Sonnet: ‘Happy Birthday’ (08-08-08) , My Dear Sister Rosabelle!
You’re born today, my eldest sister, Rose!
–The first-born of our family of ten;
To be a lovely girl indeed, God chose,
And walk the road on earth to grace Heaven!
A rose is beautiful immensely, yes,
Amongst most earthly flowers, one can see!
Of varying hues appealing, wears a dress,
And spreads its fragrance unto world afree.
A human form of rose is what you are!
–With soul to keep holy and full of grace;
–Our parents’ cup of joy and living star!
They loved their rose-child with their hearts always!
So, ‘Happy Birthday, sister Rosabelle!
Our love for you, well, only God can tell!
Fondly dedicated on behalf of parents and all siblings
Copyright by Dr John Celes 08-08-08
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Happy Birthday, dear Sister!
The years have rolled by pretty fast;
No doubt, we had a glorious past;
A birthday comes just once a year;
Let’s wish those who are near and dear!
God gave each one a role to play;
We did our duty and did pray;
Our parents reared us very well;
Their first-born babe was Rosabelle!
But love is one thing none repay;
We wish our sister, ‘Happy Day! ’
Yet greetings can our feelings say;
‘May God bless you amply today! ’
‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY, dear Akka! ’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 08-08-2010
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where Your First Rose?
Someone use to remember loved once after many years (first rose-First love) that we never forget. Looking for it again hence nothing can accomplishes first love. Time has changed every things...
____________________________________ ______________________
Where your first rose?
Where your first rose?
I know you looking for it
But you cannot find...
Where your first rose?
I know you having forget it
Somewhere that you don’t know...
Where your first rose?
Hiding some where
You cannot ever reach...
Where your first rose?
Beneath someone heart
That you don’t know the person...
Where your first rose?
That cherish for ever
You forget to rescue it...
Where your first rose?
That you need to smell it
But you didn’t...
Where your first rose?
Smell like angels perfume
You once smell...
Where your first rose?
That you looking every where
Run away from you...
Where your first rose?
That born together in every soul
But you chased away...
Where your first rose?
That gives you happiness
Forever and forever...
Where your first rose?
That you kissed it every day
When you have it...
Where your first rose?
That you still looking for it
After many years left by...
Where your first rose?
That gives you every thing
Warm, happiness and true love...
Where your first rose?
That only dedicated you
By a true angel on earth...
Where your first rose?
You will have it never
Again with jealous eyes...
Where your first rose?
That gives to you
Behalf of true love...
Where your first rose?
That’s become a disappear
After you say no...
Where your first rose?
That has an ocean deep of value
You value it forever...
Where your first rose?
Away from you now
That’s you call every day...
Where your first rose?
You call by dreams
But really cannot touch...
Where your first rose?
You call by name
But didn’t hear your voice...
Where your first rose?
Whispering with you
Every nights and days...
Where your first rose?
That sung a songs ever nights
To lullaby...
Where your first rose?
That you don’t know
where its still...
That’s with me
By
O.W.Palitha Ariyarathna
Copyright, O.W. Palitha Ariyarathna.2010
All Rights Reserved By Author: 2010
poem by Palitha Ariyarathna
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Song of The Rose
F Zeus chose us a King of the flowers in his mirth,
He would call to the rose, and would royally crown it;
For the rose, ho, the rose! is the grace of the earth,
Is the light of the plants that are growing upon it!
For the rose, ho, the rose! is the eye of the flowers,
Is the blush of the meadows that feel themselves fair,
Is the lightning of beauty that strikes through the bowers
On pale lovers that sit in the glow unaware.
Ho, the rose breathes of love! ho, the rose lifts the cup
To the red lips of Cypris invoked for a guest!
Ho, the rose having curled its sweet leaves for the world
Takes delight in the motion its petals keep up,
As they laugh to the wind as it laughs from the west.
Valentine’s Day 2005
Give me back my sister, God!
