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Rosy Love Poem
Like drops of paint on a painter’s easel
Resting quietly, patiently among others
To gently decorate the canvas;
Like soft silk folds of a lady’s dress
Pooling out, freshly washed,
With a hint of sweet perfume;
Like a cluster of warm, new colors
Gathered in the glowing sunrise,
Bringing the fragrance of a brand new day;
Like velvety scraps of a doll maker’s cloth
Like the sweet soft blush on children’s cheeks
Like the smile of sunshine welcoming spring
Copyright © Rosy Love | Year Posted 2013
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Rosy Love Poem
As I enter the volleyball game
I hear
The hustle and bustle of the crowd
Shuffling towards their seats.
Everyone settled. The audience marvel and chit-chat.
The judge raises his hand.
A hush fall over the crowd.
“Whree-” the game starts.
Pitter patter pitter patter pitter patter- Boof!
The ball sails over the net and is
Bopped gently back.
It’s tossed high and
Bam!
It’s a goal.
The spectators roar, and some sigh.
Pitter patter pitter patter pitter patter- oof!
The ball hits the net.
Some cheer, some huff.
This goes on until the last goal is scored-Thump!
The crowd squeals and laughter rings with claps.
The winning team’s shoes skeet as they run
And thump each other’s backs, bursting with laughs.
The losing team pads back with sniffs and sobs
But swears to take revenge.
Copyright © Rosy Love | Year Posted 2013
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Rosy Love Poem
The True Story Of Ariel
You know the story 'bout Ariel
The one that’s on the Disney cereal
Who came to the happy soppy ending
With the prince and herself winding up kissing?
Well, it’s about time you knew the truth:
That story is faker than any gran’s tooth!
It’s just a lie grown-ups tell to keep you happy
When you’re feeling exceptionally cross and snappy.
But now, I’m going to tell you the true one,
So you’d better get ready and spit out that chew-gum.
‘Cause I’m sure, I guarantee,
That after I'm done, you’ll feel sick as can be.
The tale got all right until the part
Explaining why Ariel was last to depart
From her mermaid sisters, to the land
To see the seashore’s sparkling sand.
“So why?” You cry, “What’s wrong with that?”
I’m about to explain- hold on to your hat.
It was definitely NOT because she was the youngest-
It was just another tale spun to trick the youngsters.
The truth was: She had a gruesome habit
Of burping out loud whenever she felt it!
It was because of this revolting reason
That the merking didn’t want to send her packin’
In case she met a dignified person.
But alas! He couldn’t keep her forever;
She zoomed off with a shake and a waver.
She shot up, past seaweed and coral and grass,
Until she came to the surface at last.
But just then she got the bubbly feeling
That she always got just before burping.
So she let go- there was a boom!
That sent the fish scattering back to their rooms,
That vibrated the water for miles around,
And through hollow caves did the boom resound.
Just at this moment, the prince was aboard
A little sailboat, complete with his sword.
For he had decided to take a stroll
To relax after a lesson of arrow & bow.
He had just settled down, and was whizzing gleefully
When the force of the explosion knocked him clean into the sea.
His sword flew away to god-knows-where,
His belt got caught in Ariel’s hair.
“Yippee!” she cried, “A human being!
Why, I can hardly believe what I’m seeing!”
But the prince, poor thing, he was half dead,
Being choked by the water and bashed on the head.
While the wicked Ariel was saying,
“Why, I’ve always wanted one for a pet!
I think I shall keep him in a net!”
And with that she dragged the poorly prince
Deep into the mermaid realms.
She carefully hid him in her closet
For fear that the merking might find and see it.
Then she rummaged under her bed, threw out a flask,
And at last retrieved an oxygen mask.
She crammed it onto the prince’s face,
Much to the fainted prince’s distaste.
The prince, after a while, finally came to,
Princess Ariel, delighted, gave a loud “Ooohh!”
“You’ve woken up!” she cried joyfully,
“From now on I shall call you Barnaby!”
The prince tried to tell her his name was Eric,
But she simply said, “Don’t speak, my chick,”
And swam away with a swish of her frock.
Oh! The horror! Oh! The shock!
The prince felt thunder-struck by it all,
He wished someone would hear his feeble call.
But the sea was thick as custard pie,
And no one could hear his strangled cry.
But alas! The oxygen in the mask
Couldn’t, as you well know, forever last.
The prince soon became dizzy from the lack of air,
He gasped and choked and tore at his hair.
He ripped at the net with all his might,
But the seaweed was set stronger than granite!
At that moment his breath he could no longer hold,
And I’m sorry to say he died-not exactly strong and bold.
Now I’m sorry to tell
That this is the true, gruesome tale
Of the burp-burping, prince-napping Ariel.
