Narrative Rose Poems | Narrative Poems About Rose

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

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

Details | Narrative |

Wild Love

The blackberry's love for the garden rose
Brought down the gardener's wrath.
The blackberry sensed the danger
As he wended the garden path.

" A love so true as mine", he sighed,
"Must dare to brave the hoe.
Just a few more feet to reach her,
My true love she must know."

He crept along so quietly,
Sometimes quite out of sight
Until he nudged his darling's feet.
Did he dare to trust the light?

He heard the gardener's heavy boot
And hid in craven shame.
He knew he'd soon be weeded out,
A seedling with no name.

"Have I no worth since I don't rate
Some Latin nomenclature?
Without a well known parentage
Am I a freak of nature?

His darling's line was long and pure,
No skeletons in her past.
He had to make his feelings known.
Those boots were treading fast.

Gently then he wrapped his vine
Around his loved one's spine.
In great amazement he opined,
"Her thorns are sharp as mine".

The sweet rose felt his tender touch
And realized his fear
And wondered at his bravery
In coming to her here.

She heard the swishing of the hoe,
She heard those nearing feet.
Quietly letting down her leaves 
In a manner so discreet

She covered her wild lover.
The gardener unaware,
Stopped but to view her beauty.
He saw naught hiding there.

She whispered, "You are safe now".
The blackberry's heart was light,
Thankful that his dear sweet rose
Had not exposed his plight.

"A rose is still a rose." she said,
"By any other name
And in our distant ancestry,
We share some of the same".

"I'd rather know your wild love,
Than a love that's dull and tame,"
Cuddling close, returned his kiss
Without a bit of shame.

Next season there were seedlings
Of a very different kind.
The gardener delighted, cried
"A horticultural find."

The moral of this story?
Things aren't always what they seem.
The love you look down on today,
Could be tomorrow's dream.

Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2009

Details | Narrative |

The Special Rose

She sits and rocks, so gently back and forth
Her chin leaning heavily on her chest.
In her hands she cradles, one flat waxed rose
And sighs as pain is swelling in her breast.

Her long grey hair, now tied up in a bun
Is what I see when entering the room.
I helplessly watch, her tear drops flowing,
They look like dew, upon the lonely bloom.

Slowly she looks at a picture nearby,
A glimpse of a smile creases her face.
Granddad with her, stand on their wedding day
With red roses, and a dress of white lace.

After the wedding, she said with a smile,
I took this one rose and waxed it back then.
Granddad had laughed at me wondering why.
I said, for the special memories when…….

And now this old rose, I hold in my hand,
Precious memories kept in my drawer
I pull it out remembering the day
When granddad loved me, and I loved him more.

Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
Contest: Encounters with Flowers 

Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |

The Rose

Once bloomed a rose so young and fair
With dark brown eyes and long black hair

Beside her be a tall dark tree
Whose branches stretch to smother thee

Too close beside the shadowy bark
That soon begins to leave its mark

She cries for help, but none shall hear
Her thorns too sharp, who’d dare go near?

To save this rose, who’d risk their life?
With naught to gain but pain and strife

Alone, afraid, she lays to rest
Her heart beats low inside her chest

And with the hour growing near
She sheds her final grieving tear

And so the rose soon falls asunder
Her final day, eternal slumber

She lies beside the old dark tree
The only one who mourns for thee

Copyright © Nina Hernandez | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative |

A Song of Michael's Rose

The cottage reeks with
fluid tides of hope,
incessantly commanding.
My baby’s here.
I’ve still no word 
coming down the line from Dover.
Winter’s gone...
Spring rains have come
and with it comes the tears all over.  
I weep again, my child it seems,
will never know her father. 

Today down by the spring
I prayed the prayer so often said,
sorrow turned desperation.
I found a ring left in the cup, since
yesterday laying there, scribed “M” 
upon a jeweled stone.
My heart leaped in

I heard his voice inside my head,
where also his face I saw. 
I turned and looked... 
no one was there...
please God give me 
this one discretion.
There must be peace somewhere to find.  
I look but must be led
by your grace and mercy.  

Again at chores, the babe 
asleep, the knock came loudly.
A letter from Michael O’brian maam, 
please sign here for delivery.
I hurriedly skimmed, 
he was dead,
two days before,
of pneumonia.  

