Apple and Rose
My little daughter is a tea-rose,
Satin to the touch,
Wine to the lips,
And a faint, delirious perfume.
But my little son
Is a June apple,
Firm and cool,
And scornful of too much sweetness,
But full of tang and flavor
And better than bread to the hungry.
O wild winds, and clumsy, pilfering bees,
With the whole world to be wanton in,
Will you not spare my little tea-rose?
And O ruthless blind creatures,
Who lay eggs of evil at the core of life,
Pass by my one red apple,
That is so firm and sound!
poem by Karle Wilson Baker
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Lovers Or Friends?
Love is like a wild red rose
Friendship, like an apple tree
The apple tree is dark when the red rose blooms
But which will bloom predominantly?
The wild red rose is sweet in Spring
Its Summer blossoms scent the air
Yet wait 'til Winter's finally here,
Will the red rose still be there?
poem by Gloraly Gomez
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Red Apple, Red Apple
Red apple
Red apple
sitting on the ledge
savouring its nutrients
for a few moments longer
Red apple
Red apple
Savouring its time
That is has left
As a whole
Red apple
Red apple
Traveled such a
Long way, from the store?
Farm? another country?
Red apple
Red apple
Haunting me by
The curiosity of
How juicy you taste
Red apple
Red apple
Shine on,
Red apple
poem by John McAdam
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The Apple Tree Greed
he has an apple a green apple
he is the only person in this room
with a green apple
suppose suppose NOW
he has MORE of those at home
WHY he has a GREEN APPLE tree
In his backyard no WAIT
He has a vineyard behind his chapeau
And he makes green apple wine
And he sells it to the BOONES FARM people
And they make BOONES FARM green apple wine
And the whole city is soon sick
The children ralf and barf and ralf again
There is no more end to the men
Drinking all the green apple wine
To make this ONE person rich
He never offered me any of his wine
Eyes never drink of alcoholic beverage
Eye have juices and tea and a soda please
I'm just full of good intentions
Picking green apples in my mind and eating way too many
Having a green apple with mye lunch of poetical decay
WAIT he left and YES he took the green apple core with him
Not leaving me a bite not wanting me to taste the pleasure
of his mite. Why eye understand him greedy is his name
the green apple hoarder has so many apples now his wine cellar is so full and his larders aer so rich he does save the stems and seeds to plant again in ground so rich and he chews on this green apple while he watches MTV in selfish hedonistacal revenge while eye have no green apple stuck between my teeth OH bliss oh strang decay my teeth at least aer happier today he took the core away he left me all alone im appleless today im happier to say no song is being sung of little apples of the green variety been hung oh see the tree how big its grown the apples have been lost too long and they fall in misery from branches of decay to rot to rot to rot upon the vineyard floor there is no apple wine no more the green variety is gone they drink it only read and red is the color of the wine in cups so full of color there in plates so heaped of agony with applesauces vailiantly piled higher then the sky.
poem by Parme Hice
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Rose, Rose(by Henrry Zhou)
Rose, Rose(by Henrry Zhou)
Rose, Rose
Love you, without words.
When I touch your waist,
Close to your lips.
Rose, Rose
Kisses are what you send to me.
Endless mythical dream
Every kiss seems to be
Rose, rose
Aren’t you the waves of the red wine
Of the first night in a wedding?
In your soft heart
slipped the lovers’ laughs and tears.
Love you, Rose
Light vortex, pink whorls
full of a garden I wish to plant Roses
Even waking to be a sad nightmare
Still I will hold you.
O, Rose, my dear Rose
poem by Henrry Zhou
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The Rose Family
The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes
That the apple's a rose,
And the pear is, and so's
The plum, I suppose.
The dear only knows
What will next prove a rose.
You, of course, are a rose -
But were always a rose.
poem by Robert Frost
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Wine Red
Wine red
Like rose petals against the snow
Wine red
Like crimson apple pierced with an arrow
Wine red
Like blood emitting from the skin
Wine red
Like her ruby lipstick used for sin
Wine red
The drink that lovers share
Wine red
A drink to forget a nightmare
Like Snow White fooled
She ate the poison apple;
A death of beauty
But their dirty and wicked sins
Will be recovered with an enthusiastic fury
poem by Verona Valentine
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A Canadian Rose
For Victoria Clarke
Where ever you are
Where ever you live
there is always a rose
that will steal your heart away.
When I grew up in Canada
there was a rose there.
I remember to this day
and her name was Victoria.
However, I was never the apple of her eye.
She didn’t really want to know me.
I wasn’t all that popular, so why should she.
Years have come and gone
and I often wonder whatever happened
to that Canadian rose.
I suspect I will never know,
but I hope she’s had a happy life
the way lives should be.
2 June 2008
poem by David Harris
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Alone Is A Rose
A rose Sweet and buetiful
Red as the apple on an apple tree
It glistens as the wet mist damps its shining pettals
As time pasts the petals will soon fall to the ground and the rose starts ageing all alone the beutiful rose waits for someone to come and choose her but as time past she was alone no one to pick her and take her home with them as time went on and on her pettals slowly fell to the groundsoon this rose was no more....alone alone was her fate
poem by Jackalin Friday
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Lovers' Delights
we only have one apple
i am holding it in my hand
i take a bite and
you follow
we take turns
we like the crunchy sound
the sweetness of
the crunchy apple
until the apple is consume
we hold each other's hands
we look at each other's eyes
we feast.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Sea-Swallows
THIS FELL when Christmas lights were done,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
But before the Easter lights begun;
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.
