same as from the start?


Copyright © Sandra Haight

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Tears for a Rose

I strolled along a garden path as the sky threatened a thunderous wrath. I knew I should run for shelter soon. Our storms were often severe in June. Lightning spit from an angry sky and the gusty wind let out a cry. My feet froze near a rose in bloom. The roaring sky foretold of doom. In despair, I reached for the darkest cloud feeling it's rage, my soul wept out loud. Wanting my sorrow to have a name knowing the sky was feeling the same. Lift me into the gale, I dared to ask. Living in pain is a burdensome task. Draw me through the rain, drench my heart, cleanse me with the hope of a fresh start. I screamed to the heavens, take me away, where gray met with black, I wanted to stay. Battered and bruised, hail pounded my skin. Struggling for courage somewhere deep within, I reached for the rose, wilted and torn, the softest petal, the sharpest thorn. I cried for the rose and I cried for me, for the beauty that was and could never again be. for the Rhyming Game contest (Joyce Johnson)

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders

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My hybrid beauty, Sutter's Gold
Your scent so sweet, your colors bold

There could not be a fairer rose.
Most perfect petals now are those.

Your leaves are green and fresh, unbitten.
You follow every rose rule written.

You are your perfect best today
With the rose show still three weeks away!


With the rose show still three weeks away
You are your perfect best today.

You follow every rose rule written,
Your leaves are green and fresh, unbitten.

Most perfect petals now are those.
There could not be a fairer rose.

Your scent so sweet, your colors bold,
My hybrid beauty, Sutter's Gold.

      For Matt Caliri's " Write a Backwards Poem" Contest won 3rd place

Copyright © Joyce Johnson

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                                                        Those rose petals
                      "My pen drips of sorrow and on this paper, I write each tear"

                                        . He was my treasure,my pot of gold.
                                  When he passed and it made my blood run cold.

                                  They laid him to rest so we put him in the ground. 
                              The rose petals in my hands I through them all around.

                                    My heart was broken when they said he died.
                         His rose petal covered casket is why my eyes will never be dried.
                                                                    Teresa Skyles     13-Aug-11
Entered in Constance La France~A Rambling Poet~"Just write"contest

Copyright © T.A. Skyles-Theoklapoet

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Mylah Rose

My sister had her baby, just the other day.
She had her on the twenty seventh of May.

She has alot of hair, just like her dad.
She had the hiccups, that made her mad.

Her cheeks are soft, and chubby.
Her limbs are short, and stubby.

She has her daddys eyes, and her mothers nose.
Cute as a button, and they named her Mylah Rose.

By: Cherica Eckiwaudah

Copyright © Cherica Eckiwaudah

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                                              A black bee on a red rose
                                            sucking honey with its pose
                                             flapping wings rest a while
                                              sticking sting having smile
                                              Yellow pollen tastes much
                                                 flies to next give buzz
                                               night's food needs to pile
                                                   living days life style

For contest: Sponsored by Suz-D

Copyright © BL Devnath

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There Is But One True Color of A Rose

There Is But One True Color of A Rose As everyone knows, There is but one true color of a Rose, It is the color which calls to action, The one which causes ads to have “traction,” The only hue that excites, Yet paradoxically, invites, The one that is all over at your birth, The color of the most vital fluid on this Earth, It is the color of gory Death, Yet it signals blood that has gained oxygen from your breath, It is the only “true” color of a Ferrari, And that on the lips of every potential Mata Hari, A color that cannot, here, be said, The color, without which, you would be Dead! Red/ for nette onclaud's Color My World/ by Rick Rucker

Copyright © Rick Rucker

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Red Rose

Red rose sitting there
Why are you so fair?

Is it because your petals so soft
Are held perfectly aloft
In the morning air
Making all take the dare
To come and see you
And to wipe off the dew
That you collect on satin leaves
From every long night’s breeze

Or is it because of your scent
That captures all without consent
And forces them to see
How sweet nature can be
All while only coming close
To the center of a red rose

Perhaps it is that crimson hue
Which colors viewers points of view
Rosy red with delight
That stays with them until the night
That your petals break away 
And fall from their spiral array

Red rose sitting there
I know why you are fair
Petals soft, scents so sweet
Crimson hue, all come to meet
And bring my senses until combined
In lovely symphony inside my mind
That only plays when I propose
To look upon you, Red Rose

Copyright © Chance Kophamer

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Why the Rose Always Cries

Night after night, she sits down and contemplates
In her mind she knows her loss, but still she sits and waits

He, her husband, another statistic he has become
Killed in a far away land, another soldiers blood has run

Day after day she's taken back, to moments they had shared
Carving their names on a tree, showing teenagers cared

Through green fields of pastures new, season after season
At fourteen years old they clicked, love was a reason

