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
Written by: Kelly Deschler
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
Beside a gilded wall of white a dainty bench is resting;
Victorian accents swirl about the ornate room, providing
An elegance, a beauty in each line and curve, attesting
To cultured tastes and upscale life, and hours spent deciding
What shapes and colors best would suit the airy, springtime feeling:
But looking closely, something there upon the bench reposes,
A lady's fan and soft kid gloves, their jumbled state revealing
What hasty movements cast them all aside when fragrant roses
Arrived in state with baby's breath, and some white note, nigh hidden
In bursting blooms of rainbow hue, by unknown hands delivered:
And having noted thus, the eye could not but roam unbidden
To she who holds the rose bouquet, to she who slightly shivered
With thoughts that youths so oft imagine, thoughts that made her giddy
And blushed her cheeks the color of the rosy dress cascading
With lacy ruffles from her shoulders, looking just as pretty
As her face, which looks for all the world like roses never fading;
Two lips like shiny cherries, or the poppies that she tends to,
Complexion like a creamy rose with hints of pink surrounding
The fragile outer curling of its leaves; brown eyes that send you
A warm, quick-spreading feeling, like the first hot sunrays bounding
Thro' seas of blue to make the greengrass grow. Now look, she's taking
The little note from out among the stems; perhaps with quiet
And careful steps the message could be read; I have to try it.
"My dearest Rose, I never could imagine so befitting
A name for one who does resemble all that man finds charming
In lovely blossoms: beauty surely, grace as they are flitting
In breezes sweet of scent, and frailty, which I find disarming;
So here's a gift no prettier and sweet than you. Sincerely,
A man that loves you more than you could know.
Quatrains of decapentasyllabic verse followed by a single line of iambic pentameter.
Written by Isaiah Zerbst. Published for the first time January 26, 2015.
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)
I don't want for much
Being just a simple man
My love i wish to share
To show her who i am
The touch of this man
Will serenade your skin
The touch of his lips
And you will start to begin
To open up your heart
And welcome him home
To hold him in your arms
So he will no longer roam
To look into your blue eyes
As in his arms he holds you tight
Know he'll be here tomorrow
And with you every single night
The want in my loving heart
Just grows and grows and grows
The desire to share my love
For this Thistle and his 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.
How stoneblack is the park at will
And cool is the twilight
That glimmers across an uphill
Yet teardrops roll, all decked in white.
Your distant gaze flits, nearly bare
Like gas lamp on dim coach
Windblown by mist; here, everywhere
Tells me not to approach.
Later, amidst the evening rain
When hours drift in repose
The pounding lash of time contains
A bench without a rose.
My heart trickles as dew submits
To a quiver that heaves,
For your tattered rose now wilts
While sullen face of moon retrieves.
Oh, cloudbursts know my deep longing
While taste of moments are gone;
And souvenirs no longer bring
The laughter and reason.
Rose ( Allegory) Contest: Giorgio V
*revised poem, 2012
by: nette onclaud
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
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"
From the ashes
What used to be?
Knowing her destiny
Is life to overcome time!
She wasn’t worthy, cannot overcome
Cheats her heart, but never to be
To overcome the obstacles
Life places before her
Is a life
Learning who she is
Striving for what she could
With many facets
Of her being
lot of Memories
And strawberry kisses.
Brooke Dylan 2014
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…..free cee!
I see your work budding,
like a flower each new day.
Slowly blooming more and more,
bringing color to a time that’s gray.
Your colorful petals are amazing,
the way you reflect the sun.
And your beauty still remains,
after the beauty of the day is done.
For your work radiates,
here on Poetry Soup.
We are all poetic flowers;
part of a big garden group.
I am writing this poem,
to the poetic flower you are.
You glisten each new day,
from way, way, afar.
If life was a big garden,
a flower you would be.
With flourished poetic petals,
named the Rose of Poetry.
For Belinda Parish
a fellow souper for her
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
Every circus needs to have a side show.
In the olden days you’d often see
unique and wondrous sights; you should know
you are reading of one now. It’s me!
I read palms and Tarot cards till night,
but then I loosen up and start to dance.
Though I surely suffer from no stage fright,
I don’t have to strip tease to entrance!
I simply shimmy in my sexy clothes
while swirling round; I sweetly sing and do
amazing magic, for this Gypsy Rose
has many ways of entertaining you.
A crowd of people I can hypnotize
and since I am so skilled, be wary lest
you look too deeply into my green eyes,
for reading souls is what I do the best!
For David Williams' Circus Poetry Contest
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.
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
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.
