Sweet Addiction
Tulips…Eurasian herbs
With deep shaped cup
Close kin of Lilies
From which hummingbirds sup
Begonias…. tropical herb,
showy flowers, waxy leaves…
Besieged by legions
of honeybees
Roses…often climbing shrubs…
Fragrant blossoms filling noses
Divided leaves, prickly stems
Varietal colored, bed of roses
Lavender…Mediterranean mint
Pale purple colour
Heady perfume, to scent
Bed linen and cover
Flowers, blossoms
Predilections
Scent and sight…
Sweet addictions
Dizzying choices,
A lie down in repose
The best place to compose in…
Is no bed of roses
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Slow down, smell the Roses
Whoa! Friends, slow down a bit, smell the roses
And appreciate your situations.
We can’t lose sight what’s under our noses
If we do, we invite our frustrations.
Who needs that god-awful discouragement?
Not you or me, so look for the flowers,
They are there. Look around; follow the scent.
But don’t look in other people’s bowers
You have plenty more in your own backyard.
Now take a whiff and thank your lucky stars
For these gifts, you have earned this high regard.
That’s right my friends, give yourselves a cigar.
Over the years we sowed what we reaped
Its harvest time now, the roses smell sweet.
poem by Albert Ahearn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jacqueminots
I MAY not speak in words, dear, but let my words be flowers,
To tell their crimson secret in leaves of fragrant fire;
They plead for smiles and kisses as summer fields for showers,
And every purple veinlet thrills with exquisite desire.
O, let me see the glance, dear, the gleam of soft confession
You give my amorous roses for the tender hope they prove;
And press their heart-leaves back, love, to drink their deeper passion,
For their sweetest, wildest perfume is the whisper of my love!
My roses, tell her, pleading, all the fondness and the sighing,
All the longing of a heart that reaches thirsting for its bliss;
And tell her, tell her, roses, that my lips and eyes are dying
For the melting of her love-look and the rapture of her kiss.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Venus in the Garden
'Twas at early morning,
The dawn was blushing in her purple bed,
When in a sweet, embowered garden
She, the fairest of the goddesses,
The lovely Venus,
Roamed amongst the roses white and red.
She sought for flowers
To make a garland
For her golden head.
Snow-white roses, blood-red roses,
In that sweet garden close,
Offered incense to the goddess:
Both the white and the crimson rose.
White roses, red roses, blossoming:
But the fair Venus knew
The crimson roses had gained their hue
From the hearts that for love had bled;
And the goddess made a garland
Gathered from the roses red.
poem by James Weldon Johnson
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Roses, Roses
Roses, Roses blooming bright!
In earth’s gardens; ‘What a sight! ’
Studding plants in dawn’s dew, light;
And perfuming day and night!
Queen of flowers, roses stay;
Budding, blossoming en way;
Hues pretty, very well laid;
Decorating bride and maid.
Oh, what mind had shaped thee thus!
And what hearts enjoy thy bliss;
Thorns amongst green leaves just say,
‘Beauty needs protection, Aye! ’
Roses, Roses petaled fine;
Standing glorious in sunshine;
Beauty unmatched on earth, thine;
Making garlands more divine!
Roses add to Mary’s crown,
Reciting Rosaries when;
Blessings and grace then come down,
Making souls fit for heaven!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 06-12-2010
poem by John Celes
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A Bunch of Roses
Roses ruddy and roses white,
What are the joys that my heart discloses?
Sitting alone in the fading light
Memories come to me here tonight
With the wonderful scent of the big red roses.
Memories come as the daylight fades
Down on the hearth where the firelight dozes;
Flicker and flutter the lights and shades,
And I see the face of a queen of maids
Whose memory comes with the scent of roses.
Visions arise of a scent of mirth,
And a ball-room belle who superbly poses --
A queenly woman of queenly worth,
And I am the happiest man on earth
With a single flower from a bunch of roses.
Only her memory lives tonight --
God in his wisdom her young life closes;
Over her grave may the turf be light,
Cover her coffin with roses white
She was always fond of the big white roses.
*
Such are the visions that fade away --
Man proposes and God disposes;
Look in the glass and I see today
Only an old man, worn and grey,
Bending his head to a bunch of roses.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Roses
People say Roses are Red,
Then, Red Roses for my passionate love to you
People say Roses are Pink,
Then, Pink Roses to show that I admire you
People say Roses are Yellow,
Then, Yellow Roses to brighten your day
People say Roses are Lavender,
Then, Lavender Roses to say that I love you at my first sight
People say Roses are Orange,
Then, Orange Roses to say that I want to build a relationship with you
And,
People say Roses are White,
Then, The White Rose for the purity and confession of my heart
To confess in my heart that I am truly falling in love with you.