Our little Rose, still in my care,
to receive his name 
if she so chose
and all else he owned in Dover.
A ring for me
it seems was gone, 
a large garnet with the letter M
on the stone, had disappeared

	A seed was planted in winter,
	planted in sweetness of youth. 
	It was a gift from Michael.
	He left me alone in the spring---yet,
	his flower grew in my garden.
	Our error was human.
	First feeling trapped, then love,
	from this Rose in my life.
	Forgiveness is divine.
	Love is eternal.

11 Jan 2011  Charles Henderson

Copyright © Charles Henderson | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative |

How a Blue Rose Came to be

Once upon a time, many years ago,
There was a sweet and lovely -  red, red Irish rose,
That was plucked prematurely, from the garden vine;
A budding beauty, taken in her prime.

She was laid to rest, upon the death, of a lovers dream;
Upon a chest of ebony, where lie, his would-be  Queen; 
Lowered deep into the depths, of the church yard cemetery;
Her scarlet petals, wilting in the summer breeze.

Then the earth begin to fall, like autumn leaves;
Upon  her petals, and the chest of ebony,
From above her tomb, where stood the grieving groom
Weeping , weeping,  like a willow tree.

Then the sky begin  to disappear, amid that mournful cry,
As  tears - from above, fell from that lovers eyes,
And came to rest, like dew drops on that  Irish rose, 
As she disappeared beneath the earth, there in his grief below 
In time, he laid a stone of ivory - upon her grave;
Etched deeply  - with the promise he had made:
To love his Irish Rose - forever and a day.


The years and all their seasons came and went
And a million lonely tears were cried and spent
Upon her grave where everyday he kneeled and prayed
And dreamed of her until his dying day.  


The epigram has long since faded on the ivory stone   
That still stands alone   upon her grave
Where from the million tears of love he gave
A seemingly impossible - blue, blue rose has grown.


Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative |

Bloody Bloomin Rose's

Ah, the bloom was on the Rose
yet, the taint of alcohol and drugs
looms nightmare like behind her baby pink cheeks. 
Porcelain skin tones, raspberry rogue
nails to scratch and lift bits of dirty lucre.

She was clawing her way up,
and hopefully out, he hits her, “Slut,” he screams at her.
a sometime replacement sat beside him. 
His Chicano inner-city drawl hurt her ears 
and the fake diamonds studding them. 
The new girl beside him

She’s due at work by nine,
grabbing a smooth wrap-top and a mock
grey skirt, she rushes from the room to the bank.
She can still see his long fingers playing in other girls cleavage.
Rose, well, Rose pays the rent. She strikes a teller’s pose 
behind the formica countertop...

Long days, counting other peoples money
kindness, and sweetness sucked from her
like a ripe plum on a summers day.
She needs work, more work.
I asked her to help in the garden.
Long blonde, buxom, bending over weeds,
only six months to go to graduation
an associate degree…

Rose chuckles, “Look who I’ve been associatin’ with?”
I eye the twenty-five thou lottery ticket in my jean pocket.
“You want to move here Rose?”
“What would they do without me?”
I sigh, thinking of her alcoholic mother
off bingeing and her “boy fiend”.

The lottery windfall went for Rose’s college tuition. 

The bloom is off the Rose now, 
two hundred plus pounds later
strung out beside her Mom on a ratty couch, 
she eyes the Diploma in it’s cheap black frame,
and rocks her baby girl
some things, never change….

*Names have been changed, and the amount given, but part
of the ending has truely come to pass already [sigh]. 
The rest is all true.  

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative |

A Naughty Little Girl

I sleep. The hours tick by mercilessly; unfilled, purposeless, full of potential "What to do? What to do???" I mutter, tumbling, like Alice, down the rabbit hole. My hands push down ballooning petticoats, careful not to show or touch anything. I twirl beneath the pile down comforters. The hours tick by crimson red and in the dream, the rose Queen shouts, "Off with HER HEAD!" An eyebrow is plucked whole from my face. It falls matted and to the ground leaving me, brow akimbo, surprised, and horrified. "What to do? What to do? What to do???" Half shorn. Half drawn. Half born? A painter's pallet appears before me. A brow is drawn… for me. Yet, the Rose Queen still screams on. "Off with HER HEAD! Off with HER HEAD!"

