An English Rose
I thought that you do not bear thorns
But it's sharper than other roses.
An immigrant butterfly's heart is delicate
And please do not hurt the visitor.
*To my poet friends Tai chi Italy, Denis, Duncan and Roy.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Heart Of Hearts
I'm in a frame of mind
You wouldn't wanna frame in your mind
See, in my mind
I love you and show you so
But in your mind my love for you has
withered more
The space in time makes you no longer
mine
This space in time takes my all, but
that's fine
Though far from me and all these thorns
If you stay one more day, you'll see the
roses born
Times like these have always been
The pain you bear I've always seen
On days like those I don't seem to be
your kin
Just know I bear my own sin
As the knives they prod your delicate
skin
May God be your life, your king
I will always love you but I am not God
I will sometimes hurt you 'cos I am not
God
But if someday, somehow you see past
the hurt
You will see a picture of you framed
in the hall of love
Known as my heart of hearts.
poem by Jenim Dibie
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Butterfly Wishes
Butterfly, flutterby
Come to me
Take me to Mexico
On your delicate wing.
Butterfly, flutterby
It is early fall
I want to escape from here
To you I call.
Butterfly, flutterby
Be with me tonight
I’ll be ready in a minute
Ready for take-off; ready for flight.
Butterfly, flutterby
How gorgeous your face
Yellow, black, stained-glass wings
I see your mysterious smile and dainty grace.
Butterfly, flutterby
I’m waiting; I’ll stay
Please don’t forget me
But look! Now you’re going, going, gone, away.
Butterfly, flutterby
How can this be?
You said good bye
Now what about me?
Butterfly, flutterby
You could have come to me
Could have taken me to Mexico
On your delicate wing.
Butterfly, flutterby
This is not the end
Return for me next year
I will be waiting and watching, again and again.
poem by Jennie Scheihing
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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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Small Station
I still remember the letter you sent to me
It told the words that I needed
I thought those promises will stay forever
I thought I finally found my one
But I can’t recognize you now
Do you still the same guy who whispers me love
And you still the same one who kisses goodbye
Or it’s only the world that changes so fast
Left me with naive dream when it’s actually over
I have hurt once when you came to my life
You gave me the sun when I thought it was rain
I thought my wound has been closed
I thought at last I finally got the right way
But I was fooled again
Could it be the same guy who gives me roses
And it the same guy who throws those thorns
Or it’s only the world I hardly realize
That feeling is the ghost that coldly disappear
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Yellow Butterfly.
Gently flapping it's thin wings,
A butterfly lands upon my fingers,
And upon a soft breeze it leaves,
Yet it's delicate presence lingers.
Sunny yellow rimmed it's wings.
With dark daffodil yellow rings,
Pure coal black traced it's veins,
It's image - in my mind - remains.
Such a soft and delicate brush,
Of a butterflies wings, so plush,
The softest touch of it's tiny legs,
Lifted my spirits - well, the dregs.
That butterfly, that passed me by,
The messenger between land and sky,
Has stayed lodged in my mind,
I'll never meet another of it's kind,
A single butterfly, while I was alone,
Came to me and my world was thrown,
But I'll never forget that yellow butterfly,
That left me when I let out a soft sigh,
A soft sigh that came from me,
Swept my butterfly, set it free,
This is my butterfly that I'll remember,
My butterfly from last September.
poem by Rayne Goddard
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Crowned
You came to me bearing bright roses,
Red like the wine of your heart;
You twisted them into a garland
To set me aside from the mart.
Red roses to crown me your lover,
And I walked aureoled and apart.
Enslaved and encircled, I bore it,
Proud token of my gift to you.
The petals waned paler, and shriveled,
the thorns started through.
er thorns to proclaim me your lover,
A diadem woven with rue.
poem by Amy Lowell
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Butterfly...
Butterfly...my all..my own, Butterfly
My butterfly, I remember the
day we met. You bumped into me.
Well, sort of floated, from no where,
and from that moment, I recall what
I said, 'Well, my little butterfly,
where did you come from.?
Butterfly, you laughed, and responded,
'I picked you out, and just floated down,
and landed on your shoulder.
Butterfly, there are many that think
that a Butterfly, can't laugh, but you did.
They think that a Butterfly, does not cry,
but you have.
Can a Butterfly be happy, cause happiness?
Butterfly, of mine...you did.
Can a Butterfly, caused one to nearly burst
with joy? Butterfly, you did and you have.
Butterfly, there is not a moment, since I
met you, that I can not recall.
Some might wonder what a butterfly, drinks.
Butterfly, shall we let them know, we became
intoxicated, as we sipped the nectar of life.
As my butterfly and I floated through the
wonders of earth, I wish we could share the
joy we found, with all of this planet.
Butterfly, shall we always be together?
Butterfly, I do not mean, just here on
earth, I mean until the stars stop shinning.
Butterfly, I mean, until there is no moon...
no anything, but my Butterfly and I.
Butterfly...I think that we will. Butterfly,
I believe that we were meant to be.
Some people are always grumbling because roses have thorns. I am thankful that thorns have roses.
quote by Alphonse Karr
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Some people are always grumbling because roses have thorns; I am thankful that thorns have roses.
quote by Alphonse Karr
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One who would pick the roses must bear with the thorns.
