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Quatrain Rose Poems | Quatrain Poems About Rose

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

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Where The White Rose Blooms

The single white rose captured the old gardener's attention,
He lovingly cared for it, like it was his own grand-daughter,
The roses were just like family and friends in his eyes,
He gave them bright sunshine, and plenty of fresh water.

He had always planted roses in reds, yellows, and pinks,
Yet, it was the one white rose that he favored most,
The old gardener admired it's innocence and elegance,
A quality that the other roses just could not boast.

This precious rose was pure white, like new fallen snow,
Which only a cold, late November day could bring,
It's delicate petals were soft to the finger's touch,
Similar to that of a feather, in an angel's wing.

The old gardener was perplexed and astonished,
Only this rose bloomed through spring, summer, and fall,
Each of the other roses had withered months ago,
The frost and cold weather did not affect it at all.

With a smile, the old gardener took one last look,
Unknowingly, death would soon come without warning,
After he had settled down for a nap in his chair,
He drew his last breath, later on that morning.

His funeral was held on the very next day,
Loving words were spoken, as he was laid to rest,
His grand-daughter approached, with tears in her eyes,
As she placed the single white rose upon his chest.

The cemetery was a quiet and peaceful place,
Where family and friends gathered to remember,
A gentle snow began to fall upon the casket lid,
Brightening the gloom on this final day of November.

The old gardener's soul departed from this earth,
Lead away by a choir of angels, on delicate wings,
Then on through the pearly gates of heaven's garden,
Where the white rose still blooms, in eternal springs.

November 25th, 2013

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The Rose

Tis the rose that wants to live
That rails against the frost,
Tightly closed, the petals warm
The autumn heart that summer lost.

The dew that drips from rose to leaf
Like tears from cheek to breast,
Once was cold, now shimmers warm
To earn, at last, its' rest.

The blackened bud, once struck with cold
Appears to others dead,
But burns within, a passionate soul,
And heart of bright and crimson red.

And bursting forth it cannot hide
The will to live within,
Its' bold and subtle softness tells
Persistent hearts can win.

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Creeping Roses

Tender tendrils climb the wall
Up towards the sky
Past the latticed windows tall
Clinging on from high.

Then in springtime buds in red
Pout with lips apart
Inhibitions they all shed
And seduce my heart.

Contest: A 7/5 Trochee
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich

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Ode to a rose on a sunset

A kiss from a rose on a sunset night,
as the clouds dip into the sea.
A kiss from that rose as the waves fall,
over the beach to a rose kissed me.

A kiss from a rose on a sunset night,
as we wrap in lovers embrace.
A kiss from a rose as homeward we go,
to a bed clothed in satin and lace.

A kiss from a rose on a sunset night,
with passion and warmth do we grasp.
A kiss from that rose that blossoms and blooms,
my hand in her labour pain clasp.

A kiss from a rose on a sunset night,
that wanton and curvy young bride.
A kiss from that rose that huddles our babe,
so loving, in motherly pride.

A kiss from a rose on a sunset night,
without whom I'd not share my life.
A kiss from that rose who selflessly filled,
the place of my darling rose wife!

(c) anaisanais - A M Docherty - Wales, United Kingdom. (7/8/2013)

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The Shy Rose

Such a beautiful, blooming rose,
There is no reason to be shy,
So, why let your petals close,
When the sun is low in the sky.

Daisies and daffodils arrive in spring,
But, roses are rare, delicate flowers,
Brilliant sunsets are also amazing things,
So, why shy away in the midnight hours.

A rainbow of colors shine in daylight,
Pretty pink, sunny yellow, and rosy red,
But, don't be afraid of the night,
Don't go to sleep in your flower bed.

Look up, and behold the radiant moon,
Gaze at every shimmering, falling star,
The sun will be rising again, soon,
So, wait and see these beauties that are.

You do not experience any of this,
When you only awaken in early morn,
What celestial wonders you do miss,
But, every rose must have it's thorn.