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative |

My Auntie Mary-Rose

My Auntie Mary Rose

Years ago in my youthful years; my mother told me she named me after
My Auntie Mary-Rose. Oh how I loved her so dearly.
But throughout my young life I was consistently teased from kids my own age.
And even from some of my own close kin. After I turned twenty-one I soon
legally changed my name to Theresa Marie Christine. At the time I thought that no
one would ever make fun of me again. But alas, all of some many uneducated cruel
people never learn. While I was bartending, they’d call “hey TC bring me some of your 
empty tea so we can see the inside of your shirt. Guess I should not have let anyone get
the better of me. I never knew that I was feeling so insecure. If it were not for one very
close sister of mine: don’t think I would have even made it to the age of 35. Now I’m
longing for my old name back.
For I really did love my Auntie Mary-Rose. My beloved Auntie Mary-Rose I apologize 
for changing my name to Theresa Marie Christine.

Written: 6/20/15
Theresa Marie

Copyright © Theresa CW | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |

Rain and Roses

Your beauty makes everything,
Heartbeats play with the symphony
Of water cry out 
When i see u again...
Let the clouds embrace 
That smile fitted with the stem of
Your eyes, and can i have 
Another dance? Chance?
Because i want to, no,
Just let me understand why,
Why i so deeply in love,
With you, with your own system
Nature of sweet devotions
From there from here
Even our world are not facing
The affections,
Because you're n the other side
Of the atmos, 
But tonight let me fall with you
Fill me with yours,
Let me kiss you just tonight,
Or even by the middle of nimbus dreams...
Just a moment.
Its not me.
But the other leaf

Copyright © jhucel del rosario | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |

Barbara Rose

Barbara Rose

Barbara Rose her prayer she would pray for all:
I wish for the beauty of thoughts and beauty that come through life's walk through the soul
 and heartaches and laughter and love of each other..
the memories of what could have been and the life song for the future..
I wish for the beauty in words to come alive in the mist of our souls,
to show the world what words of beauty could really accomplish in peoples hearts,
that the ecstasy of life could blossom in each person lives and sing the beauty of songs and 
to reach the hardest of hearts and just be friends.
I wish for love for each of one of you..
With melodies flowing
the day is long
Blessed are those that love
and wait the wait
Enthralled and enslaved by the char
of those sparkling eyes for all the world to see
Empowered by Saviors grace
Her eyes spoke of things to come
A Love of the master for all
Compassionate feelings of her hearts
Were of her family That she had been so blessed
Her name was Barbara Rose
Dear Momma,
I love you so much
One day I will be there all the way up there
In glorious heaven with you
to dance with you
And walk the streets of gold
I miss you mom
Your wonderful smile
Your gorgeous laugh
Our long talks
You being so wise
Telling me all about Jesus.

You always told me,
Love life
Life will love you back
Love people
People will love you back
Pour out your love my daughter
Love will pour back....

Keep extending love and your will receive
Be found faithful and your will be rewarded.
Thank you my momma
Love you dearly
With all my heart
Love you: Brooke

This mothers day is hard without you mom... I miss you so... 
but all the memories from you is the best I ever had... 
Love you so much.... 
This is my dear mom that left us back in July 2011.. 
She had a long hard illness but everyday to her was a blessings with a big smile on her face.
 She loved all and all loved her.. Blessings to each one of you..

Happy Mothers day to all...

Copyright © Brooke Dylan | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |


In every life,
someone will stand out, 
someone who makes a difference,
someone who gives comfort, and love.

Sharon is that someone to me,
when I am down, she picks me up,
when I am blue, she reaches out to me,

Although her world is upside down,
she is anchored firmly,
she is comfort,
she is a lighthouse.

Her strong values keep her grounded,
her kindness keeps her human, 
and just knowing her makes me smile.

Sharon, you are an angel,
you have given so much of yourself,
your time, your comments, and your blessings.

I love you friend...... 
a rose needs rain, and sunshine to grow,
friends need friends to love them,
and they will grow into beautiful perfect roses.

Copyright © Christy Hardy | Year Posted 2009

Details | Narrative |


By Nate Spears
Published 2013 in “Death OF A Rose” By Nate Spears

A diminishing Rose Bush
With every pedal plucked, beauty is fading away
Losing its essence of greatness
As we proceed to deplete its history
Life flows away,

I remain standing above
Polluted soil
Stems are bare and exposed
Vulnerable to the world and its nature
I give woes
I give worries
I give troubles
These are my possibilities
Then the death of a rose and destruction
Hits home

Bare my green,
My DNA shows traces of the best soils
Traced back to my mother’s land
Surrounded by fellow planted gold
Some will never know

Doing well isn’t doing well
We can’t bloom unless we unfold
Reproduce the best again
Stop dying daily for less than a win
There’s nothing we can’t do
That we’ve done once again

The next season will bring new pedals
I will never grow pass go anymore
Next year, beauty will flourish
Next season remains to nourish
Each season we should cherished
In our best moments
Each year is the best one of your life.