Oh, give me back her love;
Give me back our good old days
When cooked we by oil-stove!
Give me back my sister, God!
Oh, give me back the dove;
Give me back the lovely face-
An angel from above.
Give me back my sister, God!
Oh, give me back her now;
Give me back her former ways,
With soul to Thee but how?
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-11-2005
Fondly dedicated to my beloved sisters
A.Rosabelle B.Sc., B.T., A. Clemencia B.SC., B.T.,
Dr. A. Sugagemma M.D., Dr. A.Mary Jeevamudha M.B.B.S, &
Dhaya Marie Rexina M.Sc., M.Phil., on
Valentine’s day 2-14-2005, my birthday
poem by John Celes
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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
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My Rose Of Sharon
I was living in an empty desert with no meaning to my life,
Then one day I found this beautiful Rose of Sharon, who is the living Christ.
And this lovely Rose forever blooms;
Its sweet fragrance has filled all my rooms.
It has no thorns; they've all been taken away,
I know this Rose is here to stay.
It brightens all my days, and is my dearest friend.
On this never changing Rose I can trust and depend.
This divine Rose of Sharon is so perfect and fair,
And it brings me peace, and love, and joy beyond compare.
Such a calm content feeling it sends,
Each heartache and pain it always mends.
I know in this life perfection I will never attain,
But since this Rose has left it's fragrance on me, I have never been the same,
And as I share this fragrance with those in need I see,
This beautiful Rose of Sharon will bloom in me.
poem by Evelyn Locke Irvin
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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 Special Red Rose
My Special Red Rose
My special red rose so full of life just blossoming with
lovely red petals
Always looking so beautiful and radiant in the morning sun
And now yet again another red petal has falling from my
beautiful rose
but the petals that remain are very dear to me because they are still part of my lovely red rose.
Yet today my special red rose doesn't blossom quite as full but I still look at it every day in the morning light
For the lovely red petals that are still on my special
red rose
bring so much joy and happiness to my hearts delight
poem by Joseph Skelley
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My Lovely Rose
I have a rose in the garden,
Unfolding red lovely petals,
With thorns surrounding it,
Could not touch and smell its fragrance.
I left the garden,
I left my lovely rose,
Far away yet so near,
Could not touch and smell its fragrance.
Time have passed,
Have seen again my rose,
Beautiful and sweetly scented at its full blossom,
Could not touch and smell its fragrance.
My rose is not mine anymore,
Yet I let my rose feel
Thy undoubting care and heart rejoicing,
Could glimpse again my lovely rose.
poem by Dong Agosto
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X’mas
Born was a child in a manger;
Born was the son of God, the Father;
Born was the love of the Maker;
Born was for men, a Redeemer.
Born was a baby boy, a king;
Born was on earth a prophet great;
Born was the love of God in human form;
Born was a Messiah.
Born was a son of a carpenter;
Born was the king of Jews;
Born was the living God as flesh;
Born was a Savior.
Born was a babe, who brought,
Joy and peace to the world;
Born was a babe on a bed of hay,
As angels choirs kept singing on.
Born was the spotless Lamb of God
Who was to die on the cross;
Born was a divine child,
From the Virgin Mary’s womb!
Born was Lord Jesus Christ,
Who paid the price for our sins,
And by His death and resurrection,
Made it possible for sinners too,
To go to Heaven.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 12-25-2006
poem by John Celes
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Sonnet: Rosabelle
Oh Rosabelle, forgive me for my part!
Thou art my eldest sibling like mother;
Thine silence somehow hurts my wounded heart;
Bestow thy love again for thine brother!
Thou art the bud that blossomed flower first,
And emanated fragrance that was sweet!
To see thee happy- my heart is athirst;
Oh how I wish to talk to thee and meet!
If differences cropped, ’tis not my fault;
I am the same in heart and mind, not health;
We ate like food and tasted common salt;
Yet, love seems shadowed by some hate, some wealth.
