This May Take Decades
To turn an inherited cesspool,
Into a prize winning Rose garden...
Is going to take a lot of time.
Especially when the users have spent...
Years of squatting to release their excrement.
And just when the scent of Roses,
Can be expected to bloom and be seen?
That depends on those willing to sacrifice...
The relinquishing of their rights,
For an upgrade of their decadent insights.
And for them who have become upset...
This may take decades,
To overhaul their medieval mindsets!
Patience and virtue has not been used...
To develop, protect or cover their assets.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Winter Sunset
Roses in the sky,
Roses in the sea
Bowers of scarlet sky-roses
Take my heart and me.
God was good to make,
This December weather,
All this sky a rose-garden,
Rose and fire together.
To the East are burning
Roses in a garden,
Roses in a rosy field,
Hesper for their warden.
Yonder to the West
Roses all afire,
Mirror now some rare splendid
Rose of their desire.
Pulsing deeper, deeper,
Waves of fire throb on,
Never were such red roses
At sunset or dawn.
Roses on the hills,
Roses in the hollow,
Roses on the wet hedges,
In the shining fallow.
West wind, blow and blow!
That has blown ajar
Gates of God's great rose-garden,
Where His Angels are,
Gathering up the rose-leaves
For a shower of roses
On the night the Lord Babe
His sweet eye uncloses.
All the sky is scarlet
Flaming on the azure.
O, there's fire in Heaven
My heart aches with pleasure.
Leagues of rose and scarlet,
Roses red as blood:
All the world's a rose-garden.
God is good, is good.
poem by Katharine Tynan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Roses For Rose
Roses for Rose in the garden of love,
But let the matter rest when you have no view;
For your relationship has landed on the rocks already.
Rose is my lover and i have a rose for her,
And like a bucket full of boiling beans;
But you may have a myriad of problems in the land of your muse.
My lover is so sweet like the rose,
So i always bring her roses to satisfy her muse;
But do not fix in your larger foot in the garden to destroy other things,
For i only do visit her at the right time when she always call me in!
And stop worrying about her because she is called Rose in the land of roses.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Roses
(melba montgomery, leslie satcher)
A soft summer evening, another time, another place
He brought her red roses on their very first date
She got carried away by the things that he said
Time would erase them but she would never forget
Chorus:
And the roses heard it all
The rose in her hair, the rose in her hand
The roses in the paper on the wall
Theres a story to tell if the roses could talk
Somewhere close to midnight, another time, another place
She lays in the darkness with tears on her face
While he talks in his sleep confessing his love
He calls out a name that shes never heard of
Repeat chorus
She never told him
She never let him see her cry
Only the roses know
What she kept down inside
The years took their toll and the angels took her away
Now theres family and friends at a cold winters grave
He kneels down and whispers. youre the only love that Ive known
As he lays a rose on a cold marble atone
But the roses heard it all
The rose from her garden, the rose in her bible
The roses in the paper on the wall
Theres a story to tell if roses could talk
What a story to tell if roses could talk~
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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His Old Dog
His old dog now in her long rest her lot will be ours one day
In her grave by the apple tree in his backyard her bones forever lay
She passed on a few years ago with sadness he recall
The clock of life keeps ticking on and time takes care of us all.
His old dog a black and white border collie to him was a true friend
Far more devoted than his ex wife she loved him till her end
He found her dead in her kennel from a heart attack over-night
Though twelve years old she had not shown signs that her end was in sight.
Although he always kept a dog in years and decades past
No canine now in his backyard his old bitch was the last
Dog for to bark in his back-yard he too feels the weight of time
It has been five decades or more since he was in his prime.
On the rose tree on the old dog's grave red roses are in bloom
And the Summer air scents sweetly of Nature's own perfume
And no more beautiful place to rest in peace than beside an
apple tree
In the backyard where you lived your life in your Hometown by the sea.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Renunciation
ROSE of the desert of my heart,
Moon of the night that is my soul,
Thou can'st not know how sweet thou art,
Nor what wild tides thy beams control.