My Loss
IN the world was one green nook I knew,
Full of roses, roses red and white,
Reddest roses summer ever grew,
Whitest roses ever pearled with dew;
And their sweetness was beyond delight,
Was all love's delight.
Wheresoever in the world I went,
Roses were; for in my heart I took
Blow and blossom and bewildering scent;
Roses never with the summer spent,
Roses always ripening in that nook,
Love's far summer nook.
In the world a soddened plot I know
Blackening in this chill and misty air,
Set with shivering bushes in a row,
One by one the last leaves letting go:
Wheresoe'er I turn I shall be there,
Always sighing there.
Ah, my folly! Ah, my loss, my pain!
Dead, my roses that can blow no more!
Wherefore looked I on our nook again?
Wherefore went I after autumn's rain,
Where the summer roses bloomed before,
Bloomed so sweet before?
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Pick Me Up
There are too many roses down on the ground
There are too many people throwing them around
Every rose has a value unbound
So would you please pick them up from the ground?
There are too many people staring at the moon
And many forget when the roses will bloom
And when they do they'll be treated so rude
And they're sweet smell turns to no value
A rose is a wonderful thing to hold
It has a scent so sweet to the nose
It's filled with love and kindness so deep
But we don't appreciate a thing so sweet
Until it's gone and we're left all alone
Searching for one but they're already gone
It's like when too many people start cursing the rain
Waiting by the window and begging in vain
That the rain should come another day
While the rose savors the rain
Knowing that soon it will go away
But never knowing when it will come again
I said it before and I'll say it again
There are too many roses being thrown away
Broken in spirit and wasting away
But I see a few being treated as they deserve
Smelt with well closed eyes to savor it well
Appreciate a well colored rose
It has a scent so sweet to the nose
You'll never know when the rain comes no more
You never know when the roses won't grow
So throw them away and treat them so cold
You'll never find them when you need them the most.
poem by Hafeni Nghidinua
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Les Roses de Sâdi
This morning I vowed I would bring thee my roses,
They were thrust in the band that my bodice encloses;
But the breast-knots were broken, the roses went free.
The breast-knots were broken; the roses together
Floated forth on the wings of the wind and the weather,
And they drifted afar down the streams of the sea.
And the sea was as red as when sunset uncloses;
But my raiment is sweet from the scent of the roses,
Thou shalt know, love, how fragrant a memory can be.
poem by Andrew Lang
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Purple and White
Purple swirls with white and becomes lavender.
Lavender, reminds my senses of my beloved grandmother.
Grandmother, with paper thin skin that is soft as roses.
A rose, it’s sweet smelling aroma is candy for my nose.
My nose, one of my finest features that fills with me delight.
Delight, fine noses, sweet roses, soft grandmothers and purple swirled with white.
poem by Connie Crane
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-60
Asiatic lily(Asiatic hybrid lily
Lilium x asiatica)
Deceptive your buds far farther
Like water lily as they look
In closer sight but true lilies
Divine really anywhere nearer
Ofcourse fragrant little mild
Some scentless albeit colourful
Leaves strappy on stems upright
Blossoms big and small and hybrid
Hybridized just to feast the eyes
Nay, the soul red, purple and white
Pink of blossoms bigger Oriental
In closer sight divine all lilies
Hybridized colourful to look better
Nay, sweeter gold, orange and white
Pink of blossoms smaller Asiatic
Divine naturally really so closer
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Logic vs Intuition
Premise:
All roses are flowers
Some flowers fade quickly
Some have stems smooth
Some have stems prickly
Conclusion: valid or not? (True of false)
Therefore: some roses fade quickly.
Don’t be too smug
Don’t answer to slickly
The conclusion like most
Can be answered too quickly
The correct logical conclusion
To most people is lost
For the answer in (intuitive confusion)
Is inherently and most logically… false
poem by David Whalen
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Taste of honey
A heavenly hint
And scent…
Of blue and white clover
Mixed within the morning dew
Wrapped within
and over
With just a tweak…
Not strong nor meek
Of musky Morning Glorys
Threaded though…
with morning dew
A tasty tale of stories.
Lilies lend a heavy hand
With just…
a nose of roses
buried deep…fuzzy faces
In flowers sweet private places
Strike most ridiculous poses
That buzzy bees…
with powdered knees
tiny creatures though they be
Can take dust of pollen
From fragrant flowers
And do such amazing alchemy
Heavy wine, of bush and vine
Perfect mix…
not thick… nor runny
Beautiful blend
of sultry summer nights
And days… cloudy… and sunny
Natures nostrum…God’s delight
It seems at times…
almost funny
To brew liquid gold in waxy vats
So that young and old
Can savor… sweet taste of honey
poem by David Whalen
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Moonlight And Roses
Moonlight and roses
bring back wonderful memories
of how our love used to be
before life’s temptations
began to tear us apart.