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By All of This - Ah, Wanton Bliss

That passion’s night, to make me sigh, my love seized several beams from sky and shaped a ring of moonstone bright. To make me sigh that passion’s night. My darling beau, to make me smile, then star-shine stole so he could style a necklace rare with diamond’s glow. To see me smile, my darling beau. Dear Valentine, to dazzle me, took whitest pearls from twilight’s sea, with starry strand to intertwine. To dazzle me, dear Valentine. My true love wooed with more than these, not only sight, but ear to please! Two birds he brought that softly cooed. With more than these, my true love wooed. With rose bouquet, with kisses sweet, he made my heart then faster beat. Artisan of romantic play - with kisses sweet, with rose bouquet. By all of this, in motion set was what I’d never known as yet. It burst, then flowed. . . Ah, wanton bliss, in motion set by all of this! (BTW, this is pure imagination, people!!! So don't be jealous!! hahaha This is a form called Swap Quatrain, PD. Happy Valentine's Day to you!!) For the Get your Valentine's Day poem in... any Valentine's poem will do.. (new or old) Poetry Contest of Poet Destroyer A

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He Gives You Roses

     When your lover gives you roses
     Look him well into the eyes;
     Are his words sincere and honest
     Or are they just fragrant lies?

            Inspired by Jan's poem:
        "He's Never Given Me Roses"

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FREE CEE a rose arose

    Cherie-A ROSE AROSE

T’was once a rose, t’was once a weed
No thorns upon her stem decreed
The rose, for that weed, fulfilled his every need
A bud with nectar sweeter than any mead

Alas, the two had never met
One simple dahlia kept them apart
The weed was angry, the rose upset
That rose so sweet yet a weed too tart

But then sweetened was that weed one day 
While ignoring anything Mother Nature had to say 
Now two stand stoic together in a humble way
And are no longer frightened when the sky turns gray

That weed required no promise, nor vow
Only a day of peacefulness by the sea
At once took that rose a curtsied bow
And shared with each other honeysuckle tea

No union together for forever declared
Just a few daisy days to share and care
The two were simply platonic ally paired
United by the graciousness of a garden rare
© 2012… cee!

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A Daydream

My fingertips lightly travel
down these worn piano keys,
the memories now unravel
as I hear your favorite melodies.

I reminisce within my writing
about a time that used to be,
when your arms were so inviting
and they would hold only me.

The quiet whispers on the breeze
the first kisses that were soft,
we sat underneath the willow trees,
as my heart then sailed aloft.

I can still smell the roses, red
their petals pressed upon the page,
where your old promises lie dead
they have not withered with age.

I am daydreaming of the past
when our love seemed to be true,
a relationship that will not last
but, back then we never knew.

Isaiah Zerbst's contest - "A Daydream"

Based on the painting. "A Daydream" by Sir Edward John Poynter

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The rose that grew from concrete

Many a mind hurries past
the gripping splendour
in search of beauty, not to last,
while continuing in rejection of grandeur.

I look as the moments pass
at the wounded walkway.
The sand flows through the hourglass
and time conforms to seconds and seconds to day.

There, in the heart of pain,
at the crack of dawn
grows through the mundane,
purity, life’s mystery in an image drawn

Red bursts open in colours array
but expectation it defied
as time had not intended bloom ‘till the following day
and still nature’s scarlet tears are cried.

Dusk was meant to encompass
the brooding gem in the snows
but the bud unfolded in its stubbornness
and yet not its pedals froze.

I suppose the dark of night
and the bitterness of day
could not smite 
what would have its own way.

The bud grew beautifully in strength
and blossomed in wisdom,
knowledgeable in great length,
yet its leaves forbade a future grim.

Somehow it lacked endurance
and what blind humanity refused to meet
became the trampling of our innocence:
the rose that grew from concrete.

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A Rose by Any Other Name

All the names are just the same
If you are sweet like a rose
I confess, I’m not impressed
Oh, how little that bard knows

For the name of your loved one
Can make you completely melt
When it’s breathed in your heart
Its vibrations are deeply felt

The name of your loved one
Is a promise in one word…
That his love is eternal 
His unfaithfulness, unheard

The name of your loved one
Is with passion intertwined
Your lips caress each letter
Your heart echoes it in rhyme

The name of your loved one
Is salvation’s greatest treat
Though you pass through gates of hell
It’ll take you to heaven sweet

The name of your loved one
Is simply beyond compare
No other name can match it
No other would even dare

And so it is, beloved
When we’re making love sublime
Your name bursts out from my lips
Making your sweet name… divine

Eileen Manassian Ghali

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Be My Valentine

To call a rose by any other name
Could never do justice to you
To see you name there in the frame
Makes my heart go out to you…

A rose as fair, perfumed to perfection
The palest yellow petals that glow
Make my heart beat as though with infection
My temperature it raises so.