An Immigrant Here!
i am an immigrant here,
i claim no nation,
choose no side...
but this earth is my home,
formed from it's dirt,
it's bottomless oceans...
my friends are trees,
mountains, and rivers...
the long grasses my beard,
the great plains my soul.
i am the birthing of spring,
the death of the snow...
i am an immigrant here,
many colors, all human.
i am the hunted, and the hunter,
i am the pounding of waves
held in the tiniest shell.
i am wind, fire, and darkness...
i am an immigrant here,
i am the plow of the man,
the valley of the woman.
i am the roar of the cities,
the hush of the forests...
i am the water spilling o'er the dam!
i am an immigrant here,
illegal only to those who fear!
the river i crossed,
i will cross again!
my only map the lines
in an old man's hands!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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On Wing and Wind...
My butterfly, I remember the
day we met. You bumped into me.
Well, sort of floated, from no where,
and from that moment, I recall what
I said, 'Well, my little butterfly,
where did you come from.?
Butterfly, you laughed, and responded,
'I picked you out, and just floated down,
and landed on your shoulder.
Butterfly, there are many that think
that a Butterfly, can't laugh, but you did.
They think that a Butterfly, does not cry,
but you have.
Can a Butterfly be happy, cause happiness?
Butterfly, of mine...you did.
Can a Butterfly, caused one to nearly burst
with joy? Butterfly, you did and you have.
Butterfly, there is not a moment, since I
met you, that I can not recall.
Some might wonder what a butterfly, drinks.
Butterfly, shall we let them know, we became
intoxicated, as we sipped the nectar of life.
As my butterfly and I floated through the
wonders of earth, I wish we could share the
joy we found, with all of this planet.
Butterfly, shall we always be together?
Butterfly, I do not mean, just here on
earth, I mean until the stars stop shinning.
Butterfly, I mean, until there is no moon...
no anything, but my Butterfly and I.
Butterfly...I think that we will. Butterfly,
I believe that we were meant to be.
Butterfly, Butterfly
butterfly, butterfly
fly in the sky
butterfly, butterfly
flies so high
butterfly, butterfly
lands on my thigh
butterfly, butterfly
motionlessly lies
butterfly, butterfly
gracefully dies
poem by Adryan Bates
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A rose I am no more
If roses are the colors pink, red, yellow & white,
What happens if my rose is the color of black.
If all roses have their thorns,
What happens if my rose has lost its thorns.
If a rose that has no color & no thorns is no longer a rose,
Then a rose of color & thorns I am no more.
A rose I am no more, A rose I am no more.
poem by Beating Tree
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You can complain because roses have thorns, or you can rejoice because thorns have roses.
Tom Wilson in Ziggy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Some people get angry because God put thorns on roses, while others praise him for putting roses among thorns.
Octobrrr!
Dear friends, it's been getting colder,
We're further from the Sun...
I feel pain that's in each shoulder,
We all know that's no fun!
We're reaching for more clothes to wear
With thermal thickness, too,
So that we've got a chance to bear
The winds that go right through...
The weather changes day-by-day,
But darkness creeps each night,
We'll change the clocks along the way,
As if that makes things right...
With scarves and gloves, we'll battle on!
Face coughs and sneezes yet
They take so long before they're gone
And fill us with regret...
While some enthuse that Autumn's here,
Most dread how seasons change,
For many hold the Summer dear
And think that Autumn's strange...
But Winter's coming, ice and snow,
With Christmas once again...
Thus hope still lives, for this we know,
Each year since way back when...
Drive carefully and stay alert,
Look out for one and all,
Yes, do your best so none gets hurt,
No matter, great or small...
Octobrrr's just the solemn start,
First steps till each year ends,
So now's the time, be bold, take heart,
Fight on with faith, dear friends...
Denis Martindale, copyright, Octobrrr 2012.
poem by Denis Martindale
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If you are among the roses, your friends will look for you among the thorns.
Roses in the Valley
roses roses in the valley below
peaking up from the dead ground we know
one lil angle stands there crying
but not a single rose is dying
she tries to take flight with thorns in her wings
white is turning to deep deep red
red just like the roses she looks down upon
with thorns made red, and tears rolling down
the angel is dying with every tear that falls
the roses with petals of silk
shall catch the angel who's wings are no longer white as milk
now she lays down to stay
in a valley of roses that will live everyday
i am the angel
the angel that can no longer fly away
my dreams live on
like the roses, each and every day
poem by Sally Minns
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Daisies Pushing Up Roses
“I’m pushing up daisies, but I wish they were roses.”
I am a doormat, and everyone knows it.
The pain I’ve felt through the years.
The pain I’ve dealt with has caused me fear.
How could someone hurt someone else on purpose?
Then leave them aside feeling worthless.
They leave lasting scares on your heart.
The words that hurt make you feel like your falling apart.
You’re taking life away from an innocent child.
What did you do grow up in the wild?
All the words, all the pain, make me want to walk in the rain.
The tears I’ve cried.
The times I wished that I had died are all now going to be put aside.
I’m pushing up daisies, but that’s okay.
The sun will come up soon.
There will be a new day.
Roses have thorns that may prick you, and its pretty appearance could trick you.
So be a daisy, flow in the breeze.
So I’ll go through life being the only me.
poem by RosaLee Marybeth
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