Acrostic -- Eliza Hughes
E v'ry grace in her combine,
L ove and truth and friendship join,
I n one source without reserve,
Z ealous all her friends to serve,
A nd diffuse true harmony.
H appy nymph of chaste repose,
U nsullied as the vernal rose.
G ay -- majestic -- yet serene,
H andsome, with a graceful mien;
E v'ry charm in her appear,
S he is lovely, chaste and fair.
poem by Major Henry Livingston Jr.
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Here lies, not Rose the chaste, but Rose the fair! Her scents no more perfume, but taint the air.
in epitaph on Fair Rosamund
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Real Friendship Is
Friendship sails 'cross all kinds of seas-
The calm, the stirred, the galed...
Serene, difficult and outright stormy...
But true friendship-it never fails;
You come together open-hearted-
With profound respect and devotion-
Tied together with a common thread-
That can sustain any waves of the ocean;
The mark of true friendship stands...
Even when ones skies turn grey-
It is not just partial to sunny fair weather...!
Or absolute attendence come what may! ;
For oft' times we get side tracked...
From our own personal tragedies or worse...
Leaving us sometimes absent but never forgetting...
Our true friends in lifes most gifted verse;
For true friendship is not picky-!
It doesn't correct, fault find or critisize...!
It is a blessing as sure as Gods love-
A most cherished gift in our lives;
May 24,2010
Love And Friendship
By Emily Bronte
Love is like the wild rose briar
Friendship like the holly tree
The holly is dark when the rose briar blooms
But which will bloom most constantly?
The wild rose-briar is sweet in the Spring
Its Summer blossoms scent the air
Yet wait till Winter comes again
And who will call the wild briar fair?
Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now
And deck thee with the hollys sheen
That when December blights thy brow
He may still leave thy garland green.
poem by Theodora Onken
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I Have Reserved Time to Write This; Why?
I sat in the nature reserve
Watching the animals playing football
I was just a reserve
Not in the first eleven
I had a seat in the theatre reserved
I watched the play unfold
I not an actor I’m too reserved
I’m in the audience where I belong
I was called up by the army
Served before; but they wanted me to re-serve
I was playing tennis; the ball went wide
They made me re-serve
Reserve your energy
Reserve your nerve
Keep your humour in reserve
Keep your reserve in reserve
I reserve the right to say you asked me to write this
And I have kept the best in reserve
You will have to reserve an appointment
With a proper poet after you’ve read this
An anagram of reserve
Is reverse
I wish I could reverse time
Then I wouldn’t have wrote this
poem by Michael Micmac Mccrory
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Rose
A rose is but a woman
Chaste, fragrant, prominent
Its thorns its protecting weapon
In haste to retaliate, violate
Roseate blossom is innocent, redolent
Wafting in air chaste fragrance
Crushed by anyone malevolent
Thorns'll pierce him bleed by vehemence
poem by Indira Renganathan
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The depraved
The chaste, the depraved and the whore:
The chaste one suffers from the sacrifices
Of pleasure and hence demand respect.
The depraved one indulges in secret
And yet retain the social status.
The whores suffer scorns and contempt
And take vengeance on women.
Pity the whore, admire the chaste
And ignore the depraved.
30.03.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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On The Hoop
The hoop, the darling justly of the fair,
Of every generous swain deserves the care.
It is unmanly to desert the weak,
'Twould urge a stone, if possible, to speak;
To hear stanch hypocrites bawl out and cry,
'This hoop's a whorish garb, fie! ladies, fie!'
O cruel and audacious men, to blast
The fame of ladies more than vestals chaste;
Should you go search the globe throughout,
None will you find so pious and devout;
So modest, chaste, so handsome, and so fair,
As our dear Caledonian ladies are.
When awful beauty puts on all her charms,
Nought gives our sex such terrible alarms,
As when the hoop and tartan both combine
To make a virgin like a goddess shine.
Let quakers cut their clothes unto the quick,
And with severities themselves afflict;
But may the hoop adorn Edina's streets,
Till the south pole shall with the northern meet.
poem by James Thomson
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Believe positively
If one believes him good, which he is not,
He is to one only good.
If one believes it true, which it is not,
It is to one really true.
If one believes her chaste, which she is not,
She is to one surely chaste.
Believing which is not true is better
Than disbelieving which is likely true.
08.12.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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She only is chaste, who is chaste where there is no danger of detection: she who does not, because she may not, does.
The Attribute of Venus
Yes; Fulvia is like Venus fair,
Has all her bloom, and shape, and air;
But still, to perfect every grace,
She wants-the smile upon her face.
