THE RED/BLACK ROSE
If I a placid pond sit
Still my shallow grounds
Engulfed within the woods
Submerged and bound
Arrayed with ruby rings
Robed in brunette pearls
What jewel would justly paint
With brush my clearest tint
Wouldst any drown the drink
The tongue calls a quench
Cool and clear as white
Atop the moonlit sky
Or wouldst the treasuries' trees
Reveal arising clips depicting
Darkened depths entrenched
In deep demise
Doth God's glory glide
The ornamented floor
Moving mortal millions
To probe, dip, and dive
Beneath the brittle creek
In buried ocean mines
To touch and taste, then tell
Of seas the sands confine
If raids of floral floods
Could frame the fluid's face
As angels frame the figure
Of heaven's sovereign God
Then pluck the petaled stem
The prototyped rendition
Of red/darkened rose
Which colors my condition
Copyright © Leonard Gage
I was just trying to remember the past
trying to remember the good people
and the bad people,
that i came across on my way,
i want you to know
that you are among the good people
that left a good trace in my life,
once again i just want to say thank you
for passing through my life,
is so short but is wonderful
i want you here forever.
Copyright © VICTOR BUN
Beloved, lovely roses: gift of God and lover’s flower,
Spread your colored petals and cradle tender showers.
While admiring the blossoms with their beauty to behold,
Ought we not to know the Tender of such lovely garden groves?
For He lovingly and thoughtfully wields His pruning shears
To cut away the stems of old for fuller future years.
He cultivates and feeds them. He attends them as a Father
Looking daily to their needs; so faithfully He waters.
From the dawn of morning dew until the setting sun arrays
Caring always for His own until that great appointed day…
When the Gardener comes to claim each one the earth held as its own.
He gently picks it at its peak and for His pleasure takes it home.
As God did one glorious morning, when the Perfect Rose had bloomed.
He rolled away the stone and met with Mary at the tomb.
There the sweetest Rose of Sharon rose that we die not alone.
But be gathered for a garden grove, surrounding heavens throne.
Copyright © Tom Valles
The Rose innocent white, soft pink, yellows
colors touch your soul vibrant red to amethyst
enhances beauty yet a thorn awaits to break skin
as life does piercing your heart with a thin pin.
My life has shed drops of blood through each petal
as if in return for the love and beauty you feel
hence pain underneath patiently waits the bloodletting ~
The rose symbolizes love yet vulnerable to hold
for when you open your heart it can be left bleeding
The best of surgeons can not beat your heart
It is the inner faith and God himself whom gives strength
whispers in your ear you shall live you will exist
your life meaningful as the water and sun to the rose
For I am your God your existence is not over yet .
You must Live ~You must Bloom
Copyright © Shanity Rain
Our Ancestors fought to the death,
Just so we can live a brighter day,
So before you light up that blunt of meth,
Think about what you’re giving away,
It was a glad day in history when Obama rose to victory,
The first black president was all we knew,
Dark skin is in!
Haven’t you heard?
That even in our community,
You can get burned,
It’s a sad day when people would rather stay home and “Crank That Amber Cole”,
Than get up and run to a poll,
In our community,
Rockin’ Luis V is better than having a college degree,
And teen pregnancy is not only a trend,
But the single motherhood that follows should end,
Young girls learn of a wonderful prince to take them away,
Nothing should change thought their mothers prince didn’t stay,
And as the tears fade away,
She grows stronger every day,
In our community,
Fighting is no longer a word,
You argue with someone and shots are heard,
Girls showing places the sun don’t show,
So how do they expect the community to grow?
Where love is a figment of imagination,
Making a young child question her creation,
Young mothers would rather buy the iPhone 5,
Then satisfy her baby’s cries,
While her new man’s eye,
Wander up another girl’s thighs,
In our community,
Where #team dark skin vs #team light skin,
Makes others not love the skin they’re in,
Love, lust, hate, and trust,
Giving a rose on Valentine’s Day is no longer a must,
Where bad is good and good is bad,
Who would think to see their grandmother sad?
Her hurt and pain,
Shows how our community has lost everything her parents fought to gain.
Copyright © Nya Johnson
Roses are red
violets are blue
Jesus is in heaven
is he waiting for you!