So Mystic lady I ask you this one time
If I were a boy, rich, strong and tall
Would you then be my valentine?
And we can leave now, and sod them all.

©  10/01/2013
 Entry for Mystic Roses' contest: Be my Valentine

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An Altar and A Rose

The somber members gathered
After Jesus’ death of woe.
With downcast eyes, they questioned
Why their Savior had to go.

At their first church meeting 
Since the ill-fated event.
They always gathered secretly,
With Roman soldiers evident.

“Look!” said a humble lady,
Pointing to a new altar.
Embarrassed, she sat down quickly 
Riveting eyes made her falter.

This altar, so remarkable
For a church of but one room,
Was adorned by a long-stemmed rose.
In full and delightful bloom.

A man let his hand glide across 
The altar’s glistening wood 
“Such smooth and polished grain.”
Craftsmanship he understood.

A girl said, “This pretty rose 
Has such deep red so pure,
And its lingering fragrance 
Is one I surely adore.”

The gray-headed pastor smiled.
And said, “A man came in today,
And offered us this altar
Replacing ours with no pay.

“I felt good about this man,
So I looked in his oak-wheeled cart.
And under wraps of old robes
He showed me this work of art.

“After the Crucifixion
He took the cross to his shop,
And cut the rough wood in planks
And smoothed them from bottom to top. 

“His heart was bursting with love
As he built the altar with care,
Then polished it to a sheen,
With an artistic flair.

“Then,” the pastor continued,
“A sweet lady rapped on the door
With a great story to tell.
About this lovely rose we adore.

“She had seen the Crucifixion,
And stayed until all had gone.
She wept at the foot of the cross
Where laid thorns worn by God’s Son. 

“She’d not let the shame of these thorns
Be seen. For this she would guard.
She took them home with her
And buried them in her yard.

“Three days later, a rose sprung up
In the exact place she chose.
Now, she felt compelled to bring us
Its very first blooming rose.”

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The Rose Of Avalon

Across the ocean far away
Angeles looks to sea
For weeks she’s been expecting him 
her prayers an anxious plea

The winter season has arrived
an angry ocean roars
The other ships have come back home
and all securely moored

The only ship uncounted for 
the Rose Of Avalon
Angeles worries desperately
her faith she falls back on

Each day her hopes are dashed aside
the image disappears
There are no ships beyond the sun
her hopes give way to fears

An then an image reappears
A mast with all its sails
It is the Rose of Avalon
her guns begin to hail

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Roses for P D

The rose, memorialized by William Shakespeare, Has been on this Earth for some millions of years. Did she dazzle in her pre-historic existence? Did her beauty bring the dinosaurs to tears? Despite her age, the rose is still a winner. She's the queen of all of flowerdom today. New varieties entrance and scents enchant me As I linger on my rose lined walkaway. No other flower has so long a season. None other comes in such beguiling dress. A lover chooses her to woo his lady, Who accepts his gift and holds it to her breast. She comes in all the latest styles and colors. Her scent is mesmerizing to the nose. With nothing in this whole wide world so lovely, My valentine for P. D. is the rose. By: Joyce Johnson dedicated to P. D. The Rose of our pages. Won a 2nd

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    (c) 2012...copyright PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
please don't allow chicken little's prophecy to be correct, only you can do that

  (C) 2012.....copyright PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~


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Of Love and Pain (I staked my claim)

