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Song

Go talk to her, sweet flower,
To whom I fain would talk
Tell her I hour by hour
Pine on my own poor stalk.

Tell her that I should live
Not quite so sore distressed,
If she to you would give
A throne upon her breast.

Tell her that should she hie
To my parched plot to see
If I be dead, that I
No more should withered be.

If I were dead, her feet
My spirit would revive,
As may her bosom sweet
Keep you, sweet flower, alive.

poem by Alfred Austin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ninety Miles An Hour (Down A Dead End Street)

I took you home from a party and we kissed in fun
A few stolen kisses and no harm was done
Instead of stopping when we could we went right on
Till suddenly we found that the brakes were gone.
You belong to someone else, and I do too
It's just crazy bein' here with you
As a bad motorcycle with the devil in the seat
Going ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Ninety miles an hour down a dead end street.
I didn't want to want you, but now I have no choice
It's too late to listen to that warning voice
All I hear is thunder of two hearts beat
Going ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Ninety miles an hour down a dead end street.
You're not free to belong to me
And you know I could never be your own
Your lips on mine are like a sweet, sweet wine
But we're heading for a wall of stone.
Warning signs are flashing ev'ry where, but we pay no heed
'Stead of slowing down the place, we keep a pickin' up speed
Disaster's getting closer ev'ry time we meet
Going ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Yeah, ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Well, ninety miles an hour down a dead end street.

song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ninety Miles An Hour

ninety miles an hour
Words by h blair & d. robertson
Sung by bob dylan
I took you home from a party and we kissed in fun
A few stolen kisses and no harm was done
Instead of stopping when we could we went right on
Till suddenly we found that the brakes were gone.
You belong to someone else, and i do too
It's just crazy bein' here with you
As a bad motorcycle with the devil in the seat
Going ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Ninety miles an hour down a dead end street.
I didn't want to want you, but now i have no choice
It's too late to listen to that warning voice
All i hear is thunder of two hearts beat
Going ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Ninety miles an hour down a dead end street.
You're not free to belong to me
And you know i could never be your own
Your lips on mine are like a sweet, sweet wine
But we're heading for a wall of stone.
Warning signs are flashing ev'ry where, but we pay no heed
'stead of slowing down the place, we keep a pickin' up speed
Disaster's getting closer ev'ry time we meet
Going ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Yeah, ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Well, ninety miles an hour down a dead end street.

song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Elegy To A Bee

I found a bee upon the grass
Who faced his final hour
And cupped him gently in my hand
Then set him on a flower.
A sweet white rose that nestle him
In petals, cotton soft,
Whose fragrance, as he breathed is last,
Bore his soul aloft.
And though his tiny body lies
Within the roses' breast,
His spirit shines, his song still hums
In every flower he kissed.

poem by Karen M. Stakem
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song Of The Violet

A humble flower long time I pined
Upon the solitary plain,
And trembled at the angry wind,
And shrunk before the bitter rain.
And oh! 'twas in a blessed hour
A passing wanderer chanced to see,
And, pitying the lonely flower,
To stoop and gather me.

I fear no more the tempest rude,
On dreary heath no more I pine,
But left my cheerless solitude,
To deck the breast of Caroline.
Alas our days are brief at best,
Nor long I fear will mine endure,
Though shelter'd here upon a breast
So gentle and so pure.

It draws the fragrance from my leaves,
It robs me of my sweetest breath,
And every time it falls and heaves,
It warns me of my coming death.
But one I know would glad forego
All joys of life to be as I;
An hour to rest on that sweet breast,
And then, contented, die!

poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Endless verse of a nameless flora:

A lonely lovely girl was Standing at her breeze filled balcony,
her adorable heart was admiring the quiet moon in harmony,
a golden yellowish nameless flower fell on her feet,
the sweet perfume of the fallen flower blended with that chill breeze,
while she tried to hold the flower the petals they fell one by one,
she was holding just the stalk that was left alone,
tear drops that escaped from her eyes fell one by one like the petals,
she was holding someone's sweet memories like the stalk.
The moon wished that her love should blend with her love like the perfume in the air.

poem by Vimal Kumar N
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Bent Flower

There once was a flower,
Who, at an untimely hour,
Began to crook to one side.

The poor little flower,
Would no longer tower,
In the field full of green grass and snow.

But from yonder came a man,
With nothing but a pan,
And sat by the badly bent flower.

And the man sat with the flower day and night,
Helping it get through its plight,
But came the following day.