Copyright © Nate Spears | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |

Death Of A Rose

Death of a Rose
By Nate Spears
Published 2013 in “Death OF A Rose” By Nate Spears
The onion blooms this summer with an essence of pleasure
The winter’s rose brings the smell of death
As X marks the spot
I ask why?
The letters reveal everything in a perfect storm
As my fortune grew wheels I became bankrupt 
My pockets flat-lined into dust
 My days became a Knights reality
My short comings were the guiding in my life’s fatalities
My burdens became the struggles of my light
Each and every day 
I deal with this in this life
My soul is sun burned
My life has washed ashore
Times two; my son’s bring me rays of light
Allowing me to see everything with excellent vision
In all four corners of this ring surrounding my fingers tip
Victory stands bold in the middle 
Failure has lost to a simple slip
So who’s the real champion now?

Tears and sweat are only separated 
By the point in which they’re released
Beauty lies deeply 
Within the heart of the beast
One moment for the momentum 
That destroys the cells of venom
Black and cancerous, 
It sickens our society as we watch this rose die
The funeral we attend today stems from this
This is the Death
Of A Rose.

Copyright © Nate Spears | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |

Blooming femme' rose

Intricate folds open, exposing life nurturing moisture
Delicate, defying it’s true gift
Strong, nurturing and life giving as a woman
Thorns deter those who would thieve her nectar

A variety of rose’s, blooming with life
The multiplicity of woman
Beautiful and elegant
An ear empathizes with others pain 
Disarming vanity enable ideas to chain
Adoring with admiration
What is it like to be a she?

A blooming pink rose glowering in morning sun
Simple complexity admitting allure 
A blooming, dew moistened yellow rose 
Drinking sunshine, projecting enviable femininity 
Blooming femme' rose

Copyright © Anson Decker | Year Posted 2017

Details | Narrative |

Love's Rose

Far back in the cool green shadows
of the woods in a foreign land,
there blows a rose of thornless stock;
it is thornless by Love's reprimand.
The hunters have fled the battle;
the woodland lies placid and still
with naught to break the blest quiet
save for the nightingale's trill.

Kneeling beside the fair blossom
is a maiden of purest heart
whose virgin soul no man has known;
it was reserved for her true love's art.
Nestled against her maiden breast
lies the beast of the ivory horn;
he who discerns the virgin heart,
the magnificent unicorn.

The trees gather round enchanted;
their lacy tops whisper the song,
"home is the warrior from battle
for right is triumphant o'er wrong."
He rests, wings folded, victorious;
enraptured, she cradles his head.
Love is the balm his soul needed
for the wound that rankled blood red.

Far back in the cool green shadows
of the woods in a foreign land,
there blows a rose of thornless stock;
it is thornless by Love's reprimand.
The rose which blossoms eternal
knows the lovers will never part;
it is white for a love without blemish;
it is red for their passionate heart.

Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, 1987

Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |

Rose coloured

I sit and think the worse thing is to think
My mind travels a hundred moments 
The times that I have wished upon that never happened
Times that did happen that I wish had nt
Broken clock that is my heart as its timeless
Shadows of pages lost in my diary
The feeling of being alone when needing to be held
A want that is unbelievable even to I to understand

You ask many questions but there is no reply
Mistakes that you have made even others have to bare
The mistakes that others have held against you
Its all rose coloured if only I had seen what you see now
Love hate feelings of ones innocence taken
You say hold back do not sell your self to a thief
Be different this time but you are the same you are what you are
You take a road and you walk you open the gate that is fate

Skies of redness as the sun dies down
Changed with darkness of dark with diamonds that glisten
Trees that lay bare snow surrounding rain that drowns the earth 
It is all the same its a dice that is thrown
We dont know how when why and who 
We just do what we do even when the mind takes hold 
It is still the jewel in you that wears the golden crown
Thats why we never really understand as it is always you that shines through

Copyright © sarah hales | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative |

Rose and Twinkle Toes

A long, long time ago (it seemed anyway)
and her cat Twinkle Toes were     dreaming
it was a wonderful fairy tale dream of a lovely house.

