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A Rose without a thorn

I knew a rose without a thorn,

The rarest bloom that grows

She blossomed, briefly, beautifully,

Right there beneath my nose.

I fear that I will never see

Another bloom as fair,

Except in memory, ever green,

Her fragrance lingers there

poem by John F. McCullagh
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The rose that bares no thorn

The rose that bares no thorn
~
How beautiful and pure
How sweetly kind and innocent
How loving to look upon
The rose that bares no thorn
Gentle to the tender touch
Pleasing to the hearts own eye
Of all that is beautiful
Is seen and known with joy
Seasoned into memory
To grow and flower once more
Let love be known and named
Then kept forevermore
As natural as the morning dew
So still, sweet and innocent
Never to cut or hurt
The rose that bares no thorn
Is a love in full bloom

poem by Matthew Holloway
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The painted rose

The painted rose
~
A rose in fullest bloom
Is it of the reddest colour
The warmest hue upon its petals
As beautiful as the poet wrote
Embedded beneath a clear sky
An ocean of blue climbing above
Where birds swim upon high
Flight of fancy, flight of freedom
What a joy it must be
Painted from the pallet
Of natures ink and colour
A roses thorn stands striking
In the sharpness of the brush
Captured to the light
A rose in full bloom
Is of the reddest of colour
And the most beautiful

poem by Matthew Holloway
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Why blame the thorn?

Why blame the thorn
the rose needed it..
when a bud
to protect from plucking hands
when blossomed
safe from suckling bands
the rose slept
while the thorn crept
wildly adept
upon the petalling fingers
when the rose aged
and sees no reason
for the thorn's missions
now the rose
ready to free
from the plant
and adorn the world
hates the thorn
that accompanies it.

poem by Lalitha Iyer
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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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The Flower of Love

'Tis said the rose is Love's own flower,
Its blush so bright, its thorns so many;
And winter on its bloom has power,
But has not on its sweetness any.
For though young Love's ethereal rose
Will droop on Age's wintry bosom,
Yet still its faded leaves disclose
The fragrance of their earliest blossom.

But ah! the fragrance lingering there
Is like the sweets that mournful duty
Bestows with sadly-soothing care,
To deck the grave of bloom and beauty.
For when its leaves are shrunk and dry,
Its blush extinct, to kindle never,
That fragrance is but Memory's sigh,
That breathes of pleasures past for ever.

Why did not Love the amaranth choose,
That bears no thorns, and cannot perish ?
Alas! no sweets its flowers diffuse,
And only sweets Love's life can cherish.
But be the rose and amaranth twined,
And Love, their mingled powers assuming,
Shall round his brows a chaplet bind,
For ever sweet, for ever blooming.

poem by Thomas Love Peacock
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Suppose

IF 'twere fair to suppose
That your heart were not taken,
That the dew from the rose
Petals still were not shaken,
I should pluck you,
Howe'er you should thorn me and scorn me,
And wear you for life as the green of the bower.
If 'twere fair to suppose
That that road was for vagrants,
That the wind and the rose,
Counted all in their fragrance;
Oh, my dear one,
By love, I should take you and make you,
The green of my life from the scintillant hour.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The Ocean Rose (An Homograph/Homonym Poem) ...

The Ocean Rose
Scent Of The Sea
Brisk Blue-Green Perfume
Of Serenity

The Ocean Rose
Blossomed Open
Drowned Its Hook-Thorns
To Let Hope In

The Ocean Rose
Within A Vase
Of Exquisite, Exotic
Deep Seabed Base

The Ocean Rose
Sat Like A Prize On
A Jeweled Box
Below A Horizon

The Ocean Rose
To Touch The Sky
Drunk The Tears
That Seagulls Cry

Beyond Our Reach
Below Our Nose
But Before Our Eyes
The Ocean Rose

The Ocean Rose
By Sunset Glows
And Thru Storms and Rains
It Thrives and Grows

So Far Away
Yet Ever Close
It’s Petals Pour
And Stems and Flows

The Ocean Rose
Beneath Rainbows
in Rows After Rows
Its Beauty Shows

Written & ©: 10/5/10

By: The MoonBee

HOMOGRAPHS are words that are spelled the same but have different meanings.
HOMONYMS are words that sound alike but have different meanings.