That within an hour,
The man who sat with the flower,
Was gone like night during day.

poem by Tro Missaelian
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poor plastic Flower

My mother in law loves flower
This is our trial
My wife in denial
As she plants a flower

She has a brown thumb
This makes me glum
For she can’t even grow a plum

She has plastic flowers
And those took a powder
Poor plastic flower

A flower needs water
To give it power
She forget this every hour
That is why her flowers are powder

Her plastic flower had power
Until it's last hour
The vase did tower
As it was full of water
Poor plastic flower

poem by Keith Wells
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Picked A Flower

I picked a flower from a bush
And I loved it so
Put it in a vase next to my bed
But how was I to know

That the flower cried for its bush
That the bush cried for its flower
But how was I to know
That the flower would die in an hour

The flower withered away
And I put it inside my book
Because I loved the flower so
But how was I to know

That the flower gasped for breath
That it was facing death
But how was I to know
That the flower so badly wanted to go

And I kept the flower close to me
So that every day I could see
But how was I know
That the flower that I had loved so
Had always hated me
That there was pain I couln't see
And how was I to know?

poem by Shobhita Singh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Slender's Ghost

Vide Shakspeare.

Beneath a churchyard yew,
Decay'd and worn with age,
At dusk of eve methought I spied
Poor Slender's Ghost, that whimpering cried,
'O sweet! O sweet Anne Page!'

Ye gentle Bards! give ear,
Who talk of amorous rage,
Who spoil the lily, rob the rose,
Come learn of me to weep your woes:
'O sweet! O sweet Anne Page!'

Why should such labour'd strains
Your formal Muse engage?
I never dreamt of flame or dart,
That fired my breast or pierced my heart,
But sigh'd, 'O sweet Anne Page!'

And you! whose lovesick minds
No med'cine can assuage,
Accuse the leech's art no more,
But learn of Slender to deplore;
'O sweet! O sweet Anne Page!'

And ye! whose souls are held,
Like linnets in a cage;
Who talk of fetters, links, and chains,
Attend and imitate my strains;
'O sweet! O sweet Anne Page!'

And you! who boast or grieve,
What horrid wars ye wage,
Of wounds received from many an eye,
Yet mean as I do, when I sigh,
'O sweet! O sweet Anne Page!'

Hence every fond conceit
Of shepherd or of sage;
'Tis Slender's voice, 'tis Slender's way,
Expresses all you have to say,
'O sweet! O sweet Anne Page!'

poem by William Shenstone
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sweet Horn

WHAT is St. Francis' flower? 'T is not
The daisy nor the melilot,
Nor that white little flower that springs
In Grasmere's quiet garden-plot.

'T is not the lily-flower that blows
In some high heaven of repose.
'T is not the sorrow of the thorn,
Nor utter passion of the rose.

It is the wild-heart eglantine,
(Sweet bush to a far sweeter wine),
With joy for man, sweet-thorn for Christ,
Not pagan all, not all divine.

poem by Philip Henry Savage
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sweet Inspiration

Lyrics and music by dan penn and spooner oldham
I need your sweet inspiration
I need you here on my mind
Every hour of the day
Without your sweet inspiration
The lonely hours of the night
Just dont go my way
A woman in love
Needs sweet inspiration
Yeah, and honey thats all I ask, thats all I ask from you
Ive gotta have your sweet inspiration
You know there just aint no tellin what a satisfied woman might do
The way you call me baby, baby
Is such a sweet inspiration
The way you call me darlin, darlin
Sets my heart to skating
And if Im out in the rain, baby
And in a bad situation
You know I just reach back in my mind
And there I find your sweet, sweet inspiration
Sweet inspiration
Oh, what a power
And Ive got the power
Every hour of the day
I need your inspiration
To go on, to go on living
To keep on giving this way
I need your sweet inspiration
Sweet inspiration, sweet inspiration, sweet inspiration
Sweet, sweet inspiration
Sweet, sweet inspiration
I need, sweet inspiration

song performed by by Vonda Shepard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Pink

Fair one, you did on me bestow
Comparisons too sweet to ow;
And but I found them sent from you
I durst not think they could be true.
But 'tis your uncontrolled power
Goddess-like to produce a flower,
And by your breath, without more seed,
Make that a Pink which was a Weed.
Because I would be loth to miss
So sweet a Metamorphosis,
Upon what stalk soere I grow
Disdain not you sometimes to blow
And cherish by your Virgin eye
What in your frown would droop and die:
So shall my thankful leaf repay
Perfumed wishes every day:
And o're your fortune breathe a spell
Which may his obligation tell,
Who though he nought but air can give
Must ever your (Sweet) creature live.

poem by Henry King
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Parted Presence

LOVE, I speak to your heart,
Your heart that is always here.
Oh draw me deep to its sphere,
Though you and I are apart,
And yield, by the spirit's art,
Each distant gift that is dear.
O love, my love, you are here!
Your eyes are afar to-day,
Yet, love, look now in mine eyes.
Two hearts sent forth may despise
All dead things by the way.
All between is decay,
Dead hours and this hour that dies.
O love, look deep in mine eyes!
Your hands to-day are not here,
Yet lay them, love, in my hands.
The hourglass sheds its sands
All day for the dead hours' bier;
But now, as two hearts draw near,
This hour like a flower expands.
O love, your hands in my hands!
Your voice is not on the air,
Yet, love, I can hear your voice:
It bids my heart to rejoice
As knowing your heart is there,—
A music sweet to declare
The truth of your steadfast choice.
O love, how sweet is your voice!
To-day your lips are afar,
Yet draw my lips to them, love.
Around, beneath, and above,
Is frost to bind and to bar;
But where I am and you are,
Desire and the fire thereof.
O kiss me, kiss me, my love!
Your heart is never away,
But ever with mine, for ever,
For ever without endeavour,
To-morrow, love, as to-day;
Two blent hearts never astray,
Two souls no power may sever,
Together, O my love, for ever!