What dost thou gain by staying so aloof?
Remember that we’d shared a common roof!
3-6-2004 copyright by dr john celes
Dedicated to my beloved eldest sister Mary Rosabelle
poem by John Celes
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(Rose poems) Mend my heart! You beautylicious rose!
Mend my heart heart,
Beautiful rose!
Mend my spirit you fabulous
Gorgeous lovely rose!
Mend my soul my
Glittering pretty rose!
Calm the fire in my heart
Oh rose!
Bring peace to my restless spirit
You trusted rose!
Heal my body rose! And cleanse
My soul of sin....oh rose!
You are loved!
Beautiful rose!
poem by Ngaka Motaung
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’Tis So Lovely To …
’Tis so lovely to be born a Christian;
’Tis so lovely to be a Roman Catholic;
’Tis so lovely to follow Jesus Christ;
’Tis so lovely to know the one, living God;
’Tis so lovely to read the Holy Bible;
’Tis so lovely to have Christian parents
’Tis so lovely to walk in the shadow of the Holy cross;
’Tis so lovely to spread the Gospel;
’Tis so lovely to obey God’s Ten Commandments;
’Tis so lovely to abide by the precepts of the holy Catholic Church;
’Tis so lovely to receive the Holy Sacraments;
’Tis so lovely to confess sins and gain forgiveness from God;
’Tis so lovely to receive the Holy Eucharist;
’Tis so lovely to be an example of Christ unto others;
’Tis so lovely to be a “Fisher of Souls”;
’Tis so lovely to do miracles like Christ;
’Tis so lovely to heal the sick by prayers;
’Tis so lovely to console the sick and the dying;
’Tis so lovely to live a life like that of Christ;
’Tis so lovely to keep the soul pure;
’Tis so lovely to be filled by the Holy Spirit;
’Tis so lovely to take the road to heaven;
’Tis so lovely to die a holy Christian death;
’Tis so lovely to resurrect after death;
’Tis so lovely to be spared of eternal damnation;
’Tis so lovely to have eternal life;
’Tis so lovely to live in commune with God
Forever in Heaven thereafter!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 12-16-2006
poem by John Celes
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This Beautiful Rose
This beautiful rose
I hold in my hand,
Her beauty, her softness
Beyond feelings so grand.
To touch this rose
Feels so magic inside'
So gracious with love
Tears fall from my eyes.
As I layed you down
Upon my breast your so warm,
I can feel your heartbeat
Of this rose she is born.
I have given birth to this rose
Your my life so shine'
I'm so proud to be your mummy
My rose I'm so glad your mine.
(Dedicated to my beautiful girls)
poem by Nychia Wall
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Why Roses Have Thorns
Of all the flowers I've ever seen,
The lovely rose holds the most mystery.
Almost queenly in majestic beauty,
A thing of perfected artistry.
It comes in so many varied colors,
Its fragrance unique among all flowers,
A floral gem you'd enjoy for hours,
An exquisite rose is the flower of lovers.
But like a lady of wondrous charm,
Such beauty can cause a little harm.
The rose has thorns that make one bleed,
And hurts the hand that crushes it.
Some women like the rose have thorns,
When in their hearts true love is born.
The love you pledge do not forfeit-
A woman can bleed your heart....
and
crush it.
Copyright 2008 - Cynthia B. Baello
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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The Marian Holy Rosary
A crown of roses for her head;
A rose-garland for heaven’s queen;
A heap of rose-petals for feet,
That’s what the Rosary’s about.
The queen of beauteous flowers –Rose,
Whose perfume tickles any nose!
What hues and sizes grow on earth!
Give them to Mary, full of mirth.
St. Dominic was first to get,
The rosary when he had met
Our Lady of the Rosary,
Lord Jesus Christ’s Mother Mary!
The string of beads stands for prayers –
A magic blend for all sayers;
Just pray with meaning, mind steadfast,
To get the mother’s blessings vast!