Two lovers sat where the rowan blows
And all the grass is heavy and fine,
By the gathering-place of the sea-swallows
When the wind brings them over Tyne.
Blossom of broom will never make bread,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
Between her brows she is grown red,
That was full white in the fields by Tyne.
“O what is this thing ye have on,
Show me now, sweet daughter of mine?”
“O father, this is my little son
That I found hid in the sides of Tyne.
“O what will ye give my son to eat,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Fen-water and adder’s meat,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye get my son to wear,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“A weed and a web of nettle’s hair,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye take to line his bed,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Two black stones at the kirkwall’s head,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye give my son for land,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Three girl’s paces of red sand,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye give me for my son,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Six times to kiss his young mouth on,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“But what have ye done with the bearing-bread,
And what have ye made of the washing-wine?
Or where have ye made your bearing-bed,
To bear a son in the sides of Tyne?”
“The bearing-bread is soft and new,
There is no soil in the straining wine:
The bed was made between green and blue,
It stands full soft by the sides of Tyne.
“The fair grass was my bearing-bread,
The well-water my washing-wine;
The low leaves were my bearing-bed,
And that was best in the sides of Tyne.”
“O daughter, if ye have done this thing,
I wot the greater grief is mine;
This was a bitter child-bearing,
When ye were got by the sides of Tyne.
“About the time of sea-swallows
That fly full thick by six and nine,
Ye’ll have my body out of the house,
To bury me by the sides of Tyne.
“Set nine stones by the wall for twain,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
For the bed I take will measure ten,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.
“Tread twelve girl’s paces out for three,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
For the pit I made has taken me,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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My Heart
The gods falls victim to
you smiles, with you i
will build a world full of
love. You name is glue
to my lips so am bless,
my life is a garden full
of flowers but you are
a lily among them all '
that is why i have my
heart set on you because
you enrich my soul. My
lips are yours, You are
my heart and the only cute
apple on my apple tree...
poem by Enyinwa Okechukwu Enyinwa
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Apple
red shiny apple
in your
throat, do you still breathe inside your heart?
red shiny apple
between my legs these friends of my thighs
i am a tree and you are that woman
craving for the red shiny apple
in my garden
i do not claim innocence for my wanton actions
before the snake and
my God
i will say i will always love you
bend over me woman and i will lay open my mouth
fill it with your tongue
pour in the drops of apple juice
to my cracking lips
water my garden and fill it with flowers from your hair
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ruby Red Rose
To touch your lips,
ruby red rose
is to touch the petals
of a rose that grows
soft with moisture,
dewy and wet.
They're touched by your tongue,
withdrawn and yet
they glisten and shine.
And what I see
are kisses saved
just for me.
They sometimes smile
and beckon me.
I savor the feel
they give and see
that no other lips
could be as fine.
No other lips
like ruby red wine
could ever compare
as they open and close
to anything else
but a ruby red rose.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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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
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rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
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rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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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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Pick me
Oh my goodness gracious me!
I am an apple on a tree
I'm ripe and red and swinging free
all on a sunny Sunday.
Here I am just right for pickin'
and there you are all far away
dreaming of a fair young maiden
while I dangle and I sway.
Don't you hear me swaying gently?
Don't you smell my fine perfume?
Dare I call you, beg you pick me,
all on a sunny day in June.
Daffodils and honey suckle
Birdies singin' in the trees
I am but a little apple,
pretty apple in a tree.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Many a rose-cheeked apple is rotten at the core.
The Lily Has A Smooth Stalk
The lily has a smooth stalk,
Will never hurt your hand;
But the rose upon her briar
Is lady of the land.
There's sweetness in an apple tree,
And profit in the corn;
But lady of all beauty
Is a rose upon a thorn.
When with moss and honey
She tips her bending briar,
And half unfolds her glowing heart,
She sets the world on fire.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Apple-Blossom
Blossom of the apple trees!
Mossy trunks all gnarled and hoary,
Grey boughs tipped with rose-veined glory,
Clustered petals soft as fleece
Garlanding old apple trees!
How you gleam at break of day!
When the coy sun, glancing rarely,
Pouts and sparkles in the pearly
Pendulous dewdrops, twinkling gay
On each dancing leaf and spray.
Through your latticed boughs on high,
Framed in rosy wreaths, one catches
Brief kaleidoscopic snatches
Of deep lapis-lazuli
In the April-coloured sky.
When the sundown's dying brand
Leaves your beauty to the tender
Magic spells of moonlight splendour,
Glimmering clouds of bloom you stand,
Turning earth to fairyland.
Cease, wild winds, O, cease to blow!
Apple-blossom, fluttering, flying,
Palely on the green turf lying,
Vanishing like winter snow;
Swift as joy to come and go.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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The Little Native Rose
There is a lasting little flower,
That everybody knows,
Yet none has thought to think about
The little Native Rose.
The wattle and the waratah—
The world has heard of those;
But who, outside Australia, kens
The little Native Rose.
Yet first for faint, far off perfume,
That lives where memory goes;
And first of all for fadelessness—
The little Native Rose.
poem by Henry Lawson
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