Bloomed Rose Stem Lost
Bloomed rose stem lost,
Alone on sand, old fair one
Never it can be.
poem by Fabiyas M V
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Related quotes
Winter Rose II A Love Story
As special as a rose of red, that bloomed despite the frost
Is the man for whom the red rose bloomed
Without one, the other was lost.
When first these two souls chanced to meet
The rose was just a bud,
The man was but a boy, a child,
Unsure of how to love.
But with the gentlest of trembling hands
He held the rose with care
And gazed in silent wonder
At the beauty he found there
For no matter how cold the winter winds
Nor dark the blackness of night
He had only to turn to the Winter Rose
And all the world seemed right
And although the rose no longer grows
In the presence of the man
Her everlasting love will be
Forever at his hand
For he has only but to close his eyes
And open his heart to see
That, in him, her loving light will shine
For all enernity
poem by Dolores Parsons
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Sea Rose
Rose, harsh rose,
marred and with stint of petals,
meagre flower, thin,
sparse of leaf,
more precious
than a wet rose
single on a stem --
you are caught in the drift.
Stunted, with small leaf,
you are flung on the sand,
you are lifted
in the crisp sand
that drives in the wind.
Can the spice-rose
drip such acrid fragrance
hardened in a leaf?
poem by Hilda Doolittle
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Our Crushed Rose
Upon the hills of England
The brightest rose bloomed,
And people admired it's beauty
But this rose was doomed.
The rose was crushed,
It's petals were torn,
The world lost it's rose
On an August morn.
If it had lived
What could have been,
One can only imagine,
One can only dream.
poem by Claire Chambers
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~ My Hidden Stem ~
I give you my rose, yet you see it so beautiful all around, the petals so blooming and so lovely, but look at the stem which is my stem, the green root of nevergazing attractivness, that which is hidden, that which is the real and genuine beauty, my nights of eternal desire lie within the stem, but you only see the outside beauty of the painted red petals, the power, the force, the passion, the fountain that spring forth the lifted rose, is found on my stem. For beauty can be easily found, but sheer beauty is not, and you must find me and travel as deep, as lenthly and beyond.
poem by Dandy leo jr.
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On Love And Beauty: I: To A Promessa Sposa
Look on this flower, which, from its little tree
Of bodily stem and branches and leaves green,
Leans lovelier, being toucht, and smelt, and seen
A Rose, a Rose, a Rose! and, though thy three
Senses praise it triply unto thee,
And all their parlous difference intervene,
Yet unto thee, who knowest what they mean,
Thee who art one, and hast been, and shalt be,
Is one as thou; one Rose, one beauteous Rose,
One rosy Beauty. Who shall reason why
The slow stem, on a sudden season, shows
It can be worm unto this butterfly?
We know but this, that when yon ecstasy
Transfigures the green tree, its time of fruit is nigh.
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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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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The Disgarded Garden
Their once was a young man who wanted to become a Gardner. There once was a young Rose Tree that wanted a Gardener. They met each other one summer day and began what seemed to be a beautiful relationship. The Gardner was attentive of his garden along with his Rose Tree and the Rose Tree was so happy that its tender branches grew and it bloomed continuously for the Gardner so he’d always be happy.
As time went by the Rose Tree noticed that Gardner wouldn’t tend to her as much as he once did. And when he did he would cut away harshly at the Rose Tree. The Rose Tree being a simple plant who did not need much attention still bloomed for the Gardner. It seemed the more she tried, the more the Gardner would cut away and the tree was now nestled in the ground. Why could this be? He had a bountiful garden that any Gardner would have loved to have. What more could anyone want thought the Rose Tree.
Now in an abandoned garden the Rose Tree grows back its branches, with very thick thorn’s to protect it self. As time goes by one day, out of nowhere appears a Gardener who has silently admired the Rose Tree from outside the garden gates and begins to nurture the Rose Tree in her garden. He tenderly and sympathetically pulls away all the weeds and brush from the Rose Tree so the air, rain & sunshine can reach her again. Allowing her the opportunity to grow back as she once was; vibrant, strong, colorful and to be simply, herself.
This is something the Rose Tree had long forgotten and is very grateful for the loving words of encouragement and kindness that her new Gardner has shown. She longingly awaits for his visits and when the Gardner comes to see her she bloom’s for him and relaxes underneath his beautifully kind smile. My darling Gardner, I am glad fate has brought you to walk along the path leading to the once lost garden and Rose Tree.
poem by Sarah Barron
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A Rose To Remember....
i am reading about the death of a rose
i am reflecting about
death of freedom
it is all about a rose, a wilting rose, a brown rose,
a dry rose
each petal falling softly on the ground
a dry ground full of sand and pebbles
all footprints covered
abandoned, i am talking
about the death of a rose, the death of the freedom of the rose
the death of freedom, the rose of death, the freedom of death,
is it you now that i talk about? that i must remember?
have i met you before when i was but a thorn, a worm, a leaf?
was i the sand
a pebble, the wind? will you be a rose forever?
is there death in you?
i feel the wind, i smell the rose,
there is no death....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Compensation
I plucked a rose from out a bower fair,
That overhung my garden seat;
And wondered I if, e'er before, bloomed there
A rose so sweet.