Copyright © Denise Hopkins
A seed sprouted at the foot of the Cross, and was
watered by the Blood of Jesus.
Thorns had fallen from the brow of Christ and attached
themselves to the branches.
The petals opened to look upon the Son of Grace.
A red rose the color of His blood stained face.
The thorns had sharpened to a point to prick the feet
of Jesus, but, didn't prevail. Jesus had the nail.
A rose was born near a thorn, just like you and me.
Both will live eternally.
The rose will always bloom,
the thorn forever doomed.
The rose is a flower that one associates with love.
The beautiful delicate petals wrap around each
other as if to protect themselves from the thorns on
the branches.The rose have a meaning of their own.
On special occasions, to say," I love you so much,"
you will see the rose. They are the finishing touch.
Each petal sends out a fragrance that draws you near.
Thorns are just the opposite.
Flesh that gets in a thorn's path, feels thorn's wrath.
The rose, the thorn, so close, yet the petal is
protected, like our soul, a boundary has been set
from the one who paid our debt.
In the spiritual realm there is also the Rose and the thorn.
The Rose of Sharon, Jesus Christ, the living God, who
speaks, "I love you," to all the world.
The thorn, the destroyer, has hatred unfurled.
The Rose will always be the universal flower of love.
Jesus Christ is Love, sent from above.
Copyright © Edith Doherty Eutsler
Lord, I would be like Your own sweet Rose
When underneath the world's vain rush
I have been bruised; a wounded thrush,
Whose song is trapped within its throat,
Who cannot lift to voice one note
Its weary head and sorrow knows.
Though I be trampled 'neath the throngs
Of grasping, pleasure seeking souls
And waves of pain high in me roll,
I would be crushed in silence, deep,
That even my inmost soul would keep
And whisper not of how was wronged.
But ever, as with vengeance black,
They tramp the petals, limp and torn,
Would send forth fragrance, sweet and warm,
And bless the feet of that mad crowd,
Beneath their onslaught remain bowed
And by Your love turn hatred back.
It was Your wounding, sacred Rose,
The fragrance of Your love for me
Blown by the winds of infamy
Down from that dark hill, Calvary,
That brought Your passion home to me
And feeds the flower which in me grows.
© 1987, Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright © Faye Gibson
The Rose of the World went weeping
And many the tears the Rose shed;
They flowed like a river softly
On a world that was dry and dead.
The Rose of the World was heartsick;
The heart of the Rose broke and bled,
The mad world plaited a thorn crown
To cruelly pierce His fair head.
They crushed the Rose in its beauty,
And they nailed the Rose to a tree;
The Rose with His tears and His lifeblood
Emptied out His fragrance on me.
Copyright © Faye Gibson
Each day with grace each
petal so tenderly unfolds
as the light of dawn slowly
awakens the face of the
Toward the sky it reaches
it's peak with color as
sweet as a child's cheeks.
So repetitive it's story of
God's gracious love, each
time it resurrects a new leaf
A promise is proven to all of
mankind as each rose is picked
from it's ever bearing bush or
The rose forever gives back to us
what is promised so, ever lasting life
and love as it knowingly reaches for
Heaven's blessings from above.
Copyright © Sharon Gulley
In a room filled with a solitary red hue
The bourgeois spins a wheel
With no destination, nor need
She will spin until her brittle Hands bleed
Just to satisfy her ennui and artifice
But she does not see - the rien I see
The monster approaching her empty dreams
Spinning still - she does not know
The insomniac rose will begin to grow
The thorn of clandestine and ebony
Ostracized for he began to realize
What lies in nonsense is decadence
Which sparks interest
Who's lover is a dadaist
But his story is over now
As Seth lead the way
A poet dies in dismay
The thorn as she spun penetrated
A distraction and a lack of action
She knew the temptation for she so loved the sensation
Of crass, rebellious - ways
The thought laid it's seed
In her Gaulish mind it breeds
She has no other need and no regrets
So she proceeds and the smile lets
With full intention and desire
Caring none of her fate that will transpire
She presses her finger on the thorn
So now she bleeds knowingly
she did not recede
Copyright © Wyatt Loethen
Fired by strong sunlight
Lucent prism, incense smell
Bricks and mortar come alive.
Copyright © Delice Arleen Skelly