I’m a glutton for love you know
Yet I’m a sucker for pain
Heart on my sleeve everywhere I go
Not wanting sustenance of refrain
Red on my palms entwined with another
Parading around like a stalking saint
Spreading the word to innocent lovers
In message of insight and finger-paint
Thrown into the renovation trade
Rushing the blood to cheeks of the pale
Lessening trounce of quake’s tailor made
Damaging ratings on life’s Richter scale
Mourning profusely, smile without sound
Inventing new sketchings on solar graphs
Mending cracks in the walls all around
Stopping leaks from pipe burst hearts
Filling back up the tear of the hollow
Then swiftly moving along to the next
Extending hands with pride left to swallow
While keeping rejection within its context
The irony of this whole situation
Almost so vague it kinda begets me
Knowledge from past and foregone conclusion
Prolonging a word called simplicity
I’ve seen this before, I’ve loved and lost
Not sorry for wanting to share what I feel
If pain means healing or trusting at cost 
At least then I’ll know of feeling surreal
That’s better than not being able to live 
It’s so much better then nothing at all
With bountiful bouquets of love left to give
I listen for rose colored voices to call
The aroma next time around will be such
Allowing mitosis that seeks to enthrall
And stroke the face with a gentle touch
In the aisle to wildflower entrance halls
Reach out the hands forgetful of catching
Pick up the broken shards of metal
Trailing emotions while sympathy snatching
Garden bound barefoot on lying rose petals
Healthy and wholesome food for the soul
A soft patch for landing on feet with grace 
Creation arranged in colorful holes
For the next time we fall into love’s embrace

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The Blue Rose

The little boy reclined in his bed.
Out of reach, by his foot, a blue rose lay.
His mom had been looking for quite a while
for something she thought would make his day.

Where did this come from mama?
She moved it to within his grasp.
When the little boy touched its stem
His mother’s computer recorded a gasp.

The rose, rather limp, in a sad sort of state,
stood straight and firm, back from the dead.
And as he and mom stared in wonder;
one by one by one, each petal turned red.

His short hair, mistaken at first glance
for a buzz cut, military style.
Revealed upon closer inspection,
radiation treatments for a long, long while. 

Fact is, this was his last night with mom,
with his cat and his parakeet.
His last night with this magic rose,
left, again wilting, on the sheet.

Later when she could bear the pain,
she went back and gathered his clothes.
All the things of his, she should keep,
but, she could not find the red, red rose.

As she made her way down the long hall,
she glanced from the elevator door,
at a frail little wisp of a girl in bed,
and a long stemmed blue rose on the floor.  

© Jun 15 2010  For Mac's "Blue Rose" contest

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Is there such a flower as a despised blue rose...
the one I desperately chose
to sign end under a sad story,
which had neither passion or glory?

With tears so rageful, she thought it was the final goodbye;
why I didn't choose a more charming rose with a different color,
perhaps not as red as her unfaithful heart? It wouldn't have been a lie! 
Ever since, I have shunned and hated blue roses despite their splendor.

They tell me that the reason for my unbearable loneliness
is the urge for touching a face slipped from my grip and will;
if I am to blame...why did I love her with intense sweetness,
and nothing was returned besides a promise so brittle?

Let me see only red and yellow roses...but no tempting, blue roses;
I couldn't relive moments rejected by a woman so deceitful and ravishing,
and she smiled as they did, but that trust was distant from the beginning...
marring the lovely appearance of that blue rose standing out from others.

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There is a rose that grows in a sacred place
a garden where petunias and pansies embrace
this rose has no thorns, only a bud of beauty
and the aroma of ambrosia heeds the rose's duty

it's a rose that never bends into the wind
has never cursed, caused harm or sinned
it's a mystic rose where mysticism rules
and makes wise even a bunch of fools

no one would dare cut down this rose
and I know precisely where this rose grows
it's home it where angels lay down to sleep
as its roots grow ever deep

the roots make certain the rose can fight the cold
and its loveliness is something to behold
its color is cherished as rosy cerise
and this mystic rose grows in a garden of peace
   © 2012.....copyright PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~

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FREE CEE as red recedes

             AS PETALS FALL

Upon the soil a pile of petals
Fallen from the strains of time
Once a rose bush rooted well
To sanctify a love sublime

Petals fell from buds of red
As Autumn neared to summer’s end
No cold of winter’s breath yet felt
Yet no help could heaven lend

As petals fell buds bid adieu
Day by day did piles grow
Higher past each noon gone by
Petals feared a fretful snow

A rose remembered red once owned
My lover and I past in the hall
Silence proved its point quite well
While me and that plant both feared the fall

Sometimes love fades as a plant
‘Tis then when Autumn comes to call
Now sit I with senses dulled
No longer loved as petals fall
     © 2008… cee!