Copyright © Rosy Love | Year Posted 2013
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Rosy Love Poem
The Generation Gap
Dad: Have some food now-I love this scone-
I’ve been meaning to ask you-how’s your phone?
Mine’s great for dealing with business work
And all those stuff that you just can’t shirk.
Son: Wait a sec-I’ll just take a shot
Of my scone and soup, all piping hot
And upload it by phone to Facebook now.
What were you saying? I liked what? How?
Dad: I was asking you how you liked my gift
And if it was enough when I worked an extra shift.
Plus, your food is for eating, son, you see,
Not targets for you in a photo-taking spree.
Son: All my online friends do this, dear dad.
It’s just one of us teenagers’ fads.
You don’t have time for me as it is;
At the very least, let me do this.
Dad: What is it you’re buying online, my son,
That may cost two thousand? My, what a sum!
Is what I’m seeing right? Are those just clothes?
What you’ll buy with my money next, God knows!
Son: You won’t understand, dad, that clothes are the fashion
And delving for the hottest ones is every teen’s passion.
How am I otherwise gonna use up my cash?
It’s either getting the latest stuff, or looking like trash.
Dad: Every dollar is a dollar worth-
In my days, to own one was of greatest mirth.
You should learn to save instead of spend-
I don’t care if it’s the latest trend.
Son: I told you you wouldn’t understand;
I have to do this to stay with my friends.
And please would you turn the Bee Gees down?
They aren’t exactly hottest in town.
Dad: The times have changed since I was young
And strange thoughts and actions have sprung
The children have overpoweringly shocking ways-
I have nothing more to say.
Son: The past was so dreadfully boring
That to think of it gets me to snoring.
The world must have been of black, white and gray-
I have nothing more to say.
Copyright © Rosy Love | Year Posted 2013
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Rosy Love Poem
Camping in Nature
See the sun rising
Engulfing the world in flames
A new morning sky
Sunlight streaming through
As though mountains are on fire
Wispy clouds floating
A dragon winding
It’s way through the massive green
Spitting milk-white foam
Bright flowers blooming
Waking to the morning dew
Swaying to the grass
Dawn settles itself
Like mist clinging to the air
Painting the sky darker
A great shining ship
Keeping company at night
Sailing in our dreams
Copyright © Rosy Love | Year Posted 2013
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Rosy Love Poem
The Lion that Took Revenge
There once was a lion named Lou,
Who got caught and stuffed into a zoo.
From his eyes there would always trickle a tear,
When he remembers the catching of himself that year.
Long years ago, when Lou was a cub,
Two men came at him with guns and a club.
Baby Lou was sucking from his mother’s teat,
Devouring, gulping down all he could eat.
It was his clever mother who sensed the danger,
“Get up quickly, son, I smell a stranger.”
“But mom! This teat is soft as silk;
Besides, I want more of this creamy milk.”
But danger was near,
Danger mom couldn’t bear,
So she picked up her son,
And broke into a run.
But alas, though she was strong and swift,
She still had had heavy baby Lou to lift.
The hunters saw the movement fast;
They fired a bullet into the grass.
The poor mother lion was hit straight through the heart,
Her last, feeble words, “Run, son, I have to depart.”
Lou was so shocked by the blood on the wound,
And his mother’s sudden collapse on the ground,
That he stood, rooted to the spot, dumb-found.
That was why he was caught by a hound.
Then he came to his senses and started to fight,
He bit and scratched with all his might.
Just then, the hunters appeared wearing malicious smiles;
Then gave him a shot that made him groggy for quite a while.
When he woke up, he was stiff and cramped,
And into a weenie little cage he was crammed.
A zookeeper gave him sour milk every night;
Ladies screamed at his sight and took flight.
Twenty years passed, and here he was still;
With no grass, no trees and no hills.
At last, an idea popped into his mind:
He was going to take revenge for the likes of his kind!
He leapt up and gave a mighty roar,
That sent people screaming and running for the door.
Then he tore at the wire with all his might
Until a gaping big hole was in sight.
He gave a great leap and soared out of it,
Frightening the zebras out of their wits.
Then he set off, roaring, to find the hunters;
Policemen fainted at their encounters.
In great strides and leaps he crossed the city,
At long last spying hunter Dmitri.
With a mighty roar that shook the skies,
He separated the hunter from his thighs.
Then he killed him with a pierce of his claws,
Which were sharper than the sharpest saws.
Whilst the next hunter, Zimbad,
Was torn from his head;
I’m sorry to say that no one was sad.
Thus our hero, Lou, soared away from Canada
And disappeared forever into South Africa.