For all thy heart a garden is,
Thy soul is like a dawn of May.
And garden and dawn might both be his,
Who from them both must turn away.
Oh, garden of the Spring's delight!
Oh, dewy dawn of perfect noon!
I will not pluck thy roses white
Or warm thy May-time into June.
I can but bless thee, moon and rose,
And journey far and very far
To where the night no moonbeam shows,
To where no happy roses are!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Rose Scent Danger Perfumes The Air
behold bloom of blood red roses sing
bud was tight intensity feeling growing
bloom was red petals wonder spreading
roses sweet full bloom entice mystic heaven scent smelling
fresh youthful complexion jasmine tears silk sheen waxing
sharp thorns do pierce blood prick conscience world relaxing
snow dusts rose bushes stripped bare in judgements pending
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Up All Night
Up all night,
Seeking to find that right approach...
That is not felt to encroach upon to undo,
The familiar scent of roses.
Or drastically impose a new point of view.
I know I am not amongst the few but many,
Wishing for a vision from a different plateau.
I can't be the only one,
Up all night inspired...
By insights with desires to reach as I bloom.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Old Man....
there is this garden that you tend
you put the seeds and they all sprout in time
time waters it
the changes take place
soon the flowers bloom and
you watch all these
with patience
there is this light feeling that comes
like butterfly wings
white against the dusk
there is nothing new in that garden
you are sick and takes the rest
you sit by the window
the same window all these 50 years
time is you boring attendant
independent from your grasp
it can exist without you
you sit and watch the world passing by
like a flower slowly unfolding
and you never notice it
you go out
you have recovered from a disease
you
take a walk
visit some friends
come back in the afternoon
you watch the view from the window
again
this you do perhaps for another 50 years
of your life
setting aside fears of not having to
step upon 60
life is short for those who have no one to love
it is the same field same mountain
bald and brown
same clouds
pale blue and drifting
same fog
fading like a magical show
same window
that you close again
because it is dark
and cold inside
your old wooden bed
that you have
inherited from your
forefathers
as usual
you take your sleep
time passes you by
the room is so silent
as though
it is the home for
the dead
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Sweet Perfume
A rose arose with rosy hue,
And made my torn heart, so sparkling new,
A rose arose as roses do,
And warmth for its guise within me grew.
A rose arose with beauty bright,
And gladdened my heart with such delight,
A rose arose as roses might,
And set out great charm before my sight.
A rose arose with summertime,
And imbued my heart with songs sublime,
A rose arose as roses climb,
And showed itself in all its prime.
A rose arose inside the room,
And lifted my heart so full of gloom,
A rose arose as roses bloom,
And fused the air with its sweet perfume.
poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No Matter What The Method Used
People refuse to pay what it takes,
To upgrade an aging and fading infrastructure.
But as soon as their lives become affected by reality,
They are the first to protest their own stubbornness...
With expectations someone answers their demands.
Prioritized with a giving to grant them immediate comfort.
Although time given like that has decades past.
And rushing to give it with patience had...
No one is giving it out like that,
No matter what the method used.
Or how one comes to ask.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hands Of Time
If I could turn back the hands of time,
I know now that I really would,
I would then go to that special time,
The time that I could of known you.
As I have prayed, that I only could.
I would go when the roses where in bloom,
And their fragrant scent was in the air,
Never for me would the time be to soon,
As then would I compare your beauty to theirs.
Roses would be jealous, at you I would stare.
If I could turn back the sands of time,
I would do it in the wink of an eye,
I would gladly give all, only to be with you,
Then never again would we have to cry.
And from our woes, we could forever hide.
I close my eyes and I paint me a picture,
As if I could turn back the hands of time,
Together we would be, just you and me,
And then watch of time I would never rewind.
We would then be one in our own special time.
If I could turn back the movements of time,
I would gladly, but sadly that can never be,
As time marches on, through the dusk and dawn,
Till the day our souls and bodies are free.
For time doesn't stop, for any one mans plead.