The walks in the park
under the moonlight
as the roses scented the air.
Now the moonlight and roses
bring back those memories
though you are no longer here.
Each love leaves memories,
moonlight and roses
I associate with all my memories of you.
So as the sun sets in the west
and the moon rises in the east,
the air is pollinated
with the scent of the rose’s perfume
as I walk the paths
I used to walk with you.
7 - 8 August 2008
poem by David Harris
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Raat ki Raani (Night Queen)
Night-queen sparkled
Amidst fresh green leaves
Perfume in bunches!
Leaves hide
Behind bunches of flowers
Perfumed night!
Tiny petals
Five in numbers in
Perfect symmetry
and by morning
Some offered to earth
In gratitude for
Another day
The night queen
Sprayed an exotic perfume
Distinct from night's scent
The moon heady
With the night's scent
Slept satiated
But the sun glowed
And glowered helpless
In passion, unbound
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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All our morning glory days are done
All our morning glory days are done
just like the flowers
that you made me rip out
from where they grew
towering under the sun.
The garden is empty
and stripped of the violet flowers
that grew everywhere
and I am no longer there
and wonder if the geraniums,
irises, marigolds, white lilies,
red roses and lavender
are still being watered
or is every thing in your life
just fading away
into death
with the falling leaves
of this autumn?
poem by Gert Strydom
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Song Of The Rose
THE lilac-time is over,
Laburnum's day is past,
The red may-blossoms cover
The white ones, fallen too fast.
And guelder-roses hang like snow,
Where purple flag-flowers grow.
And still the tulip lingers,
The wall-flower's red like blood
The ivy spreads pale fingers,
The rose is in the bud.
Good-bye, sweet lilac, and sweet may!
The Rose is on the way.
You were but heralds sent us--
All April's buds, and May's--
But painted missals lent us
That we might learn her praise,
Might cast down every bud that blows
Before our Queen, the Rose!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Honey Bees
Sweet when the flowers are blooming
Beautifully and fast they fly
The beauty comes to share
The dance of petals
The songs of beautiful bells
The scent of romantic roses
All the honey bees fly to dance
Singing the beautiful rhymes
Sparkling like the golden light
The sky smiles to see
But when the cloud comes
No more dance of petals
The bells stop to sing
The scent of roses disappeared
They fly to go with stings
No more cheerful dance
Poisons come to spread
Leaving the Fall to end
poem by Vidi Pudinkz
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Alone
THE lilies clustered fair and tall;
I stood outside the garden wall;
I saw her light robe glimmering through
The fragrant evening's dusk and dew.
She stopped above the lilies pale;
Up the clear east the moon did sail;
I saw her bend her lovely head
O'er her rich roses blushing red.
Her slender hand the flowers caressed,
Her touch the unconscious blossoms blessed;
The rose against her perfumed palm
Leaned its soft cheek in blissful calm.
I would have given my soul to be
That rose she touched so tenderly!
I stood alone, outside the gate,
And knew that life was desolate.
poem by Celia Thaxter
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Roses In Madrid
Roses, Senors, roses!
Love is subtly hid
In the fragrant roses,
Blown in gay Madrid.
Roses, Senors, roses!
Look, look, look, and see
Love hanging in the roses,
Like a golden bee!
Ha! ha! shake the roses--
Hold a palm below;
Shake him from the roses,
Catch the vagrant so!
High I toss the roses
From my brown palm up;
Like the wine that bubbles
From a golden cup.
Catch the roses, Senors,
Light on finger tips;
He who buys red roses,
Dreams of crimson lips!
Tinkle! my fresh roses,
With the rare dews wet;
Clink! my crisp, red roses,
Like a castanet!
Roses, Senors, roses,
Come, Hidalgo, buy!
Proudly wait my roses
For thy rose's eye
Be thy rose as stately
As a pacing deer;
Worthy are my roses
To burn behind her ear.
Ha I ha! I can see thee,
Where the fountains foam,
Twining my red roses
In her golden comb!
Roses, Donnas, roses,
None so fresh as mine,
Pluck'd at rose of morning
By our Lady's shrine.
Those that first I gather'd
Laid I at her feet,
That is why my roses
Still are fresh and sweet.
Roses, Donnas, roses!
Roses waxen fair!
Acolytes my roses,
Censing ladies' pray'r!
Roses, roses, roses!
Hear the tawny bull
Thund'ring in the circus--
Buy your arms full.
Roses by the dozen!
Roses by the score!
Pelt the victor with them--
Bull or Toreador!
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
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