A lovely weapon against foes;
A contemplation ’midst our woes;
Reciting it, we earn graces,
And win life’s spiritual races.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-30-2009
poem by John Celes
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Herself A Rose Who Bore The Rose
Herself a rose, who bore the Rose,
She bore the Rose and felt its thorn.
All loveliness new-born
Took on her bosom its repose,
And slept and woke there night and morn.
Lily herself, she bore the one
Fair Lily; sweeter, whiter, far
Than she or others are:
The Sun of Righteousness her Son,
She was His morning star.
She gracious, He essential Grace,
He was the Fountain, she the rill:
Her goodness to fulfil
And gladness, with proportioned pace
He led her steps through good and ill.
Christ's mirror she of grace and love,
Of beauty and of life and death:
By hope and love and faith
Transfigured to His likeness, 'Dove,
Spouse, Sister, Mother,' Jesus saith.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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‘Happy Birthday! ' Dear Mary, Mother of Christ.
Blest is the virgin child who rose
To be, Christ's mother upon earth,
Although immaculate by birth,
And through her fiat, though God chose!
Blest is the womb that bore Jesus,
‘Immanuel' or ‘God with us! '
For although vexed in mind and heart,
Obeying God, she did her part!
Blest is the disciple of Christ,
Who made Him do miracles first;
And shared His agony till cross,
With sorrowful heart, by His loss!
Blest is the Eve who's Heaven's Queen,
With stars upon her crown for sheen,
Who intercedes for sinners all,
Who repent and obey God's call!
Blest is the Lady God-favoured;
To those who pray, she keeps her word;
Recite the rosary and see,
The world of men, transformed holy!
We wish you ‘Happy Birthday' Mother dear;
Heaven rejoicing today, let's all hear;
When we succumb to death, may you be near,
And preserve soul from mortal sin's great fear!
Dedicated lovingly to the Blessed Mary, ever Virgin!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-09-12
poem by John Celes
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O Candle- Rose!
O Candle-Rose of rosy hue!
- A gift from sweet a heart;
On Christmas Day to me anew,
Aflame, how do I start?
For, if when lit, your love will glow
And burn my very heart;
And melt the wax forever, Oh!
The Rose could then depart.
O Candle-Rose of beauty great
- A piece of lovely art;
Tho’ burn you must, some day by fate:
How can I do that part?
O Candle- Rose of priceless rate,
Oh, be my living art;
Just like you were to me till date,
Remain my dear sweetheart.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-24-2005
poem by John Celes
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A Rose-bud advises man…
I asked a rose-bud, ‘who gave you your beauty? ’
And it replied, ‘my mother’s sap gave me! ’
I asked again, ‘who gave your mother plant, its sap? ’
It said, ‘the soil and rain by roots, the sun through leaves! ’
I asked the rose-bud, ‘who gave the soil, sun and rain such abilities? ’
It replied, ‘the One who made all things, and you and me! ’
And now the rose-bud asked me, ‘But why do you ask such questions?
Are you not made beautiful too by the same One,
Who made me, the moon, sky, soil and sun?
And yet, like you, we cannot walk or run! ’
It continued, ‘we plants feel sad we cannot move like how you do! ’
‘We buds grow bigger by each dawn;
The Maker feels so happy when we’re born,
And smiles on seeing us each morn,
Turning ecstatic, when we blossom on,
The landscape to perfume and to adorn –
By morrow, most of us are almost gone! ’
I asked the rose-bud, ‘are the dew-drops then because you cry? ’
And it replied, ‘they are the tears of joy and sadness of God on high,
Who knows we are born to sooner die.’
But tell me man, such questions, you ask, ‘why? ’
The rose-bud went on:
‘God gave you man, woman, a long life-span;
And do many things, you surely can! ’
God made you far more beautiful!
Be satisfied and be dutiful;
God is our Master One, most wonderful!
Praise Him, thank Him for all His gifts to you, bountiful! ’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-2-2010
poem by John Celes
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