poem by MoonBee Canady
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The Rover's Adieu

weary lot is thine, fair maid,
A weary lot is thine!
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid,
And press the rue for wine.
A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien,
A feather of the blue,
A doublet of the Lincoln green—
No more of me ye knew,
My Love!
No more of me ye knew.
'This morn is merry June, I trow,
The rose is budding fain;
But she shall bloom in winter snow
Ere we two meet again.'
—He turn'd his charger as he spake
Upon the river shore,
He gave the bridle-reins a shake,
Said 'Adieu for evermore,
My Love!
And adieu for evermore.'

poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Less’er Love, And A Rose, In My Garden

I am gardener…. I prune, sheer… at times
…at times I have lesser love
And in less is more, very much more
…………….and there is this garden
..the garden, ours by the Grace of the Life Force, supreme God
..there is this Rose, and those Roses there… all chose a place to be
I, the Gardner choose the blooms from which Rose goes to the glass next my bed
I love this Rose, and less but similar those other
….they decide when to bloom
In sping late winter their souls weep, as I sheer, as I must
In spring and summer and early winter we rejoice as they bloom abundantly
…..every night one bloom from The Rose that’ad also chosen me
in the glass of water next my bed read to me, and comfort me
the delicate-, bewitching fragrance the bookmark for tomorrow night
I love that Rose as my chosen

I am gardener…. I prune, sheer… at times

…..only one Rose reads to me… I a lesser Gardener
Lesser, cause I’m only able t’love one Rose…..this Rose here
….those Roses there, some’r lessor Roses, some’r superior Roses, are my friends
Lesser in texture, shape and fiber and fragrance
Some superior in texture, or shape and or fiber and or fragrance
Friends equal in dimension with the Rose, but less in love than the Rose
…..every night one bloom from The Rose, that’s chosen me
in the glass of water next my bed read to me, and comfort me
the delicate-, bewitching fragrance the bookmark for tomorrow night
I love that Rose as my chosen

I, the gardener…. I prune, sheer…. at times
These other Roses who chose my garden
...so valuable in a muchness o’ Friendship,
…the quality their love much the same as that The Rose
Different the lesser my love, even though my caring equals that towards The Rose
We are blessed, those of us in the garden
…the magnificence of this garden in my life is the sumtotal of you all in my garden
I drink your fragrance intoxicated with love
I love The Rose, and my friends these other Roses in the garden Bless this love

poem by Johan Fourie
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The Thorn That Grows

The thorn that grows beside the rose
can let its prick be felt.
It also is a sharp reminder
of the pain that can be dealt
to the lover of beauty
that takes no care
to adore the rose
but not beware.

For all the beauty in the world
lies side by side with pain.
And all the glories of what you love
cannot always remain.
I do not languish myself with pity
nor do I live with pride.
But to live in fear of pain that comes
is to believe that beauty has died.

The thorn that grows protects the rose
as love protects the heart.
But if the thorn is missing
might not the rose depart?

poem by Edwina Reizer
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A Season of Wine and Roses

Remember when the wine was red,
and the rose was red, as well ~
and how the two were wed as one,
when the sunlight softly fell.

The pinkened kiss, the gentle blush,
beneath a soft, green canopy ~
and wine flowed there beside the rose,
'til sunlight set on autumn's eve.

And there within the autumn's breath,
came an orange and golden kiss ~
that found the wine and lovely rose,
beguiled by summer's bliss...

remembering when the wine was sweet,
and the rose was a budding bloom ~
and velvet was the reddened wine,
when the red rose danced in June.

Thinly brown, with winter's death,
the vine and thorn entwine ~
and wait impatiently for spring,
when, once more, a life they'll find.

And now upon the chilling wind,
there's a whisper that gently fell ~
'Remember when the wine was red,
and the rose was red, as well'...

poem by Hazelmarie Elliott
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400 ~ Bloom

Just begins to bud,
a rose,
holding hopes and fears
behind
black-red, velvet-soft petals.