The crown majestic Juno wore;
And Cynthia's brow the crescent bore;
An helmet mark'd Minerva's mien;
But smiles distinguish'd Beauty's queen.
Her train was form'd of Smiles and Loves;
Her chariot drawn by gentlest doves;
And from her zone, the nymph may find
'Tis Beauty's province to be kind.
Then smile, my Fair! and all, whose aim
Aspires to paint the Cyprian dame,
Or bid her breathe in living stone,
Shall take their forms from you alone.
poem by William Shenstone
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Friendship is Love (Rondeau)
Friendship is love, without a doubt
that feeling you can't live without,
a shelter in the fiercest storm,
the blanket that will keep you warm,
some tears, some laughs, a song, a shout,
two friends who help each other out,
for trust is what friendship's about,
a friend will never do you harm,
Friendship is love.
If your new life's a total rout,
and when you feel that you're a lout
when you might lose your smile, your charm,
a friend will always lift your arm.
Good friends spread their true love throughout,
Friendship is love.
poem by Marius Alexandru (March 2022)
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Chaste Virgin
Present yourself to me like a chaste virgin,
And be lovely to the things that make you lovely;
But according to your ways and according to your doings,
For i have spoken and, it will come to pass!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Ode XI: On Love, To A Friend
I.
No, foolish youth—To virtuous fame
If now thy early hopes be vow'd,
If true ambition's nobler flame
Command thy footsteps from the croud,
Lean not to love's inchanting snare;
His songs, his words, his looks beware,
Nor join his votaries, the young and fair.
II.
By thought, by dangers, and by toils,
The wreath of just renown is worn;
Nor will ambition's awful spoils
The flowery pomp of ease adorn:
But love unbends the force of thought;
By love unmanly fears are taught;
And love's reward with gaudy sloth is bought.
III.
Yet thou hast read in tuneful lays,
And heard from many a zealous breast,
The pleasing tale of beauty's praise
In wisdom's lofty language dress'd;
Of beauty powerful to impart
Each finer sense, each comelier art,
And sooth and polish man's ungentle heart.
IV.
If then, from love's deceit secure,
Thus far alone thy wishes tend,
Go; see the white-wing'd evening hour
On Delia's vernal walk descend:
Go, while the golden light serene,
The grove, the lawn, the soften'd scene
Becomes the presence of the rural queen.
V.
Attend, while that harmonious tongue
Each bosom, each desire commands:
Apollo's lute by Hermes strung
And touch'd by chaste Minerva's hands,
Attend. I feel a force divine,
O Delia, win my thoughts to thine;
That half the color of thy life is mine.
VI.
Yet conscious of the dangerous charm,
Soon would i turn my steps away;
Nor oft provoke the lovely harm,
Nor lull my reason's watchful sway.
But thou, my friend—i hear thy sighs:
Alass, i read thy downcast eyes;
And thy tongue falters; and thy color flies.
VII.
So soon again to meet the fair?
So pensive all this absent hour?
—O yet, unlucky youth, beware,
While yet to think is in thy power.
In vain with friendship's flattering name
Thy passion veils its inward shame;
Friendship, the treacherous fuel of thy flame!
VIII.
Once, I remember, new to love,
And dreading his tyrannic chain,
I sought a gentle maid to prove
What peaceful joys in friendship reign:
Whence we forsooth might safely stand,
And pitying view the lovesick band,
And mock the winged boy's malicious hand.
IX.
Thus frequent pass'd the cloudless day,
To smiles and sweet discourse resign'd;
While i exulted to survey
One generous woman's real mind:
Till friendship soon my languid breast
Each night with unknown cares possess'd,
Dash'd my coy slumbers, or my dreams distress'd.
X.
Fool that i was—And now, even now
While thus i preach the Stoic strain,
Unless i shun Olympia's view,
An hour unsays it all again.
O friend!—when love directs her eyes
To pierce where every passion lies,
Where is the firm, the cautious, or the wise?
poem by Mark Akenside
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Rose & Lotus
what does the rose tell
the lotus when they meet?
lovely, i wish to be able
to spring up over the water
to catch nature's majestic
moment with a serene ballet pose
on a green green lush platform
what does the lotus tell
the rose when they meet?
lovely, every of your inch
exudes class, gracious
gratitude folded one over
the other i would bring you
to every of my friends to
show my warmest regards
to their care and concern
what is your greatest joy?