Enwrapt in beauty I scarce felt the thorn
That pricked me as I pulled the bud;
Till I beheld the rose that summer morn,
Stained with my blood.
I sang a song that thrilled the evening air
With beauty somewhat kin to love,
And all men know that lyric song so rare
Came from above.
And men rejoice to hear the golden strain;
But no man knew the price I paid,
Nor cared that out of my soul'd deathless pain
The song was made.
poem by Joseph Seamon Cotter
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The Easter Lily
A little child, as winter turned to spring,
Tended a lily-plant with patient care,
Thinking, when she should see it blossoming,
To set it on the chancel-step; that there,
When Easter dawned on Lent, the spotless thing
Might on the feast-day be her offering,
Lifting its own white face to One more fair.
But, as the plant grew upward day by day,
Raising itself from earth towards the sky,
So seemed the child from earth to draw away,
The while she feared to see the lily die;
Unthinking that, ere broke the Easter ray,
She might her own white soul before Him lay
For Whom she sought the flower to sanctify.
Time passed. The lily bloomed not; and the night
Before the feast had come. And so the child
Sent to the church the cherished plant, despite
’T was but an unblown bud; and—reconciled
That on the altar-step, midst flowers white,
Her poor green stalk watched out the silent flight
Of hours until the morn—contented smiled.
• • • • • • • •
Fair broke the dawn upon the altar’s hem
Of lilies, breathing Easter greeting sweet;
But, with the night that so perfected them,
The child’s own spirit fled, the Light to meet
Beyond the heaven’s roseate diadem;
And, with the morning, bloomed upon the stem
The fair, white soul her own had longed to greet!
poem by Guy Wetmore Carryl from The Garden of Years and Other Poems (1893)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Pink Rose
A Pink rose is for the one,
Where love has blossomed and bloomed,
Where passion and purity,
With love and peace,
Combines and grows,
That brings forth the Pink rose,
Of the Red rose,
And of the White rose,
When both entwine,
Comes the Pink rose,
For all the blushing brides,
When the proposal is asked,
With the Pink rose as a sign,
Is one asking another,
In love and loves first
Red and White,
That all will show,
And carry a wedding bonquet,
Are all the Blushing brides to be,
For the Pink rose if for the one,
Where love has blossomed and bloomed,
Representing passion and purity,
That has love and peace,
Combining and growing,
From two different in color,
One extreme to another,
From the Red and the White,
That combine,
And show true love,
A Pink rose evolves,
Showing true love,
It shows in it's splendor of Pink,
For the blushing bride to be,
So to say,
'I do',
When the question is popped,
On this Valentines Day,
Valentine's Day,
A day of proposal's,
Where it is asked,
From one to another,
'Will you be mine',
From this Valentine's Day,
On to,
The next,
And,
The next,
And,
There after.
poem by Ellen Ni Bheachain
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Values
Did you deceive me? Did I trust
A heart of fire to a heart of dust?
What matter? Since once the world was fair,
And you gave me the rose of the world to wear.
That was the time to live for! Flowers,
Sunshine and starshine and magic hours,
Summer about me, Heaven above,
And all seemed immortal, even Love.
Well, the mortal rose of your love was worth
The pains of death and the pains of birth;
And the thorns may be sharper than death--who knows? -
That crowd round the stem of a deathless rose.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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My Rose
I awoke to the brightest day
that ever shone,
'twas so fair to see;
for the light came from
a rare and splendid rose,
standing right in front of me.
I'll carry this vision
lovingly in my heart
until the day I die.
And every memory I hold dear
will return with the
light in your eyes.
For thou art my rose,
the flower of my earthly joy,
never to wilt upon the stem;
and I, a mere budding tree
with arms outstretched,
shall ever crave your sunshine in
them.
poem by Tijani Adebowale Destiny
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The rose inside me
The rose inside me:
You were the rose inside me, now you are but
the thorn of that stem that flourishes this rose
who stabs inside me?
When you shot the bullet of hate -
into this heart that loved you more than love it-self
you were my root of the bud I planted.
Now no-more than a dead petal.
No-more the rose in me.
poem by Noorie Ali
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Fair Rose
Fair rose, fair rose, so sweet and soft,
Just as the skin of a new born babe,
Thy beauty grows as day goes by,
The danger wakes in thy razor thorns.
How, oh how can a creature so beauteous,
Hold such dire treacherousness?
Thou hast drawn me in so close,
Just outside thy painful touch,
When desire outgrows sense,
And thy thorn doth bring red stain.