Startled by a bright, new world,
it opens,
revealing petals of humility.
Blushing, growing,
opening as it becomes
accustomed
to beauty in light.

Proud color spreads wide across,
full bloom,
not as dark as at first,
glowing
from light that has filled it.

This rose can never die.
As love,
It can lose color, wilt, fade,
but in the mind,
the rose
will forever be in bright, full bloom.

This rose stands a symbol,
to time.
What has occurred to arrive at
now?
All the bloomings have led to one bright bloom,
this rose.

As someone has made me bloom,
she is
beauty and
light. Changing
my colors, releasing
my fears,
I owe her much, love
will never die, like
the glowing bloom of this,
a rose.

poem by Stan Pelfrey
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Banks O' Doon, The

Ye banks and braes o' bonie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae weary fu' o' care!
Thou'll break my heart, thou warbling bird,
That wantons thro' the flowering thorn:
Thou minds me o' departed joys,
Departed never to return.

Aft I rov'd by Bonie Doon,
To see the rose and woodbine twine:
And ilka bird sang o' its luve,
And fondly sae did I o' mine.
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree!
Any my fause luver staw my rose,
But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.

poem by Robert Burns
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The Banks O' Doon (3rd version)

Ye banks and braes o' bonie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae weary fu' o' care!
Thou'll break my heart, thou warbling bird,
That wantons thro' the flowering thorn:
Thou minds me o' departed joys,
Departed never to return.

Aft hae I rov'd by Bonie Doon,
To see the rose and woodbine twine:
And ilka bird sang o' its Luve,
And fondly sae did I o' mine;
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree!
And may fause Luver staw my rose,
But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.

poem by Robert Burns (1791)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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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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Blue Rose

Wish I could lay my eyes on the blue rose
Aches to touch it, caress the petals
Feel its texture on my skin
Smell its fragrance and have it stored in my memory

Need to touch need to feel
Close to the blue rose
See it bloom, fully share its passion and beauty in its core
Experience the blue rose

Listen to its dance
with the wind and sky
knowing and wanting it so much
such passion
Yet where is the blue rose
never existed
only lives in my mind
hoping its real
not a dream

poem by Rita Umali
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Blue Rose

wish i could lay my eyes on the blue rose
aches to touch it, caress the petals
feel its texture on my skin
smell its fragrance and have it stored in my memory

need to touch need to feel
close to the blue rose
see it bloom, fully share its passion
and beauty in its core
experience the blue rose

listen to its dance
with the wind and sky
knowing and wanting it so much
such passion
yet where is the blue rose
never existed
only lives in my mind
hoping its real
not a dream

poem by Rita Umali
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Come, Pretty School-Girl!

On this rolling planet ever have you seen
A home so like a palace waiting for its queen? --
A dwelling place so fair,
So fill'd with treasures rare,
As the little white cottage on Evergreen Square?

Come, pretty school girl! lay your books aside;
Yes graduate tomorrow -- tomorrow be my bride;
My fortune share,
And reign queen there,
In the little white cottage on Evergreen Square.

Red as are the roses climbing on its wall,
Your cheeks of richer crimson shall out-bloom them all.
Your eyes (beyond compare)
A brighter gleam shall wear,
In the little white cottage on Everygreen Square.

Flow'rs of rarest fragrance all the year shall bloom,
And singing birds make music in your chosen room.
Come, breathe its balmy air!
Come, charm away my care,
In the little white cottage on Everygreen Square.

poem by Henry Clay Work
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Late To Bloom I Am To This

Late to bloom I am to this.
An honesty revealed...
About my feelings concealed.
I thought I knew what they were,
As I told them.
I thought once described...
No one could truly hold them.
Or enfold them as I do.
Then I met you.

Late to bloom I am to this.
A stripping bare...
Of what I dare call,
A complete enthralling happiness.

Late to bloom I am to this.
But age has nothing to do...
How we two,
Me and you get to do what gets done.
With lessons learned...
I am so glad my heart awaited for this one.

Late to bloom I am to this!
And I had once admitted...
This would not happen.
This I had missed!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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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