Rose asks in return
lotus says it is in the
heavens that bless her
with an immaculate shroud
so that she could stand tall
at every occasion especially
in the temple where she
is offered to the gods and goddesses
What about yours?
Rose says it is when a pair
of lovers keep her warm
between their bosom as they
hold on to each other to say 'I love You'
she says she could have
written each of those luscious
lustrious words on her every fold
Your regrets? Rose says it is
in the single thorn she has to
live with - being used like a
tool to show love and
never really loved
Yours? The Lotus laughs
and sighs - 'You know
it is in the nights when all
you have are frogs to
serenade you their love songs.'
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A Meditation For His Mistress
You are a Tulip seen to-day,
But, Dearest, of so short a stay,
That where you grew, scarce man can say.
You are a lovely July-flower;
Yet one rude wind, or ruffling shower,
Will force you hence, and in an hour.
You are a sparkling Rose i'th' bud,
Yet lost, ere that chaste flesh and blood
Can show where you or grew or stood.
You are a full-spread fair-set Vine,
And can with tendrils love entwine;
Yet dried, ere you distil your wine.
You are like Balm, enclosed well
In amber, or some crystal shell;
Yet lost ere you transfuse your smell.
You are a dainty Violet;
Yet wither'd, ere you can be set
Within the virgins coronet.
You are the Queen all flowers among;
But die you must, fair maid, ere long,
As he, the maker of this song.
poem by Robert Herrick
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The Lily And The Rose
The nymph must lose her female friend
If more admired than she, -
But where will fierce contention end
If flowers can disagree?
Within the garden's peaceful scene
Appeared two lovely foes,
Aspiring to the rank of queen,
The Lily and the Rose.
The Rose soon reddened into rage,
And swelling with disdain,
Appealed to many a poet's page
To prove her right to reign.
The Lily's height bespoke command,
A fair imperial flower,
She seemed designed for Flora's hand,
The sceptre of her power.
This civil bickering and debate
The goddess chanced to hear,
And flew to save, ere yet too late,
The pride of the parterre.
Yours is, she said, the nobler hue,
And yours the statelier mien,
And till a third surpasses you,
Let each be deemed a queen.
Thus soothed and reconciled, each seeks
The fairest British fair,
The seat of empire is her cheeks,
They reign united there.
poem by William Cowper
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Shyrene
Once upon my nocturne sorrow,
As I delineate the morrow,
Of a dream, flourishing in might,
To fizzle in the morning light,
Such when the waves swept me ocean,
Of glum, beneath skies, cerulean,
As my memory holds serene,
The fairest woodland nymph, Shyrene;
As queer apparition, wandered,
Seems my sanity, it squandered,
When gayly danced on my window,
A pallid dew and a rainbow,
Through the night, and half my bottle,
All my memories they scuttle,
Except one that I held serene,
That of my woodland nymph, Shyrene;
Here's that last dropp of oblivion,
In this outpouring of passion,
Towards sea of nepenthe borne,
Among vile flotsam, it's been thrown,
With enduring squall, still raging,
And the seething swell, rampaging,
Yet, in my memory serene,
Plays my fair woodland nymph, Shyrene.
poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
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To Eva
O Fair and stately maid, whose eye
Was kindled in the upper sky
At the same torch that lighted mine;
For so I must interpret still
Thy sweet dominion o'er my will,
A sympathy divine.
Ah! let me blameless gaze upon
Features that seem in heart my own,
Nor fear those watchful sentinels
Which charm the more their glance forbids,
Chaste glowing underneath their lids
With fire that draws while it repels.
Thine eyes still shined for me, though far
I lonely roved the land or sea,
As I behold yon evening star,
Which yet beholds not me.
This morn I climbed the misty hill,
And roamed the pastures through;
How danced thy form before my path,
Amidst the deep-eyed dew!
When the red bird spread his sable wing,
And showed his side of flame,
When the rose-bud ripened to the rose,
In both I read thy name.
poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson
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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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Pious and chaste.
I needed to steal but I didn’t;
No guts.
I desired to rape but I didn’t;
No nerves.
I wanted to revenge but I didn’t;
No valour.
I ended as a man pious
Like a woman who ends as chaste.
Being just and chaste for want of guts
07.10.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Friends Never Say Goodbye
Friends never say
goodbye...
But you and me
will never be the
same again.
Our friendship is
like a dying rose...
Every petal falls
off.
Every single rose petal
means something....
What you did to our
friendship is that
rose petal.
I’m sorry....but that
rose...is never going
to grow back....
And neither is our
friendship.
poem by Lisa Parks
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