The house was painted  a lovely shade of sky blue;
(inside too)     and rested on top of a high cliff
and a huge flower garden grew
and a fairy twinkling girl lived there too.

Rose and Twinkle Toes played all day long running
and jumping  with the fairy 
until it seemed to Rose      that
had been in this dream
for     a very       very long time,
although a diet of jelly beans was delightful
and they loved the little fairy.

Rose and Twinkle Toes really did long for home
and sleeping in their little attic room
under a pink blanket     till morning
and a new day ... (Oh Twinkle Toes I miss home !  Don't you?)

But here in dreamland
every day is beautiful and sunny 
with never a cloud ever    so
Rose decided to go on a journey (to find home)
and with Twinkle Toes following they left
the pretty house on the cliff and the
garden and fairy     far behind.

They met many strange and odd creatures
that said hello
and the scenery was amazing     yet
there is no place like home
(as Dorothy would say).

Then a south wind sent them in a twirl.

It blew away the blue house     the garden 
(and maybe the fairy)  Rose and Twinkle Toes, 
were  tumbling    and pages of books flew by   and books
and Rose held Twinkle Toes to her heart.

Then, Rose found herself in her attic    room
and Twinkle Toes was sleeping    on the bed      
Rose whispered . . . 
Twinkle be careful what you wish for!

February 11,  2017

Narrative/Rose and Twinkle Toes
Copyright Protected, ID 874323 

For the contest, Fairy Tale For Children
Sponsor, Eve Roper

Third  Place 

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2017

Details | Narrative |

Sun Rose, She Saw Her Dead Lover's Face

Sun Rose, She Saw Her Dead Lover's Face 

The sad angel touched her heart then
turned her far away from mortal men
Setting her a course to sleep alone
in dark cavern where no light shown.

Yet she traveled in nightly dreams
to shining lands with epic streams
Upon which hardy men sailed away
making fortunes wherever they may.

Lonely travelers so far from home
missing love as they set to roam
Dreams of beautiful vixens at night
saw her appear glowing in her light.

First she could see but not speak
a silent image their heart did seek
As the sad years flew swiftly by
her words appeared telling men why.

Her punishment was for her misdeed
unfaithful lover she cut to bleed
Watch him bleed life into the dust
never again was she to ever trust.

Avenging angel sent to punish then
keep her away from all mortal men
For her beauty could sway any heart
to find her a map drawn on a chart.

Hundreds tried but nobody did win
free her from cavern of her sin
As her broken heart started to fall
she heard a brave sea captain call.

Map he had memorized just to find
image that appeared in his mind
Into a dark, lost lake he did sail
deep love swore he'd never fail.

Moon was bright when he arrived
elude her guards he had contrived
Plan to lure her dark guards away
rescue her before the break of day.

Guards were two dragons so fierce
with scales no weapon could pierce
Captain would flash powder to blind
evil eyes as in he went her to find.

All went just as was his bold plan
out the cavern he and his love ran
Soon two lovers were aboard his ship
dragon guards they managed to slip.

Sun rose, she saw dead lover's face 
as back to death his soul had to race
Captain had been her victim she bled
freed her from his dark death's bed!

R.J. Lindley
July 07, 1977

Note- Presented as is... An oldie that I barely remember my ever writing.
Was found folded in an old poetry book I had misplaced and stored in the attic.
Found that book in a box of old clothes that were about to throw away.

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |

A Rose That's In Full Bloom

In the garden of Gethsemane on that dismal night ---
Jesus deep in prayer was quite an awesome sight ---
His tears were like drops of blood,
that fell from His eyes ---
Yet they were that of Holy water,
that descends from Heavenly skies ---
Three times Jesus prayed to His Father on high ---
Three times did He admonish us with a heavy sigh ---
Then as the Pharisees, Chief Priests and 
soldiers took Jesus away ---
We scattered in all directions,
like sheep that has gone astray ---
Hanging upon a Roman cross, 
Christ died for all our sins ---
Giving us eternal salvation and assurance,
that God always wins ---
Our Lord was taken down and placed enshrouded,
inside Joseph of Arimathea's tomb ---
On the third day, was resurrected from all
it's dark and lonely gloom ---
Appearing before us in that large and furnished upper room ---
We witnessed the Great Commission,
like a rose that's in full bloom ---
Ascending towards God's Kingdom,
for all of us to see ---
Jesus promised that He would be with us,
for all eternity.

