I walk through the glistening virgin snow
That covers the sorrow of autumn’s death
Where I find on a bush a frozen rose
Its beauty held ageless in winter’s breath
How I long to touch those petals again
Those moist velvet lips that promise such bliss
Opened in passion whispering my name
As I drift in dreams of a breathless kiss
Oh! To pluck this rose from the winter snow
And hold it closely to my aching heart
And free it from that ice so bitter cold
That now my love keeps you and me apart
But if I were to pluck this winter rose
Would all its petals fall upon the snow?
Author: Elaine George
Written: January 15, 2010
I shall nay know all the wonders - you hold
For all too soon the winds of winter blow
Scarlet petals withering in the snow
How cruel the breath that kills the velvet rose
Tears - that canst’ bear the thought of letting go
Forever frozen in this empty soul
A broken heart forever turned to stone
A broken stem left now to stand alone
Alas! I find that life is bitter-sweet
As I stand holding only memories
Of a rose blooming in the summer breeze
Here beneath this old weeping willow tree
Once I held the sweetest rose - ever born
Now – in my grief – I hold the bitter thorn.
Author: Elaine George
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.
Has beauty given the rose the notion
That it is the jewel of the garden
The butterfly may make that connection
So the beholder's eye holds beauty then
Perhaps that is how it is predisposed
Because there is no reason to pretend
Outer beauty fades like the withered rose
And our tears may descend like falling rain
But inner beauty lies in sweet repose
That unseen beauty will always remain
Through every season and emotion
Surviving heartache, sorrow, loss and pain
The love of beauty we truly enjoy
But the beauty of love abides in joy
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.
Thou art to me the fairest crimson rose,
A tender bloom with dawn's first colour gilt;
Yet ev'ry flow'r in mortal clime that grows,
Is here for but a time, and then does wilt.
By all I e'er held dear, I now aver,
That though a rose may wilt, yet still 'tis sweet;
I only hope a place I could secure
In fondest adoration at thy feet.
For fairness found in form and face will fail,
But that within the heart may shine undimmed;
Though nothing for youth's beauty may avail,
A heart with golden deeds may yet be rimmed.
My Juliet, in truth I do declare,
I love thee not for youthful beauty fair.
If love could have a color, I suppose
it wouldn’t be just any common shade.
I’d name it for the colors of the rose.
In heaven’s hues this flower is arrayed!
From chaste love’s hush of pink to heady rush
that’s shown by cardinal or crimson red,
the rose reveals the grades of ardor’s blush
unto the time it’s thought that passion’s fled.
But in the tint of amaranth, the fire
endures; in purple deep it can transcend,
while yellow blooms in bliss that does not tire,
and white’s fidelity will have no end.
Though black the bud, a red will grow thereof.
By any other name, the rose is love.
By Andrea Dietrich
For PD's any rose will do. ....... (poems of roses contest) old only.... Poetry Contest
My brother is buried at Arlington National Cemetery. I still remember that day
His Human Heart
He laid red rose upon white casket
Tears were hidden behind dark glasses
People are such righteous asses
This question I just had to ask it
A wounded heart will not outlast it
This human life quickly passes
This human dream was love’s excess
Why was his love so very wrong?
Gender doesn’t really matter
Human dreams are still shattered
He laid red rose upon white casket
Was their love so very wrong?
The question I just had to ask it
His human heart still sang love’s song.
After the wild roses stopped to bloom,
I visited your backyard each afternoon.
I counted the thorns of your rose tree,
wondering if a new bud I would see…
You didn’t come and lean by the window,
combing your hair under the afterglow.
The night wind carried you to me instead,
as I pillowed my head on the root’s thread.
You left the door open on the morrow,
when a new pink rose started to grow.
Should I leave the rose – young and pure -
or Should I follow your lead –
gave to me no more than one queen
blossoming in a garden left unseen.
Crown of Sonnets
I walk in the garden
To see the roses
While the dew is on the grass
So pretty to see
A place to be
Where sun shines through
A blossom so sweet
It opens up like a woman
The rose is strong
When the wind blows
While the rain falls
The storm blows
A rose is beautiful
With the grace of a swan
Long stem and thorns
It will rip you
Give's you joy
Lot's of pleasure
A big delight