When I saw you
tossing heads so merrily
My heart whispered softly
Some bets are worth losing.
You're a drummer Sylvia,
the carnage of your life
lies in open stock
for anyone to buy.
You sell us death in poems
bereft of love; you borrow
our breath to line the
hollow of your soul.
The pain's not sweet Sylvia
neither were your thirty years.
If you and Elizabeth Browning
should, by chance, meet
in that starless void
of heaven or hell,
speak to her in flowers
Sylvia, red roses bleed well.
Roses are red when they are fed
Romance and love unconditional
Roses are black when death impacts
And grieve so deep and traditional
Roses strike poses never camera shy
Insanity of their vanity is in bloom
Roses scents pierce noses in July
Inspired admired by butterflies in June
And why would a rose be jealous
Why would a rose shrink or hide
It’s bloom is wonderfully zealous
A scent within that love resides
When I see red roses
I remind of bloody sunsets
That is frozen in green field
I see those petals like tongues
Burning like flames under pressure
Its passion cannot explained in words
And its smell like fresh wind from the East
I envy with star and love it the most
Each beauty is sealed like love letter
From a boyhood and girlhood of neighbors
Where love sticker is the seal on the letter
And a pair of chocolate adorn with a rose
I see this memory once my youth of prime
The experience of love letter and love itself.
Roses are red and roses are black
Depends on how you look at that
I see a fantasy colorful with dreams
Ignoring all the darkness and screams
For every good deed is there one bad
For every happy dream was someone sad
Is life filled with a necessary balance
To really live it must there be a challenge
"A day goes better with pretty flowers." By Poet
What can I say,
your beautiful look takes my breath away.
Red roses tell a story of love and romance,
white roses show their innocence as they dance.
Pink roses are for me,
with pretty butterflies and that big yellow bee.
As we look out over the sea of roses,
the fragrance itches our sensitive noses.
Red roses and razor blades
woven into the soggy beds we've made
sweet scent of heaven, the smell of slow death.
Red roses and razor blades...a prickly romance.
Turquoise tears stain my face
Like violet varicose veins
Stains of sentimental sensuality
Wrapped in white fears and black feathers
For love has fuschia flown away
Ruining reverie’s red roses
Turning them black decomposes
Any ink dried died in letters for love
Would have fell on silver sword
Sacrificed, sliding through heart
Silky bloody poetic death
He saves a cutting of brown hair
And a crimson rose of despair
Pressing between pages of art
Like my onyx broken heart
Was only a notch on burnt belt
Firey from love’s hazing hell
Wicked love spell wilting passion
Kisses rationed refusing
To hold wet tongue’s telling
Of rebelling rose’s rise
In spirit despite demise
Petals of purple pain
Painting passion with rain
And teal tears tangerine train
Of torment trailing behind
Like a wedding dress
Of jilted beauty
Doing duty during dilemmas
Flower to remember
Pressed between pages
Of a little black book
Of love unreturned
To reach the red roses he had to stand on tippy toes.
He was sniffing their fragrance with his delicate nose.
We had never seem a bunny do this before in the meadow.
This fuzzy hair was a darling photogenic little fellow
Nothing is better beneath the heavens
There are no words to describe
How beautiful her little dress is
With tiny red roses
Just over the knees .... silk
And gently just as... my hand touches her skin
Fluttering, by a gentle breeze
Dear God! The way it fills my heart with love
Oh, my! How it fills my soul with happiness
Holding her around the waist ...
Brings me ... I think that my arm is
And I hope that my right hand...
That thought makes me blush
And brings me a million wishes
My heart whispering softly to Heavens
Making a promise in his ear saying: I love her ...
And I cannot wait for her to come to me
With a smile on her face and
To bring joy In the heartbeats of my heart
And stay there forever.
I remember when
love spoken plainly
conveyed all manner
of hidden agendas
hands instead of
tap dancing keys
unlocked
a body of work
stroked skin melting into
sultry deep pink summer satin
caressed with a racing
velvet lipped kiss
smelling the other
hint of warm leather
dived deep
swimming freestyle along
the undulating waves
towards the pulse
at the base of a throat
then, down towards
the place where the
heart beats fluttering
signs read
a welcome
bend in the road,
before heading south
reverse the journey north,
just at that place
where a whisper
can be heard
under the ear,
the hint of freshly
cut silver grass and
dark dark red roses
the tongue becomes thirsty
for life catching
rivulets like rain
running along curves
dipping into the
unexplored
hollows,
but surely
like a fine wine
that has once
come-of-age,
ready to be
poured into it all,
the law of love
offers no
fast and hard rules,
the field
is wide open
the grass
so much greener
there grow
the exotic blue orchids
bending into and over
all those bleeding
dark dark red roses
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Red, red roses, you flowers of immortal love
You first blossomed in God’s Garden for Eve
In my garden too, you bloom so bright
I tend you with love and care day and night
You gladden me all through the day
That my verse on roses before all, gleefully I lay
Amid stinging thorns and the cover of leafy green
Your frilled beauty is sometimes veiled unseen
But as the wind croons all day in your ear
Your sweet fragrance spreads in the husky air
Thus, we are drawn to your hidden presence
And come to know of your lovely existence
You appear most beautiful when budding new
Lovely you are when your petals glisten, washed in dew
My Garden serves as a therapy in stress and strain
It is there, I forget and forego all my pain
When the first rays of light fall on the flowers
And the leaves are beaded with dew drops in bowers
I get out to work in nature’s household
And it brings me returns and rewards manifold
As I pull out every unwanted weed
A bit of my grief, I am learning to set aside
Sure, the smiling flowers give me lots of cheer
And my health improves, as I inhale morn’s fresh air
he is tall and dark
gentle strong hands tender heart
brown eyes deep like sea
plant peace inside me
he gave me twelve red roses
pearly smile shining
In all its glory
a walk through a rose garden
cannot be ignored
the flora in the landscape
- store the scent on a bottle
Don’t push red roses aside
nor the violets-blue guide.
It’s childhood honey sweet.
It’s a record player on repeat.
It’s a treasure, and when found
a mother feels thus crowned.
The message on printed cards -
cute drawings with regards.
It is the simplest compliment -
in latter years, a sacred document.
It’s the breeziest way a child conveys
their love on special holidays.
5/17/2023
Here is one with spelling mistakes…love it:
short poem
roses are red voilets
are blue you care
about me and I care
about you. xxxx Looking
at the roses blum make
me smile.
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