Copyright © Sheol Moribund | Year Posted 2009

Details | Narrative |

A rose above the Cement ( I am that rose)

I've always been one who struggles in life have often been associated and often times 
been frustrated by the causes of life. Cause's I choose to alleviate in my mind, but
my addiction made me realize I was running out of time. "I am that rose", had
obstacle's to climb, obstacle's I tried to work out on my own, but the quided rays
of Sunlight beaming through the cement of life, suddently I realize. I was not
A rose planted by the wayside, a throw-off of family and friends. A rose certainly
to blossum, people's places and things and again I would Sin. One day could find
one, sober and clean, or someday when you're not feeling worthy of all your ob-
stacle's could find one "stuck down on the beam". 
I am that rose, triumphanily joy has come, gotten through the cement, gotten with
joy & pain. Now a rose above the cement, standing on power not my own?
A rose above the obstacle's, all one now need, is rain...

P.S...."Rain is a cleansing, Blessing from God"!!!!....

Copyright © John Streeter | Year Posted 2009

Details | Narrative |


     "Who romance hi kaya jo
               Her kisse sey kaya
      Jaaye,  meri jaan "

With love all
jagdish bajantri

Copyright © jagdish bajantri | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |


“come fluttering words, come drifting words to me…”

               A Rambling Poet

A mere housemaid awakens before morning light.
Eyes wide, she bolts upright to the bed’s edge, as if late for work, though she 
never is.
Another beautiful day to labor away. 
Polishing silver all day has its advantages.
Each piece polishes to a looking glass, each a porthole to her dreams.
As she stares into the final polished vase, her weary face transforms into the face of 
a lovely, fair skinned maiden.
Soft red lips highlight her perfect cheek bones and straight nose. 
A simple pink ribbon holds her long, auburn hair in place.
Sparkling green eyes and a happy smile portray her excitement as she admires her 
floor length pastel summer dress. 
“Oh my, It’s time for my evening stroll,” she reminds herself.
Twirling once, she heads out the door leading to the apple orchard.
Barely noticing the orchard’s beauty, she strolls toward the stone steps leading to her favorite place, the stone rose garden.
Making her way down the steps, she immediately notices someone has placed two arrangements onto the platform from the stone cabinet.
As she bends to smell the flowers, she accidentally brushes some petals off, sending them floating to the platform and moss covered stone walk.
Closing her eyes, she lets the essence take her back a dozen years to a young girl 
planting pink roses with her mother.
“There’s not a lot of room to plant,” her mother would say.  “Two inches of soil between all this stone is what we have to work with.”
She opens her eyes to find herself staring into the polished silver vase.
Her tired, smudged face reminds her it’s time to go home. 
Something different catches her eye in the polished looking glass.
Her long auburn hair is no longer neatly bundled under her cleaning bonnet, but held in place by a simple pink ribbon.

Randy Steele
July 25, 2011

"What Is She Thinking?" contest

Copyright © Randy Steele | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative |

How A Blue Rose Came To Be

"I have dipped my pen in the sublime, it is my gift to you . . ."


Once upon a time, many years ago,
There was a sweet and lovely -  red, red Irish rose,
That was plucked prematurely, from the garden vine;
A budding beauty, taken in her prime.

She was laid to rest, upon the death, of a lovers dream;
Upon a chest of ebony, where lie, his would-be  Queen; 
Lowered deep into the depths, of the church yard cemetery;
Her scarlet petals, wilting in the summer breeze.

Then the earth begin to fall, like autumn leaves;
Upon  her petals, and the chest of ebony,
From above her tomb, where stood the grieving groom
Weeping , weeping,  like a willow tree.

Then the sky begin  to disappear, amid that mournful cry,
As  tears - from above, fell from that lovers eyes,
And came to rest, like dew drops on that  Irish rose, 
As she disappeared beneath the earth, there in his grief below                                      
In time, he laid a stone of ivory - upon her grave;
Etched deeply  - with the promise he had made:
To love his Irish Rose - forever and a day.

The years and all their seasons came and went
And a million lonely tears were cried and spent
Upon her grave where everyday he knelt and prayed
And dreamed of her until his dying day.  

The epigram has long since faded on the ivory stone   
That still stands alone today, upon her grave
Where from the million tears of love he gave
A seemingly impossible - blue, blue rose has grown.