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Way You Do The Things You Do

You got a smile so bright
You know you could have been a candle
I'm holding you so tight
You know you could have been a handle
The way you swept me off my feet
You know you could've been a broom
And baby you smell so sweet
You know you could've been some perfume

Chorus

Well you could of been anything that you wanted to
I can tell
The way you do the things you do

As pretty as you are
You know you could've been a flower
If good looks were minutes
You know you could have been an hour
The way you stole my heart
You know you could have been a crook
And baby your so smart
You know you could have been a school book

Chorus

Well you could of been ....... Etc

You make my life so rich
You know you could've been some money
And baby you're so sweet
You know you could have been some honey

Chorus

Well you could of been ....... Etc

As pretty as you are
You know you could've been a flower
If good looks were minutes
You know you could have been an hour
The way you stole my heart
You know you could have been a crook
And baby your so smart
You know you could have been a school book

Chorus

Well you could of been ....... Etc

song performed by by UB40 from Labour Of Love 2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Telephone

'When I was just as far as I could walk From here today, There was an hour All still When leaning with my head again a flower I heard you talk. Don't say I didn't, for I heard you say-- You spoke from that flower on the window sill- Do you remember what it was you said?' 'First tell me what it was you thought you heard.' 'Having found the flower and driven a bee away, I leaned on my head And holding by the stalk, I listened and I thought I caught the word-- What was it? Did you call me by my name? Or did you say-- Someone said "Come" -- I heard it as I bowed.' 'I may have thought as much, but not aloud.' "Well, so I came.'

poem by Robert Frost
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Thou Art a Flower

Thou art a flower, dear heart, a fragrant flower
And I, the wandering, hair-clad, amorous bee.
’Mongst all the regal beauties of the bower,
I seek but thee.

I feel the ivory of thy petals fair
Brush lightly on my belly as I woo
And I would sting thee, if I did but dare,
So sweet are you.

I suck the honey from your dewy bowl
And drunken mad, with wild, delirious bliss,
Within your cup, I yield to you my soul
And drink your kiss.

Oh! petals sweet, close in and crush me dead.
I am consumed in flames of passion’s fire.
What else is left, when this dear hour hath fled.
But dead desire?

The juice of poppy flowers and breath of rose,
Wistaria’s purple, blood-flecked lilies white,
I pilfer and when, soft, your petals close,
When comes the night.

I pour the passions of the world of flowers
Deep in beyond the lips of quivering red.
Your life is mine to craze the trembling hours,
All else is dead.

poem by from The Point of View
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I'll Give You A Flower, Mother

I’ll give you a flower, mother
I’ll give you a flower, dear
For life is but a garden
To children of 5 years

I’ll give you a flower, mother
I’ll give you a flower, dear
For to a bride, they’re lovely
Mother, hold your tears

I’ll give you a flower, mother
I’ll give you a flower, dear
I’ll lay it in your sweet hands
For our time has disappeared

I’ll give you a flower, mother
I’ll give you a flower, dear
When I see you there at heaven
When my time’s done here

poem by Whitney Albright
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Under the Madness, Under the Flower

Under the Madness, Under the Flower
The One that tilts, the One with power
Shares such a sweet smell

And all the while, I sit
Breathtaken and Astonished
And for now I have it
The beauty which I have wished

Under the Madness, Under the Flower
The One that wilts, the One that cowers
Still smells so sweet

And if I'd leave, then it
Too would wilt
Its Petals blacken by it,
It too would tilt

When the Light dies
And the dark subsides
My little flower Cannot be
In a life without me

Yet it still smells so sweet

poem by Allen Cuevas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Dead Flower Bed

The Dead Flower Bed
The Dead Flower Bed

A Flower Loves


Eye saw the flower bed as eye walked bye it looked so empty after storm has come, on close inspection there was three plants still thriving there in hopefullness and love, whiteflower looking all better, one purple flower plant blossoming, and a forelorn dandylion
without seeds but steadfast in his love in the center of the flower bed between the daughter and his love, after bad weather gone.
Love remains the flowers fade but love still stays even inside the dead flower bed. A flower loves.

poem by Charles Hice
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Violet

DOWN in a green and shady bed,
A modest violet grew;
Its stalk was bent, it hung its head
As if to hide from view.

And yet it was a lovely flower,
Its colour bright and fair;
It might have graced a rosy bower,
Instead of hiding there.

Yet thus it was content to bloom,
In modest tints arrayed;
And there diffused a sweet perfume,
Within the silent shade.

Then let me to the valley go
This pretty flower to see;
That I may also learn to grow
In sweet humility.

poem by Ann Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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