Copyright © Rosy Love | Year Posted 2013
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Rosy Love Poem
The Generation Gap
The fragile, flawless ice encased
the crumbling soil below
And with it brought bitter winter’s taste –
the seed that wouldn’t grow.
Many a foggy year ago,
the father had bought the plant
Had carried it, through the ice and snow,
to his little son’s wish, grant.
Once again, the son was staring, eyes hollow,
at the seed that could not be a winner,
Wondering if fruitless years would follow –
when his dad called him to dinner.
The father nodded at his presence,
hen lowered his head at the thing
Staring at the lifeless, immobile pleasance
ike a puppet on ends of a string.
Email after email - would the work never end?
His fingers flew across the screen.
At least the son’s phone would make up –
material had to be the dream of every teen.
The son accidentally brushed the screen
and rock music exploded resounding
The dad jumped and yelled at the opposite teen
of the terribly insistent pounding.
The teen shouted horribly red-faced
that it was most heartbreakingly sad
That the rule he’d once taught - don’t work while you eat –
was forgotten by his dad.
The silence that hung impenetrable in the air
was broken by the sharp creak of chairs
As they were pushed back by the pair –
then the loud pound of feet on the stairs.
The dad shut himself into his room,
sucked in a lungful of air
Then lay down in the musty gloom
to, at his long-gone father’s photo, stare.
His young father winked at him through the glass,
a poster of James Dean on the wall
With a jolt he recalled that in the past
his father had loved James Dean’s bawl.
But then came the time when he grew mad
and screamed and yelled at stars
His father had then, disgusted, said,
that they should be put behind bars.
He stared off into the distant past,
staring at but not seeing the ceiling
Then drifted into determined dreams at last,
strong stirring emotions, feeling.
While the son gazed at a long-taken photo,
at the grinning father and son
Hand in hand and holding their motto –
“Our undying love makes us one”.
And he stared off into the inky black
at the far wall of his room
His heart seemed to jolt, and then to crack
as drops on his cheeks began to bloom.
He was once again gazing at the stubborn seed
when he was called for dinner, to eat
Copyright © Rosy Love | Year Posted 2013
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Rosy Love Poem
SILVER
Silver is the twinkling stars
Silver is spilled moonlight
Silver is a fairy’s wings
ready to take flight-
A baby’s laugh
A wizard’s staff
A puppy’s ‘arf!’
Snowflakes and
angel cakes
and silver spherical decorates.
The highest pitch of a piano’s tinker
Is silver
And the sea is silver
When the gentle rays touch the water.
Silver is a penny tossed into a wishing well
Then wishes are silver
Sparkling distantly
But never getting fewer.
Silver is a teardrop
Silver is a sight
Silver is the most beautiful sword
Owned be the noblest knight.
Silver is a ray of hope
You can always cling on
Silver is the budding dreams
of countless childhood memories.
Silver is the spiraling,
Never-ending flow
Of gentle fluffy snow.
You can taste silver
If you truly believe
In the land of fantasy
On Christmas eve.
Copyright © Rosy Love | Year Posted 2013
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Rosy Love Poem
Every Star A Secret
Every star is a secret encased in glass light,
Born from trusting, whispering lips,
Embedded in the sweet husky song of the night.
Once born, they flutter, then take flight,
Sealing in two bonded souls, the scripts;
Every star is a secret encased in glass light.
When soft darkness descends, a breathtaking sight
Is their pure, gentle guardian, the silk-draped ship,
Embedded in the sweet husky song of the night.
Dazzling and distant from dreamy floating height,
Spun from trust and truth, they never will slip.
Every star is a secret encased in glass light,
Solemn but sweet like a lover’s plight;
Countless keys to hearts are the warm ice chips
Embedded in the sweet husky song of the night.
Sprinkles of evidence, promises kept tight,
As heart and heart to each other dips.
Every star is a secret encased in glass light,
Embedded in the sweet husky song of the night.
Copyright © Rosy Love | Year Posted 2013
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Rosy Love Poem
I carefully break the crusty circle
As I lift a slice of cheese;
The chewy, stretchable goodness
Clings and breaks off as I please.
I lift it close with both hands
And inhale its warm, cheesy smell;
It sends a spasm of hunger
Deep into my stomach’s well.
I temptingly take a nibble;
The gooey warmth fills my cheeks;
My tongue finds pepperoni and pineapple,
And the flavors explode in peaks.
The fluffiness of crust, the chewiness of cheese,
The spiciness of meat, and the tanginess of fruit
Collide in my mouth, sends my taste buds whooping
And my stomach grumbles and gives a hoot!
I can no longer refrain!
I can no longer restrain!
I stuff my face until
I can no longer contain.
Copyright © Rosy Love | Year Posted 2013
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