Author:  Elaine George
For the contest: Writing In The Sublime ~
Awarded: First Place

Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2006

Details | Narrative |


I watched a rose grow
Far down the last row
Guarded it as it grew
From the strong winds that brew

As its branches did sprout
Its thorns spread out
piercing my hand when tending
I left to tender to my sore wounds

When its flowers did blossom
It left its sepal's bosom
Conspicuous and beautiful to the eye
Its scent burning the noses of insects

So the bees,wasps and birds paid a visit
On its sweet nectar they made  a feast
Some dusting its petals with dirty dust
collected from other plants that ailed

And the dust became a worm
that attacked from deep within
making it wither as days went by
and  the rose dried to death

Copyright © JUSTINE MOKUA | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |

a rose by any other name

i journied through a forrest covered in haze.
through the thick grey fog there was a bright glow of red.
i stumbled trying to make my way towards it,
tripping on the roots from apple trees.
i came closer to this red. a rose was revealed.
this rose was mesmerising. my hand reached for it without thought.
immediately, i threw my now red fingers back.
under this rose were thorns sharp as daggers.
in my state of confusion, i could’ve sworn i heard Someone say,
“this is not yours to take”

Copyright © Catherine Chan | Year Posted 2009

Details | Narrative |

The White Rose of Good Bye

Today I lay,
a white rose,
upon your grave,
and tears,
seep onto,
the ground,
that now engulfs,
what was once,
my first love.

I kiss your tombstone,
remembering you,
at first sight,
as my heart,
skipped a beat,
as my eyes,
glance into,
the mystery,
of the pair,
of eyes,
that met mine,
that continues.
to travel,
through the labyrinth,
of my soul.

Splashes of red,
color my face,
as the memory,
of the night,
I felt your hand,
caress my own,
as you stole,
my heart,
with your,
that captivated,
the girl,
that thought,
no man,
could express,
towards her.

Agony consumes,
my thoughts,
running in circles,
that perplex,
my spirit,
with traces,
of my mind,
focusing on,
the deer in headlights,
that was slaughtered,
by the man,
I believed,
was my soul mate.

I laughed half-heartedly,
to ease remnants,
of pain,
as I viewed,
the bold lettering,
of your name,
etched upon,
this rectangular rock,
within this cemetery.

I placed a note,
beside your grave,
with a vignette,
of my rage,
and inevitable love,
for you.

Years of fearing,
of falling into your grasp,
were far worse,
than the night,
you attempted,
to taste upon,
the purities,
of my innocence.

There were months,
when I let,
myself drown,
in self-blame,
making excuses,
for your behavior,
creating a paradox,
of sadistic love,
and intense hatred.

On my wedding night,
I cringed as fragments,
of that early august,
morning encounter,
entered my mind,
and guilt became,
visible inside,
my deep hazel eyes,
as my husband’s gaze,
met mine,
and the night,
that should have,
ended with me,
giving him the gift,
that only he,
would receive,
was decimated,
with sounds,
of your body,
Pushing violently,
into me,
 as silence,
the words,
I begged,
to escape,
from my lips.

My feelings,
are now a scar,
no longer,
only a reminder,
of a hard,
 life  lesson,

So today I forgive,
with this white rose,
my pure heart,
that contains no love,
nor hate.

I whispered,
as I walked,
away from,
and prayed,

These words,
“my Innocence,
my heart,
now belongs to,
my lover,
who deserved,
what you,
believed to,
belong to,
without consent,
and I am letting go,
of every aspect,
that connects,
you to me,
with this good bye.”

Copyright © Jadyn Kilmon | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative |

Voices Rose Beyond the Sea

A song she carries in black locks,
Her treasure brings their ship to dock.
Transparent to the deafened mute,
To eloquent a note to loot.
Set to mesmerize the men,
Fixed upon this maiden gem.
So caught up in her melody,
Forgot a cast beyond the sea.

A drink to her!
Another round!
To satisfy,
A lustful hound.
So beautiful,
A girl so fair;
Like mermaids,
In a water’s lair.

Tonight they’ll empty Davy’s fears,
And bask in heaven’s light and tears.
To smell the lavender and blooms,
A rare treasure sure to lift the gloom.
To drink and sing their past regrets,
tomorrow’s day brings toil and sweat.
For death awaits in lines and sails,
Their true mistress - the sea-bound trails.

Another drink!
And fare thee well…
A tale of wonder,
Sure to tell.
About this night,
Her song will swell -
Above the open sky,
And dwell.