I stare at the calendar upon my wall,
I memorize the watch that's rests on my wrist,
I think now how time has already passed me by,
So then to myself and time, I make a special wish.
I close my eyes, I freeze time, then I blow you a kiss.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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A Rose Amidst the thorns
Roses in profusion
bloomed along our garden wall.
They were both red and yellow-
tea hybrids, I recall.
There were thorns too,
as I well knew,
standing guard among the blooms.
A careless creature soon would learn
to give the rose wide berth
An agony of thorns awaits
the careless of the earth.
Yet thorns permit the bees to come
and pollen to transpose.
and, if careful, they'll admit
my own scent seeking nose
I think thorns serve their purpose well
else roses would be trampled
The thorns are roses' guardians
and not inconsequential.
Without a thorn, the rose, forlorn,
is destined for the ashes.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Grasp Pluck A Flower
If my hand
were to reach out
grasp pluck a flower
to symbolize
a life concept,
what flower
would it be?
Be it possible
token taken
would achieve
immortality?
What value
the token?
What matter
the choice?
To be immortalized
dramatically in a play
the choice of a flower
scene in a churchyard!
Really, image an apocryphal
scene in the Temple Garden?
What flower do you choose?
With a life's struggle bursting
out from between the two lines,
English blood will slay English blood
in a series of deadly dynastic civil wars
fought in several, spasmodic battles
for a prize, for the throne of England.
How choose you? What say you now?
Be it the white rose? Be it the red rose?
Be ye for the White Rose of York?
Be ye for the Red Rose of Lancaster?
Your decision bore thirty years of war
for the pick of different coloured roses;
at the Temple Church, the banner of a
white boar, or red dragon to die under.
Was the choice of a rose of importance;
after the last battle was won? Henry VII
will combine the white and red roses; into
single red and white Tudor Rose; to found
the House of Tudor; to rule England and Wales;
for 117 years; to end these; Wars Of The Roses.
In beautiful images of nature,
framed also in cultural images,
so much may be achieved, in golden years,
saved, from wise lesson values of the past.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On Being Patient
Patient persons seldom lose;
Winning always seems their forte;
Time may not be on their side;
But in life, there’s no defeat!
Patience is a virtuous trait –
Key to success in all fields;
Though the odds are very great,
God is always on their side!
Patience makes a brave heart calm;
Tussles end in glorious ways;
Struggles seem simply trivial;
Battles end victoriously!
Patient men can earn a lot;
Patience gives an edge to all;
Patience turns the tide of things;
Patience brings expected ends.
Patience fountain rises high,
Baffling people’s minds and hearts;
Patience comes by sustained toil,
Bringing cheers to all who seek!
A patient soul unnerves foes;
None can take him for granted;
Life is rosy till the end;
Charm of patience grows always!
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Rose For You
Today I picked a rose for you,
It seemed the perfect thing to do.
To me the petals represent...
Unfolding years and time well-spent.
An emblem of our lives in bloom,
An ever-changing sweet perfume.
Each day to me is just as sweet,
Here with you on this quiet street.
That old bush has gotten so tall,
It's half way up the garden wall.
Wasn't too big when it was sown,
Hard to believe how much it's grown!
Joseph's Coat: What a colorful name,
Orange and Yellow with Crimson flame.
A truth so strong, a dream so pure...
In spite of thorns hope will endure!
Poetic? Yes, but I suppose,
That's what I like about a rose...
A symbol of what's rare and true,
Today I picked a rose for you.
poem by ToddMichael St. Pierre
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When The Roses Bloom Again
When the roses bloom again,
I know that spring is here.
When the roses bloom again,
love will fill the air;
hearts will start to flutter
like a small bird on the wing.
Voices from the rooftops
will once again begin to sing.
When the roses bloom again,
to my loving arms you will come.
I will feel the warmth and tenderness
of your loving embrace.
When the roses bloom again,
everything will be as it always was.
The perfumes of a new day
will fill my world with love,
and all this will happen
when the roses bloom again.
26 June 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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