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The Petal Game
pick a flower
to play the petal game
pluck a petal
he loves me
pluck a petal
I don't love him
pluck a petal
he keeps getting closer
pluck a petal
I keep pushing him away
pluck a petal
he is always around me
pluck a petal
I hide away from him
pluck a petal
he is always protecting me
pluck a petal
I just punch him in the gut
pluck a petal
he never seems to get it
pluck a petal
I really hate his guts
pluck a petal
he just really bugs me
pluck a petal
I need a new flower now
pick a flower
to play the petal game
poem by Amber Lyn Charneski
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Flower
Pluck this little flower and take it, delay not! I fear lest it
droop and drop into the dust.
I may not find a place in thy garland, but honour it with a touch of
pain from thy hand and pluck it. I fear lest the day end before I am
aware, and the time of offering go by.
Though its colour be not deep and its smell be faint, use this flower
in thy service and pluck it while there is time.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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A snake and millipede can both craw on their bellies but this doesn't make them brothers.
When rat like fi romp 'roun' puss jaw, one diay 'im gwine en up inna puss craw.
Good stories flow like honey. Bad stories stick in the craw. A bad story? One that cannot be absorbed on the first time of reading.
quote by Arthur Christiansen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Time of Roses
It was not in the Winter
Our loving lot was cast;
It was the time of roses—
We pluck'd them as we pass'd!
That churlish season never frown'd
On early lovers yet:
O no—the world was newly crown'd
With flowers when first we met!
'Twas twilight, and I bade you go,
But still you held me fast;
It was the time of roses—
We pluck'd them as we pass'd!
poem by Thomas Hood
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song I
OH haste while roses bloom below,
Oh haste while pale and bright above
The sun and moon alternate glow,
To pluck the rose of love.
Yea, give the morning to the lark,
The nightingale its glimmering grove,
Give moonlight to the hungry dark,
But to man's heart give love!
Then haste while still the roses blow,
And pale and bright in heaven above
The sun and moon alternate glow,
Pluck, pluck the rose of love.
poem by Mathilde Blind
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rose D'Amour
Oh haste while roses bloom below,
Oh haste while pale and bright above
The sun and moon alternate glow,
To pluck the rose of love.
Yea, give the morning to the lark,
The nightingale its glimmering grove,
Give moonlight to the hungry dark,
But to man's heart give love!
Then haste while still the roses blow,
And pale and bright in heaven above
The sun and moon alternate glow,
Pluck, pluck the rose of love.
poem by Mathilde Blind
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Four Score and Ten
Though long in tooth and slack of jaw
A dear old bird with craw and claw
Your inner beauty owns no flaw
So have good cheer, I sooth implore
Be merry, full of cake in maw
And suck ye cider through a straw
poem by Diane Hine
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Why do you strive for greatness, fool?
Why do you strive for greatness, fool?
Go pluck a bough and wear it.
It is as sufficing.
My Lord, there are certain barbarians
Who tilt their noses
As if the stars were flowers,
And Thy servant is lost among their shoe-buckles.
Fain would I have mine eyes even with their eyes.
Fool, go pluck a bough and wear it.
poem by Stephen Crane
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Quand Meme
AGE pauses on his toilsome way
To let youth pluck her flowers of play;
Flowers are not always, but we may
Cut thorns and thistles any day.
Would Fate but hold her hand one hour,
Then might we pluck love's perfect flower;
Yet full security might miss
The perfume of one hour like this.
For all our joys are snatched from Fate,
Through years her ban makes desolate;
We wrest our love from doubt and fear,
And find it so more sweet, more dear.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pretty Flower
Truly thou lovest pretty flowers,
For pretty flower, thyself, thou art.
May I, if tenderly I pluck thee,
Make fast thy tendrils to my heart—
Pretty Flower?
And should Fate deem thee answer, pluck me!
Would one of meager courage dare
To place the hand he feels unworthy
Upon a spotless lily, fair,
Pretty Flower?
poem by Raymond Garfield Dandridge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Out Of Time
There's something stuck
in my craw.
It feels like a heavy wad of dirt.
I try swallowing it,
and it won't go down.
I fight to cough it up
but it will not budge.
It's blocking my airway
as stubborn and defiant as unforgiveness.
White static noise roars in my ears
as I begin to pass out
and travel through a tunnel of darkness closing in on all sides.
A pinpoint of light is at the end
and I know that I only have seconds left
to let go of my
resentment.
poem by Sara Fielder
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet LXXXII: Hoarded Joy
I said: “Nay, pluck not,—let the first fruit be:
Even as thou sayest, it is sweet and red,
But let it ripen still. The tree's bent head
Sees in the stream its own fecundity
And bides the day of fulness. Shall not we
At the sun's hour that day possess the shade,
And claim our fruit before its ripeness fade,
And eat it from the branch and praise the tree?”
I say: “Alas! our fruit hath wooed the sun
Too long,—'tis fallen and floats adown the stream.
Lo, the last clusters! Pluck them every one,
And let us sup with summer; ere the gleam
Of autumn set the year's pent sorrow free,
And the woods wail like echoes from the sea.”
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Memory of the Players in a Mirror at Midnight
They mouth love's language. Gnash
The thirteen teeth
Your lean jaws grin with. Lash
Your itch and quailing, nude greed of the flesh.
Love's breath in you is stale, worded or sung,
As sour as cat's breath,
Harsh of tongue.
This grey that stares
Lies not, stark skin and bone.
Leave greasy lips their kissing. None
Will choose her what you see to mouth upon.
Dire hunger holds his hour.
Pluck forth your heart, saltblood, a fruit of tears.
Pluck and devour!
poem by James Joyce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In His Vineyard
In His Vineyard
We fed and bred
Health and wealth
We were nourished and flourished
Happy
Riding on fine horse
Until
He came to pluck us
Then
Became grumpy and dirty
Hungry and Thirsty
Frightened
But
Now enlightened
We are back to Eden
In his vineyard
We feed and breed
Health and wealth
Here
We are nourished and flourishing
Happy
Riding on fine horse
Built a high wall
Hence
No more can sin pluck us
poem by Ayandare Mayowa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Non-Rose
Non-roses, yellow frills of breathing dew,
airy apparitions
flapping your stiffening petals like houris their dancing veils,
along the jagged thorns of a non-bush
I pluck you not.
And why not not?
There is much nought to pluck. Lots.
The blank book of life that shuts with a bang so full
of endless, dizzying doings,
of dynasties, stays obdurately open.
By your hand shield your eyes.
Don't stare. Ignore.
Bothersome muses of the void
before the collect
don't let your gaze
graze or take print
of this Veronica veil, the morning,
and to God
whose gifts aren't worth it
wheelbarrow them back.
poem by Morgan Michaels
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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