Whilst she paces their family home, his steps gone forever
Killed in a far away land, another life now severed

In her time their kids will be told, daddy's never coming home
For the angels have asked him to stay, just to let him roam

Memories of their pasts resonate within her mind
For she knows she'll find no other, for he was one of a kind

Outside the window where she stares, under many seasons skies
She sits down and contemplates, why the Rose always cries

Copyright © James Fraser

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The Best of Luck

Remember me,
In every sun set and every rise.
Let no cloud dark your skies. 
When the rose has withered upon it's last peddle,
I shall no longer mend or meddle.
When I shall not meet your eyes anymore
We will be what was before. 
I will not be there to hold your hand,
Or guard behind you as you stand.
I will not be your soothing succor,
Or your sweet and subtle future.
Gather all of your fond memories.
Remember me. 

Be me something that you once cherished,
And let my lasting words never perish. 
Be me something you could never sever,
I shall go away forever. 
Into the plains to lay my head,
Where I can lay my worries to rest.
In this place you'll find me not,
For it is a secret place I long have sought. 
I do not know if we shall meet again,
So know that I will always love you until the end.

If you should find yourself at a loss,
Remember me for what I was.
When the rose has withered upon it's last pedal,
I shall no longer mend or meddle.
Love me if you can, like me if you may,
But the winds have come to take me away.
Please keep them safe, all of our memories
And remember me. 
With life's new seed that I have safely tucked,
I now wish you the best of luck.

Copyright © Kristopher Higgs

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Lonely Rose Called Lene

Such smile so rare that fascinates me; 
Bestowed in the angel, not so long, I've known. 
Like a lightning that strikes in the middle of the day, 
In my heart I, quickly, built a home of her own. 
An angel I've known not from a friend or a dream, 
Who has teased me so gently to put-off my heartaches and pains. 
She just befell in my solitude as I try to rebirth. 
And helped me forget the troubles and the things that I hate. 

How I love to hold her and offer her a throne 
For to me she is regal and deserves to be crowned. 
Before I could do it she has transformed to a form, 
The angel is now a flower before the break of the dawn. 

Behold! A contest erupts among the bees in the field, 
To hover upon this new flower the sunrise revealed. 
I could only sigh to the heavens to send a rare summer rain 
To nourish and sustain this lonely rose called Lene. 

Time & Date Written: 
10:04pm - 10:33pm, 
February 17, 2008 

Dedicated to: A.T. whom I had the chance to chat in the net 
when I was in Phnom Phen, Cambodia. The poem is written just 
for you, my special friend, whether we've only known each 
other through the net or by subconscious circumstances. 
And when age wrinkles your lovely face, you can always claim 
that once upon a time an obscure poet had purposely written a 
poem just for you. 

It was a one-time conversation(February 10, 2008) but her story 
struck me to the bones that I vowed responsibility to protect her, 
anyhow, if ever I will have the chance to meet her personally. 
The above poem is written on imaginary impression of her that 
if she ever deferred her dark plans and have the chance to remember me, 
and read what I wrote, she will know that to me or perhaps to other 
people she is special, desirable, and deserving of a happy life too.

Copyright © Jecon B. Nadela

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Fire Ball Red

The sun rose red like fireballs being played
Soon as it rose clouds enveloped to stay
Sand rippled the clouds became bleak and gray
Streaks of cobalt, gray and snow white today
But the doves did coo saying I love you
Roosters, crows, chirp rip chirp rip too
At one time magenta undercoated the clouds
Giving hope where non was allowed
The rippled effect like a clam's fine shell
Touched my heart with feelings so it swelled
Such a day to be blessed with life
Why would anyone want to destroy with a knife?
All at once stillness decended, peace, love
As one vulture the sky ascended
Tranquility upon porch surrounded
I could feel its presence my heart astounded
One lone vulture returned in flight
Looking for food or just for fun_delight
The dove coos once again nesting instinct
Has settled upon him
Peace, love, joy am filled
Thank you God for my time being still___

Copyright © Sara Kendrick

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Accept My Rose

 A single blood red rose
out to my lover it goes

A symbol to show my love
is as white as a dove

out this single rose will go
please accept and don't say no

Copyright © darleen bilyeu

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He has a red thumb

Taking time smelling with your noses                                                                    Thinking Before you lie in a bed a roses                                                                        You better respect the thorns                                                                                     With these two a rose was born                                                                                  Some complain a rosebush has thorns                                                                      Grasped with haste and you may be torn                                                                         Or rejoice a thorn bush has roses                                                                               Admire the beauty in which the thorny poses                                                                You knew when you began to pick                                                                           Handle with care lest you get pricked                                                                              A young gardener has a red thumb                                                                               An older gardener rejoicing he has none

Copyright © John Beam

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Bed of Roses

In a bed of roses.
I felt the sweetest touch,
The coolness of its petals,
The thickness of its thorns.