Fair rose, fair rose, so sweet and soft,
How can thy beauty hold such great pain?
poem by Joseph Cross
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Red, Red Rose
Red, red rose, she blew her breath
Fingers, it’s stem she caressed
Then she closed her eyes and breathed the fragrance in
Tell me red, red rose, where does love end
She placed the rose, gently against her lips
She plucked a single petal, with finger tips
And as the wind caught and carried up high
Tell me red, red rose, can love it fly
Slowly one by one, each petal fell
Upon the last in her eye, a tear it swelled
And then she sighed as she asked to her self
Tell me red, red rose, is for love, is this what’s left
Red, red rose, red, red rose
You stand for love you should know
Should we hold on tight with all our might
Must one day we let go
Red, red rose, red, red rose
Your petals fly in the breeze
If I let go, red, red rose
What becomes of me.
Copyright 2006 Bill Simmons
aka BillWilliamStar
[email protected]
poem by Bill Simmons
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Rose #2
She was only 21-when her fiancés life
Was taken with a gun.
They had three years together
And life was getting so much better.
They had plans for a wedding in June
But it ended much too soon.
He had given her a long stem rose
Then he fell to one knee, and did propose.
She took the rose and with loving tender care
With her diary she would share.
She took the rose and cut the stem
And she knew his love would never end.
She knew with time this flower would wither
And die- and that it was a love between he and I.
So she got the silica gel, And preserved the
Rose very well.
She put it into a plastic bag
and vacuumed out all the air.
Then put it into her diary
Where only she could see.
They said it was a down right shame
That he was in the middle of a shootout
Between two rival gangs.
That was when he lost his life
Before she became his loving wife.
As the tears rolled down her eyes
She started to visualize
Of how her wedding day would have been
Had he not been in the wrong place
At the wrong time.
Their life would have turned out fine.
As she placed the rose upon the diary page
Growing inside of her was a sense of rage.
Why can life be so cruel, and people so full of hate?
But looking at the rose, her heart started to melt
Relieving her of all the anger she felt.
Their love for each other was “ oh so pure”
Of a happy life together she was sure.
Life can be comical, and you never know
What it will bring.
But she got pregnant doing her thing.
Then one night when she fell asleep
Into her mind he did creep
And told her these words:
Now you have three things I left behind
My love, a rose, and a child of mine.
When she awoke, she knew he did not die in vain
For he left a part of himself to relieve her pain.
poem by Louis Rams
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An Ordinary Rose
I saw a rose, an ordinary rose
It struggled to be seen
In a garden overgrown
With harsh reality. I saw a rose, an ordinary rose
And this rose spoke to me,
Pleading for attention:
Is beauty not a need? I stopped to touch this ordinary rose
And it reached out to me,
Imparting its sweet fragrance
To my senses gratefully. I saw a man, an ordinary man
Who struggled to be seen,
His spirit languished on the streets
In dire neglect and need. I stopped to help this ordinary man
Who struggled to be seen,
And like the rose that bloomed with care
He too reached out to me. Fate placed these roses in our midst
So why should we complain?
Remember who created them
Who witnesses their pain. When next you meet that special rose
That struggles to be seen,
Remember, but for fate alone
That could be you or me.
poem by Devorah Seidenfeld
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Ballet Of Lips
BALLET OF LIPS
esspeecee [21.03.09.]
Your lips…
Wanting. What?
To say
Rose buds…
Oh dear
Bloom for us.
Your lips
Saying go not
In stealth
O Rose buds
We’re for your
Blooming blush.
Your lips
Waiting to
Murmur the
Subtle melody
Of just bloomed
O you
Rose bud.
When lips make
Ballet movements
Singing in chorus
With melody of
Music of fragrance
O you
Rose bud.
Let me stand
Like a trunkless rock
On me the rose tree
And your subtle
Foot prints
I’ll embosom
O you - Rose bud
Oh you - Of yours.
Copyright reserved by the Author
poem by Dr. Sakti P. Chakravorty
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Sand On My Shoes
As I sit by the sea
Drink tequila by the shade of a tree
Theres a seniorita sat on my knee
Sprinkling sand all over me
Ive got sand on my shoes
Ive lost everything that Im gonna lose
Ive got nothing but the sun and the moon
And the sand thats on the beach
I am happy though my shoes are tattered and torn
Because the sea is so shiney
Ba ba-um-ba
Ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba-um-ba
Ive got sand on my shoes
Thought I was civilized
Till I saw the sea and I realized
That the city life was just not for me
Left my troubles behind me
Ba ba-um-ba
Ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba-um-ba
Ive got sand on my shoes
Ive got nothing else that Im gonna lose
Ive got nothing but the sun and the moon
And thats plenty for me
Ive got sand on my shoes
Ive got sand on my shoes
Ive got sand on my shoes
Sand on my shoes
Ba ba ba ba-um-ba
Ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba-um-ba
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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