Ode Rose Poems | Ode Poems About Rose

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Details | Quatrain | |

Ode to a rose on a sunset

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)

Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2009

Details | Ode | |

To a rose

Ah, sweet bonny flower face
That sits outside my door
Nodding in the eve time
Waking gently in the morn

Nothing so pretty as your pink-tipped petals
Nor as fragrant as you, my rose
Your very existence is poetry
Sprung up in a garden of prose

Ah, but my lacy lillies
Sigh enviously at your grace
And all my quiet pansies
Wish silently for your face

But only you are the queen of flowers
Beautiful now and forever more
You, sweet bonny flower face
Who sits outside my door.

Copyright © Anna Erickson | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme | |

Ode To A Desert Rose

Ode to a Desert Rose

Hiding in her desert place
There lives a desert rose
Not much water   little rain
Yet on and on she goes...

Day to day she shows her face
To those who can not see
All her beauty hides the pain
And tears that set her free...

Still there's One who shed His grace
Upon this desert rose
Always with her shall remain
Because her heart He knows.

by~deborah burch©
posted 3/29/2012

Copyright © Deborah Burch | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ode | |

For The Beautiful Mystic Rose

In many ways, you are immense,
Prevailing in your purpose,
Radiating all shades of Love’s perseverance
As mysteries unfurl 

You are restful,
Peaceful, and undulating with a deep desire to teach
Heal, and inspire

You arouse the senses with your fragrances,
The spirits of old heeding along the waysides
The quiet, silent souls nodding in affirmation
“Resilient, meek, and elegant is she,
Giving and gallant in Love’s guiding wing!”

The mighty Lord smiles in agreement,
His beam lighting every shaded flower

For in truth, every precious petal of hers
Draws these hearts nearer
To the root of her works
To the splendor of her unique magic,
Towards Love and Grace

-this was inspired by Mystic Rose’s  recent series regarding Love- 

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2016

Details | Romanticism | |

Ode to Mi Corazon

As I pull weeds from cracks in sidewalks
Yout sit on top of thrones made of solid gold
And I pay no mind to the women around me,
Only to your beauty do I hold an Ode.

I see my fair Spanish lady
my daring, sweet rose with thorns,
That run up and down her spine.
As she stops in the daily parade
Waving at the peasants,
She looks at me and summons her guards
Too take me away.

Her beauty is unbearable.
I cannot take not being with her
For a single moment in my life.
Her hair,
Black like coal,
Her smile is bright, as the first rays of the Red Sun
In the dawn.
Her lips painted with ruby lipstick,
her silk laced dress and shawl wrap around her,
Like a beautiful butterfly in her cocoon.
Her skin of olive, dark color and her green eyes.
My God, those sweet and piercing green eyes
Oh, how they hit my soul and make me shiver with excitment.
She is intoxicating and I am intoxicated in her beauty.

She is like an angel, a Latina beauty who walks the streets paved gold,
As I walk the cracked, cobblestone walkways.
She shines in the Spanish sun, like a dimoand in the ruff
As you blow the dust off her sweet brow,
she glows and sparkles with extordinary excellence.

She is beautiful and sweet and kind.
She loves me, but her father minds.
I am only a peasant, and she royalty.
Can our love ever be together in one holy matrimony?
I pray to the Lord, of all that is good,
Please give me a sign that she loves me.

Soon a storm came over,
blowing me down to the ground
And a cloud of dust swallowed me whole.
A great Conquistador on a great white stallion
pulled me up and told me that she wanted to see me.
I shacked with nervous of joy as I followed the warrior.

She was there, under a palm tree
Near a beautiful beach in Barcelona.
She smiled and a glow covered me with passion.
I hugged her and kissed her upon her sweet lips.
I tasted virginity and she tasted loyalty.
We both tasted beauty and harmony.
As the warrior left us,
We made love upon a vigin white sheet,
Soon covered with a flowing river of red.
She moaned with exticy and love was in the air.
The Ode to my sweet Spaniad, Mi Corazon!

We lay there in each others arms
Looking up at a clear night sky
The twilight glimmered ever so softly
And a shooting star blazed across the sky
I kissed her and she kissed me.
I whispered in her, "My love forever"
And she pushed me back upon the sheets
and we made sweet and ever lasting love again.
As we looked in each other's almond colored eyes.
I said to her, in a soft voice, Mi Corazon.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ode | |

In This Garden

This place is full of wonder, full of great sites
A walk in the blissful rays of colored lights
Take me by the hand and pleasure my sensory
Tickle my nose with the smell of your fragrancy
Your tranquility calms me to a state of awe
I could look at you for days and not find any flaw
Even though mistakes can be made
The site of you makes those mistakes fade

Have you ever wondered how your soul can wander?
Bump into each other from far beyond yonder?
Did you ever see the beauty in me?
Even at my worst could you really see?
A shadow of truth, which dwells within these walls
A Utopian garden of truth, which an empty voice calls
Delving in the interior I can only be amazed
By all of the pretty things about you; my feelings are raised

Mesmerized by your being; intellectual with insight
I know that together we will only burn bright
The empty yard is now filled with dreams
Covering the persistence of my piercing screams
A hollow body has been filled
A terrible angst has been killed
And my imagination has now been thrilled
So all we can do from here is build

Still yet, I wonder as I gaze into your radiant eyes
The twists and turns are for frequent surprise
As I get to know you further for who you are
You have given me reason to believe we are up to par
Driven in ways to get the chance to make you mine
I could not give you up, for which you are particularly devine
Within my limits, for I have chose
I confess that I want you, the alluring rose

In this garden which you appease
All of our sorrows will begin to seize
Love is a feeling, it can feel like rain
The drops can be refreshing, or bring lots of pain
I know with you we can be as one
Take a walk in this garden where we won't have to run
I will always remain with you, from dusk until dawn
Just imagine someone there for you, someone who will never be gone.

