The rose that's not considered, has been smelled or picked or defoliated.
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Just a rose.
I'm a rose, but a damaged rose. The winds have torn my peddles and my color has faded. I've broken my stem through these uncontrolable storms, But a rose that has been picked and fiddled with. A rose who has learned to grow it's thorns, but a rose without it's bush.A rose that still has yet to say 'I've survived' this grassless dirt spreaded field.I'm a rose, just a damaged faded rose.
poem by Ashley Derenda
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I'm His Rose
I was a rose in a garden of many thorns,
Until the day that love was born.
His hand touched my heart, giving me hope,
He picked me up, untying the thorn rope.
I'm his rose whether he knows or not,
I'm his rose because he protects me,
I'm his rose because he set me free.
I'm his rose because he never opened his hand,
I'm his rose because he's the right man.
poem by Adnana Saric
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Rose as a Sign
The rose breaks
Off from its branch
And hits the cold ground.
The wind picks it up
And blows the rose
A great distance away.
The rose travels even
Farther as it is carried
On through its brillant journey.
The rose lands at a girls
Feet and is picked up.
The girl asked for a sign
To keep her from running
Away from home and
The rose was her sign to stay.
poem by Tracey Wynn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Rose With Thorns
The rose with thorns
Beautiful passion red rose
But dangerous with thorns
Picked off the garden
By a bard on
Realize he was bleeding
Thought roughly about his feelings
About why the rose had thorns
Never again would he pick up the red rose with thorns
The rose only brought him pain
Thoe he did not go insane
By wanting to stomp on it
But he just forfeit on it
He just let the rose there on the ground
And the rose was hoping it would be found
So the bard on
Left the garden
Checked his finger with the thorn pulled it out
finger was bleeding and never looked back at the rose with the thorns
poem by Jose antonio Torres galeana
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Rose For You
Today I picked a rose for you,
It seemed the perfect thing to do.
To me the petals represent...
Unfolding years and time well-spent.
An emblem of our lives in bloom,
An ever-changing sweet perfume.
Each day to me is just as sweet,
Here with you on this quiet street.
That old bush has gotten so tall,
It's half way up the garden wall.
Wasn't too big when it was sown,
Hard to believe how much it's grown!
Joseph's Coat: What a colorful name,
Orange and Yellow with Crimson flame.
A truth so strong, a dream so pure...
In spite of thorns hope will endure!
Poetic? Yes, but I suppose,
That's what I like about a rose...
A symbol of what's rare and true,
Today I picked a rose for you.
poem by ToddMichael St. Pierre
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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First rose
A heart of youthful year was yearning,
Crying out the pain; the burning
Tears would e’er remain until
An answer from the man would see them die.
A sympathetic mirror blessed her –
Softened up the curves, caressed her
Skin to help regain a calm –
Assuage a heaving breast and blushing eye.
And through a struggling mind, a chiming:
Someone at the door; the timing
Perfect and exquisite in the
Reconciliation of her woes.
She took the oak to make the parting,
‘Here! ’ a presentation startling.
Drawing deep through radiant lips, she
Kissed her very dream: a crimson rose.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Just Angels
BETWEEN sleep and waking up,
i felt the demon playing in my
skin.
THEN the angels picked me up,
and i felt the manic laughter
begine to fade, and me win.
BETWEEN sleep and waking up,
i smelled something burning,
maybe copper, or rust.
and then the angels picked
me up, and i felt the manic
laughter begine to fade, fade
into dust, still i was afraid,
so i prayed my way out, but
the next day,,,,
poem by David Gerardino
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Do I Look Like A Rose?
Do I...
Look like a rose?
A mixed hybrid,
That pricks when picked...
If not carefully held,
In an anxious hold.
Do I.
Do I...
Look as if my beauty exists,
For a quick lift...
For you to run off with!
Do I...
Look as if,
I have something to give...
With an offering found,
To be irresistible?
Do I.
Do I...
Look as if my beauty exists,
For a quick lift...
For you to run off with!
Do I...
Look like a rose?
A mixed hybrid,
That pricks when picked...
If not carefully held,
In an anxious hold.
To sit and wither to watch...
As we both grow old?
Do I, do I...
Look as If I'm that kind,
Of rose to behold?
I could be.
But if overnight,
You decide not to treat me right...
I can also bite!
With a stinging done,
You will never forget.
With a pricking you will wish,
You had never chose to pick!
With a scent that will not soon leave,
Your swollen nose.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Envy
This rose-tree is not made to bear
The violet blue, nor lily fair,
Nor the sweet mignonette:
And if this tree were discontent,
Or wished to change its natural bent,
It all in vain would fret.
And should it fret, you would suppose
It ne'er had seen its own red rose,
Nor after gentle shower
Had ever smelled its rose's scent,
Or it could ne'er be discontent
With its own pretty flower.