They sailed from Nova Scotia‘s Pier.
The jealous ocean soon brought fear,
As waves as tall as mighty oaks;
Did crash into their fishing boats.
The mast did crack and slam her deck,
The men all struggled soaking wet.
Then voices rose “Farewell to thee,
Our maiden…” then sunk into the sea.

Copyright © Tammy Armstrong | Year Posted 2006

Details | Narrative |

A Rose Short-Lived

In the early days of March, at the very start of spring
I saw people plant roses, and praise the love they would bring
Well, at that point I had been saving a special sort of seed
And that spring I would plant it, even though there where warnings, I did not heed
And now loves rose is dead, and with it, burnt, is loves creed

Woe! That seed I had saved, held close and took care of from a very early age
That seed I had obtained from an accidental meeting, on the swings, at a very early age
Now I fear that this seed is ruined, and I fear I’ve lost a friend
It’s a fear that digs deep into my cold, melancholy core, I can’t pretend
For it was a beautiful friendship, that I never intended to end

Yes, I had planted this seed in the early days of March, the month of my birth
And though at first the rose was shy, it slowly stemmed out of the earth
 But it was soon growing faster, faster even than the fabled roses of lore
It grew with such a haste that one might have thought that it wouldn’t grow anymore
Yes, this rose, that might have frown too fast, had put love in my core

Now, on the last day of March, the very date on which, many years ago, I was born
This rose gave me a gift as it hid from me every thorn
And this rose, it seemed, had given me the will to succeed 
In my life, I had finally had the confidence to take the lead
I loved, more than anything, the rose that sprouted out of this seed 

And the month that followed, I can’t lie, was bliss
And it’s time I will, forever more, miss
For the month following, I regret to say, my rose died
Indeed, it was the only time that, for a flower, I had ever cried
It left me weeping, with no ego left to gloat, with no self pride

Yes, early in May is where you may date my death
Call me death, for without that rose, I’m not living, though I still draw breath
Lay me on my death bed, and let my quietly pass on, away
For any place without that rose is no place I want to stay
So please, lay me on my death bed, and leave! Let me lay

Woe, that rose died, and I can only guess why
Perhaps I watered it too much, and forced it to be too un-shy
Perhaps I was too ignorant to say the words it needed to hear
Yes, perhaps, perhaps, that all I can say
And I will say it all the while 
While I walk away

Copyright © Andrew Pierce | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative |

a rose

A rose lay dead and dry
As a Girl sits to cry
The rose feels her tears
but knows not of her fears
The dead, dry rose can sense her pain and sorrow
For it too has no tommorrow
Alas that girl and the rose will sit there together and crumble
Their souls shall tumble
And the two will wither away
They'll both rot today
That girl and the dead, dry rose will never see another sunrise again
For today their end began....

Copyright © ashley welch | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative |

Sometimes we get what we want

A single golden maple leaf rose on the wind twisting reflected sunlit flickers from her polished upper side, dancing in 
wind flung ecstasy of autumnal flight. Rising to disappear over the rooftop to wherever gusts took her. 

I watched from the bubbling hot tub, soaking in the massaging waters and almost feeling the leaf's freedom. Yesterday 
morning a friend left on just such a breeze. It had taken almost 40 days in hospital to lighten his soul for the ride. 
There will be no services. He will be cremated. His ashes will rest on the bar in his cellar throughout his annual 
Christmas celebration. This is what he wanted. 

Sometimes we get what we want. Several years back he'd had a small furniture business, bookshelves, tables, 
benches, that sort of thing. He'd also finished unfinished furniture for a company if their customers asked for it. at the 
time I was carving figures, birds, dragons, fish, whatever the grain led me to find in odd pieces of wood. "Take any piece 
that's on the floor" he'd said. I'd pointed to a four by twelve standing on end about four feet high. He'd laughed and 
turned it around. 
It was rotted and eaten away by ants or termites so that the knots stood out in odd dimensions. "I'll take it " I'd said 
seeing something that may be done with it. 

A week later I brought it back and we dipped it into his stain tank. He looked at it as it rose from the tank and almost 
dropped it back in. I'd carved the last supper on it, following the grain and using the knots as flagons or people 
depending on their location. The bottom of the board had been intact making the table the easiest to carve. The ants 
had done eighty percent of the work. I gave it to a friend who said he knew a priest who'd love it. I found out later his 
nephew got it. 
Sometimes we get what we want

Copyright © Donald Meikle | Year Posted 2007