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a sTaR LosT LoVEr


Swear I to you the following be true
Akin to a year there are many seasons
Well if the truth be made known to you
I love you for a litany of reasons

The way you play this little game
Perhaps just to keep me on my toes
The very first time I saw you I knew your name
And no matter what I dubbed thee “Rose”

For none so grand as red amongst green
And a bud I wish had bloomed only for me by name
I beheld you Rose but would not disturb the scene
Because you are glorious and I would not chance the blame

I’ve never held your hand because fate is fickle indeed
nor have I ever been wrapped by the warmth and comfort of  you
For thee my royal Rose I would weep and/or bleed
And as all star crossed lovers I’d do that which they are forced to do

I’d stand afar yet observe and grin at your grace
With your loveliness and the graceful way you grow upon the vine
I feel blessed when I place a smile on your face
And believe me Rose, I weep because you’ll never be mine
           © 2011...Phreepoetree ~free cee!~

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Roses And The Pear Tree

To see the beautiful grandeur that is 
the twining's of the rose and the pear tree. 
Is something that you don't forget. 
And I haven't since I was three. 

The pear tree has stood the test of time, 
From weather to kids on tire swings. 
It's heavily blossomed, snow white each year 
and home to many birds on the wing 

The rose bush is a thorn filled Rambler, 
Of the deepest red I have ever seen. 
It refuses to be tamed or tied, 
With even the toughest string. 

Each spring Grandma and Grandpa 
would have dreams of a fence covered in rose. 
But it ended the same each year 
with the rose going where it wanted to grow. 

You could not complain about the beauty, 
that would greet your eye each time 
You entered the backyard and saw, 
White blossoms and red roses entwined

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Why did you ask why we did that?
Who know?
Who knows why a rebel held a rose
A rose who rose to the occasion
And lent the rebel lessons on how to hold a flower
Properly and not property as such
Tender to the touch
Lest the remnants of lavender be shed from lips of moisture born
For that rebel realized upon this rose she bore no thicket nor thorn
Two souls so close
Yet with minds set so far apart
But heart met panting heart on nights of youthful yearning
The younger rebel bent on learning
That rose dripping virgin dew
And suddenly the garden seemed brand new
The rose laid the rebel’s head gently on a cloud as angels declared it her bed
While a rebel was held captive by every petal 
And that which the rose had said
She said “I am a rose for a rebel to behold,
I, a bit older, yet here to stoke two smoldering desires
A rose who grows and a rebel who starts fires”
Why did you ask why we did that?
Who really knows?
Do you my rebel’s rose?
 © 2011.….free cee!
(this was written for a woman clouded by a teen's clandestine desire to defy 
authority, and impressed a woman recently whomI know not but for her glorious, 
thought provoking and nestalgic words knit together so as to create sweaters to keep 
us all warm....a fire for all of us to stoke...many of you know her words, and by her 
stats i'd say she's crowned every bit a poet......and with surety I say "thanks teach, 
now could you get some people to read the stuph you don't seem to deem trash, you 
know, like the little innocents they now find bi-weekly in a landfill near you?  ~f!~

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Roses And The Pear Tree

To see the beautiful granduer that is 
the twining's of the rose and the pear tree. 
Is something that you don't forget. 
And I haven't since I was three. 

The pear tree has stood the test of time, 
From weather to kids on tire swings. 
It's heavily blossomed, snow white each year 
and home to many birds on the wing 

The rose bush is a thorn filled Rambler, 
Of the deepest red I have ever seen. 
It refuses to be tamed or tied, 
With even the toughest string. 

Each spring Grandma and Grandpa 
would have dreams of a fence covered in rose. 
But it ended the same each year 
with the rose going where it wanted to grow. 

You could not complain about the beauty, 
that would greet your eye each time 
You entered the backyard and saw, 
White blossoms and red roses entwined

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Beauty of Life

The painted rose is displayed there on the table
Where peering eyes can gaze and therefore see
Adorned in vase, transparent yet so beautiful
It sits there waiting, but forever will not be

So placed by hands that wanted for possession
Yet, from the dirt, they stole the rose’s worth
As scent and beauty dies, its imperfection
Unless remained so planted within the earth

For there, if left to die, its beauty comes back
As stems beget the buds left there to thrive
The beauty then comes back with new flourishing
As if that one rose again was still alive

The choice here then is simple, do we cut it?
Or, do we let it grow for the entire world to see?
The rose was not meant for solitary pleasure
But rather meant for all of you and me.