Like such a blind and senseless tree
As I've imagined this to be,
All envious persons are:
With care and culture all may find
Some pretty flower in their own mind,
Some talent that is rare.
poem by Charles Lamb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Just One Rose...
that's a homework i need you to tell me if i should hand it to the teacher or not...(:
just one rose, a pretty rose...
just one rose for me with no coze...
just one rose pure and true...
just one rose for me is all i can do...
just one rose somewhere out there...
just one rose for me to care...
just one rose when dark days prevail...
just one rose when people only use petrail...
just one rose and all the time...
just one rosefor me is a crime...
poem by rose of death XxX
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The White Rose Tree
The red rose lay on the ground
Knocked from the tree by the small kids
It lay there, what becomes of it
Does it blow away and dissappear
Maybe a passing man will pick it up
No two things in life are the same
But I suppose there ending will always be alike
The small kids that climbed that tree
What becomes of them
Do they dissappear as well
Just like most people in this world
Do they just fade into the darkness
behind the curtains of life
Just another passing drone
Maybe there’s a bigger picture here
That I'm always missing
Maybe the rose has a purpose
The passing man who could of picked up the rose
He may of given it to the women he loved
Who now keeps it in in her diary
Reminding her of the day he first said I love you
The red rose still lies there
I see it with my own two eyes
The women standing over it finally picks it up
She smells it and walks away
I wonder who she is
Why was there a tear in her eye
and why a red rose lay under the white rose tree
poem by Niall Boland
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Remnant
O spiritual reunion
In old autumn.
Yellow roses
Defoliated by the garden fence,
A great pain melted
To a dark tear,
O sister!
So still the golden day ends.
poem by Georg Trakl
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The great creators—the thinkers, the artists, the scientists, the inventors—stood alone against the men of their time. Every great new thought was opposed. Every great new invention was denounced. The first motor was considered foolish. The airplane was considered impossible. The power loom was considered vicious. Anesthesia was considered sinful. But the men of unborrowed vision went ahead. They fought, they suffered and they paid. But they won.
Ayn Rand in The Fountainhead
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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One Rose
Rose
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each bruise
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each time you cheated
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each time you forced me
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each pointless arguement
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each crime
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each time you try to end me
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
How many more can I live through?
poem by Lexie Night
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What A Rose Can Say
A rose can say I love you and want you to be mine,
A rose can say I thank you for being so very kind,
A rose can say congratulations, whatever the occasion may be,
A rose can say I miss you and wish you were here with me,
A rose can say I'm sorry if I've hurt you in any way,
A rose can say get well soon, May God bless you today,
A rose can say I wish you happiness, and the best for you each day.
A rose can say farewel when someone goes away,
A rose can say hello, I'm thinking of you today,
There's just so many wonderful things that a rose can say,
A rose can say goodbye when a love one is laid to rest,
No matter what there is to say, a rose can say it best.
poem by Margie Driver
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My Single Orange Rose
Here is my prose,
All based on a single orange rose,
Grave grass springing,
Church hyms their singing,
Blood stains clinging,
On my single orange rose,
No soul is laughing,
Deaths hands are clapping,
Coffin case trapping,
On my single orange rose,
Trees are branching,
My cold blank eyes are trancing,
The life cycle of death is dancing,
On my single orange rose,
I picked my final wish,
On deaths lips I kissed,
My long life I missed,
All because of that single orange rose,
COPYRIGHT 2008 BEN SPARACO POEMS
poem by Ben Sparaco
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pink Flowers.
Do not text me or think otherwise
I am just picking flowers from my garden.
Last evening I picked a red rose but
Wow! It proved to be too red for my date
Today I visited the same garden
The only flower I found was a white rose.
Where is my favourite pink rose?
This morning I cycled to the market
Sure, to buy my date a pink rose
But the only roses there were yellow and purple.
Tried to enquire where I could get one
But no one knows where to find.
Went to my flower vendor but nowhere to find
Where will I get my pink rose for my date?
Tomorrow, I'll travel far and wide
Only to get this precious pink flower
And if I succeed, my date will be happy
And my heart will find a solace rest
Amidst the residue of love petals
Just with the pink flower petals.
Where will I get my Pink rose flower?
(Dedicated for my pink flower date)
poem by Aron Lelei
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Berries
so i smelled you
and i thought
hmmm
Visalia, California
brown and green grass, black and white cows
i turned you upside down
and smelled you like that
and i thought
ohhh
Napa Valley
fine wine, many drunk tourist
and then i licked you
and you tasted like nothing on my tongue
small hairy things
purple and red berries
red and purple fingers
poem by C.J. Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Garden Gate (Somewhere In Fantsayland)
I met you at the garden gate,
One summer evening, getting
late.
You handed me a rose, so sweet,
Dropped a petal at my feet.
Lifted me into your stare,
We were so young, just standing
there.
You asked me, return someday,
When we are older, look my way.
Many years have come and gone,
I returned to sing our song.
You picked a rose for my hair,
Roses started our love affair.
poem by Heather Burns
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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