Written on July 6th, 2016 and posted on July 7th, 2016.
By: Michelle Corbin

Copyright © Michelle Corbin | Year Posted 2016

Details | Ode | |

Notes of Love Chapter

The horn blew as the wind picked the same moment

The note carried over the field and picking up speed

All memories of him drifted away as the bugle went silent

But she remained until the last rose

Later she would remember his last words

He had told her he would never forget her

And like the last star that goes where stars go

She went there as well

She went to that last rose and was comforted

She could feel his hands

She could smell his scent

And she saw the uniform and the horn

They met when he returned from the war and he had limped

He limped with warmth and with no complaint

They had one son  but he did one too many bags

He carried his bags up his arm

And there was no bugle or wind

But there were roses and tears

They got through it with love and his limp

They sat on the porch rocking and remembered

Until his limp grew slower and the horn played

But the rose ...............

Copyright © Patrick Cornwall | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ode | |

The Last White Rose of Summer

I watched it as it was born in the drenching rains of spring, 
Cool condensation drops left over from winter's cold, 
As it grew and grew and finally petaled 
Into a white, but, quite young rose. 

As a child of youth, it swayed in spring and summer 
Breezes, winds and gales, heat and cold, 
Its petals enlarged and its fragrance became 
A daily delight to inhale whenever bumble bees had gone. 

Maturing, it grew beautifully, along with its siblings, 
Arrayed upon so many branches of its home, the rose bush tree, 
And provided me a diversion by its beauty from my daily 
Worries and concerns - and life's hustles and bustles. 

But alas, summer could not sustain itself beyond its appointed time 
And began fading into fall, that time of red, yellow, brown and golden leaves, 
Browning and dying tall grasses, shortening daylights and cooling evenings, 
Deep into this Indian summer, onward towards winter’s cold and snows. 

It gradually lost a pedal here, a pedal there, a pedal every other day 
And finally had but one white pedal left which I watched fall floatingly 
Down upon browned and yellowed grasses dying, leaving but its sprig 
Upon its home rose tree branch in September breezes. 

It had lived. It was bloomed and went through its cycle of days and months, 
Sunrises, sunsets, moon sets and moon rises of silver shines, 
Folks admiring its beauty and inhaling its stirring fragrances, as I had done, 
And in its time succumbed to natures laws of life and death. 

If it did nothing else, such as make a great discovery, climb Mt. Everest, 
Win Olympic gold medals, become pope in the Vatican, it did a greater thing 
In reminding me life is short; we must enjoy it now – it will be gone tomorrow 
 - This last white rose of summer. 

W.C.Hull © 2012-23-9-772 (D)

Copyright © W.C. Hull | Year Posted 2016

Details | Ode | |

Dear Mom(A sons goodbye)

                                                 Life is delicate like
                                               a rose on a cool fall
                                               morning then without
                                               warning life is taken away.
                                                 I cry not for the rose who's
                                               petals lay scattered at me feet
                                               but for everything else that has

                                                 I cry for the leaves who's leaves crush
                                              like power in my hand and for the flowers
                                              which droop and sag...

                                                 A mother who left this world too
                                              soon and for her pain in till death finely

                                                 The world is a lot different place
                                               with you gone... But a son has to
                                               move on he can't keep thinking 
                                               something wrong...

                                                He can't keep being sad and blue
                                              don't worry I'll always love you... I'll never
                                              forget the love we shared and how much
                                              you cared...  I love you

Copyright © Anthony Nacke | Year Posted 2005

Details | Ode | |


Sweet rose,my eyes do not believe
the vision that they now perceive,
Around the corner I did come,
along the path, toward my home,
When, looking up, I met a sight,
that filled my heart with pure delight,
Your beauty caught me in it's grasp,
now, I can only look and gasp,
For you were created, oh, loveliest flower,
within mother nature's most finest hour!.

Copyright © June Fone | Year Posted 2010

Details | Ode | |

Our Valentine's Day

They say we tend to like things more that we can easily relate to,

and this is my first time celebrating Valentines Day with a girl and we're both introverted so one could say there will be no need for a take two,

and no amount of money spent could ever be worth more than the time I've spent with you, 

you're my other half always looking to the left so I know when I get that feeling that this time it's right, falling right into your arms feels like home even when I'm gone, 

and everything that's real seems to be fake or never last long, 

like a rose picked from the garden, 

you're my favorite and I'm glad I chose u, 

but this rose is made up of something different that mixed together is now more than perfect and I know from the look I get every time I hold u,

baby will u Be my paper rose?

because the real ones always die, 

and now a days when it's fake people try harder and then ask themselves every night why, 

or baby be my fake rose because they last longer than an actual rose. .....

pedals slowing falling dying representing every tear I ever cried,

so baby be my rose the kind that never dies, 

because in the end all I want is just a little more time before the final goodbye.

P.S. I love you more

Copyright © Post Script | Year Posted 2016

Details | Ode | |

Black Rose

She sits at her mirror brushing her hair, dressed in black velvet with just the right 
She puts on her makeup with ever an ease, ready for the night, ready to please.
She picks up her flower and closes the door, its sunset this evening, who could ask for 

She walks through the tall grass with a graceful pose, she bends down to lay her perfect 
black rose.
She wipes the tears that fill up her eyes and visions of the past marquis the skies.

He was her love, her dream come true, but God said "now I  have to take him from you".
She wanders back home and enters the door, pictures of him scattered all over the floor.
Upstairs she ascends, ready to sleep, with visions of him, she begins to weep.

She lays on the bed, not a sound to be heard, she whispers, "I love you" but he never 
utters a word.


Copyright © jamie mallinson | Year Posted 2005