Entry for Mystic Roses' contest: Be my Valentine
A smile a kiss for Mystic Rose
In the eve of a Valentine night
The drowsy moon is over the moon
The cupid cloud is arrowing light
Verdant air so young and fair
A friend of earth and furtive glance
Sweet breeze blows, Mystic Rose
Coming close in amorous trance
Contest Name Magic Kisses And Valentine Wishes
Sponsor Mystic Rose
Poet: Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty
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.”
There`s a rose garden I planted - unpractical fancy,
I spend my days there lost, bemused and enchanted
Such beauty nurtured and grown is meant to be given
Lest the garden becomes a holding cell, a prison
I was told love tears down barriers and breaks through walls
But the roses keep growing, and no one answers my calls
The garden walls are high and strong; I`ve had enough,
My gardening tools onto the ground silently drop
The red on the roses suddenly seems like dried blood
The earth that gave life to such wonder is just mud
Roses, torture me no more with your splendor
I`m no more your defender, to my bitterness I surrender
The garden`s neglected, flowers and weeds grow wild
The fruit of this love is only thorns and this bastard child
Such beauty nurtured and grown was meant to be given
But the garden became a holding cell, a prison
My heart stays inside my chest;
You are only wishful thinking.
Though it's you I'd like to impress,
This sleeve won't feel my heart beating.
©2014 Honestly JT
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
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
For twenty-one decades harsh
Her bush begat just thorn;
Bereft of fragrant petal sweet
her time-honored adorn.
She came with hope, dignified;
amid pomp and revelry.
Righteous sons, absent long;
leave her bare for all to see.
Unable to further bear the
grim burden borne so long
She weeps in piteous despair
My Beloved, yea I’ve done wrong
Recall, tho’, I was your bride;
The solemn oath You swore.
Our love can suffer no wane
exile me no more.
Your pain is mine o precious one
Her beloved doth proclaim;
Our devotion has ever burnt
A love-kindled flame
To all eyes it did appear
Your beloved turned aside
I clung to you, your broken heart,
all the while, my precious bride.
Your tormentors I shall avenge
Ten plagues of recompense
Over the threshold of our love
I will carry you hence.
Eternal love endures the sting
Of doubt’s bitter embrace.
Stand now with lifted head
at my side; your rightful place.
No more tears of sorrow spilt;
joyous laughter in their stead.
Accompany me to Sinai;
With sacred gift I thee wed
Today I'm sending just one perfect rose
It's beauty to be savored on it's own
Each petal a gown of brilliant color
This special one for you and you alone...
Beauty of a dozen to be enjoyed
But as individuals you both shine
The rose a symbol of your loving ways
A poetic heart, unique and so very fine
Barbara Gorelick 1/8/12
dedicated to PD..for her contest...
My heart is like a blood red rose
I let its petals cup my pain
Its thorns sharp and unexpected
My tears mix with the falling rain
The dragon still breathes with fire
After all this time I feel the burn
I gave my love a blood red rose
And now here I'm dying in return
PLEASE DON'T ASK ME FOR I DO NOT KNOW
I CAN'T TELL YOU WHAT MAKES THE ROSE GLOW
I KNOW SHE LOVES THE RAIN
AND THE THUNDER AND LIGHTENING SHE CAN'T EXPLAIN
ALL I KNOW IS I'LL NEVER GET CLOSE ENOUGH TO TOUCH HER PETALS SO SOFT
BUT WHEN I COMMUNICATE WITH HER MY HEART IS LIFTED ALOFT
THERE'S NOT MUCH MORE FOR ME TO SAY
EXCEPT TO TELL YOU THIS ROSE CAN BRIGHTEN ANYONE'S DAY
SHE SHARES THE GARDEN WITH GARDENIAS AND SUCH
AND I CAN LOOK BUT NEVER TOUCH
WHEN I'M DOWN AND OUT I LOOK TO THE PAST
AND ONLY KNOW THAT MY ADORATION IS SURE TO LAST
THIS ROSE KNOWS HOW MUCH I CHERISH THE GARDEN IN WHICH SHE GROWS
AND THE WAY SHE EASES ME BY BEING A MYSTIC ROSE
THIS BUD IS ALL TOO OFTEN MY SALVATION
AND I BLESS THE GARDEN FOR HER CREATION
(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!~
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
I am a rose and beauty is in me
Shapely and colourful in nature's scene
My colour of blue mirrors the sky
Whilst birds on the wing dip their wings flying by
I awake in the morn dew adorned
Refreshing my petals, stem and thorns
Awaiting the sun to be absorbed by me
In our bed of roses my buds and thee
This afternoons breeze catches as we gleefully sway
Insects skillfully hover and join in the rays
Humming and buzzing talking to each other
Whilst ladybirds tickle under my petals of cover
The evening draws as the sun downs
In my bed of roses our petals become gowns
We head into the night all quiet and serene
For tomorrow's a new day even roses can dream
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