In a bath of roses.
The warmth of the water,
the scent of its face,
the popping of the bubbles,
the way it moves with me.

In a room full of roses.
I feel the love in the air,
I see their redness everywhere,
Happiness and fondness through me,
its just a special place to me.

With all these beautiful roses.
I know that I'm loved.
I will keep this moment in my heart,
Something so tender to me, 
Hope we'll never fall apart.

Copyright © Tareva O'bear

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peduncle prick

betwixt the circuitous cocoon of rose hips wrestles a world of unfathomable infamy 
induced by light and shadow murmur influences ridicules scent.

conscripted into nature's loggerhead shrike chirp by forces unknown
influenced by the pestilence of greeds monkey see monkey do, ovary retards.

up from the grave of the anchor root rises the sun of expansion
cleansing the cane to shoulder its crown watching bud eye fornicate.

obliging the filament petition to pullulate the wind bats its lash
awakening the anther to feed its feeder roots.

efflorescent anatomy of stamen and pistil captivate beauties awe
apathy will bloom its withered rose until perceived with the nose!

Copyright © Mark Taylor

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Roses From Heaven

I took a single long-stemmed rose to one I loved so dear.
I laid it at the headstone and quietly shed a tear.
A flood of memories filled my soul, the tears began to fall,
Then through the gentle summer breeze I heard a familiar call.
It sounded like a voice I hadn't heard in oh, so long.
The voice of my dear Mother, sweeter than the angels' song.
"My darling daughter, dry your eyes," she whispered in the wind.
"Your pain is temporary.  Someday we'll meet again.
I'll be standing there with Jesus as you cross the great divide,
And together we will wait for you and welcome you inside.
We'll stroll down Heaven's golden streets, walking hand-in-hand,
Just me and you and Jesus as we tour the Promised Land.
You can't even imagine  the beauty that awaits.
I cannot wait to see the joy as it overcomes your face.
I appreciate the rose you brought to symbolize your love.
But I must leave it here below.  We have plenty up above.
So take it with you when you go, and remember what I've spoken.
And try to smile when you think of me, don't let your heart be broken.
Remember all the good times, and the times that are yet to be.
You know I love you with all my heart, and I know that you love me."
As quickly as it had begun, the wind faded away.
Her voice was gone and so I turned to where the red rose lay.
I blinked in total disbelief.  I rubbed my tear-streaked eyes.
There in the place of the single rose was an incredible surprise.
A dozen long-stemmed roses were scattered in its place
I gathered them up quickly, as a smile came to my face.
I took a single long-stemmed rose, and she sent down eleven.
I never will forget the day that roses came from Heaven.

Copyright © Ritta Beason

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Love of a Rose

True love will grow. 
Like the bud of a rose. 
Careful with the stem. 
The thorn will sting you in the end.

Your love will always sing.
When the rose starts opening.
Open in full bloom. 
Souls do reach the moon. 

When the flower starts to die.
Please don’t start to cry. 
Because nothing last forever. 
Except for true love in our heart-
And minds 

Copyright © Jack Reed

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My Fading Rose

The rose Is very delightful 
It makes me very insightful

It has many emotions throughout my heart
If It shall die I'll fall apart

But even though were different colors 
We still have the same love for each other

So as I see you start to die 
Thats what really makes me cry

Copyright © christina vasquez

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Would you trust a Yellow Rose?

The ramblings of a yellow rose,
What are they, do you suppose?
And is there any sense in prose,
When written by a rambling rose?

     And does it have a single purpose,
     Or is such stuff as this simply surplice? 

          And if we were to juxtapose,
          With artwork of a deep red rose,
          Would it be that yellow prose,
          Simply failed to keep its pose?

               And tumbling down to fall apart,
               Are ramblings written of yellow's heart.

          A yellow heart that nearly froze,
          Just because the artist chose,
          To base his work on redder rose,
          While creating lovers prose.

     While yellow must suffice to spend,
     His imaginary to represent a friend,
     And much as this he could pretend,
     He’d rather it not start a trend.

For rambling on, like a rose,
His thoughts follow where a lover goes,
And impatiently he tos and fros,
And through him yellow always shows.

     So, in the dimming of the day,
     As the artist puts his pen away,
     Sometimes young lovers loose their way,
     And with their loved ones cannot stay.

          With yellow creeping into mind,
          Love's ideals are left behind.

               So what's the point of yellow prose?
               Does it have one, do you suppose?
               And when supposition comes to a close,
               Would you trust a yellow rose?

Copyright © Lorrie Scheider