Eleanor
She’s in the garden before light, because of her heart I suppose,
she strokes and stares at the petals of the deepest crimson rose.
Her slender right-hand’s delicate fingers grasp the stem so tight,
as blood drips through her fingers onto her clothes of the night.
No signs of pain show on her face as the thorns pierce her skin,
but tears roll down her cheeks, as she suffers a greater pain within.
Her once only love has gone because he has found someone new,
now she has only memories and a heart that’s been torn in two.
poem by Orlando Belo
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I Carry a Single Rose
I carry a single red Rose
In my tightening hold
For Love is what it propose
At least it’s what I’m told.
It’s fragrance of beauty
Overtakes me with its great power
The air all around me
When I hold a single flower
I grasp the Red Rose ever more tight
Drip, drip red petals fall into the night.
This Rose, a lovely delight
Has already consumed my sense of smell
Now it has stolen my sight
In this symbol of love I dwell
The ruby red petals fill my eyes
Captures the thoughts in my mind
Now I am completely hypnotized
Now I am completely blind.
I grasp the Red Rose ever more tight
Drip, drip red petals fall into the night.
It dazzles me, until it is all I can see
It’s touch so gentle against my cheek
Trapped me inside this beautiful make believe
For my heart, Love it will always seek
The leaves run through my finger tip
As they map a stem so strong and tall
A stem that fit so nicely inside my grip
Its lushes strength adds beauty to it all
I grasp the Red Rose ever more tight
Drip, drip red petals fall into the night.
I hold on for dear life
As my body sets off painful alarms
And now I’m stuck in this strife
Of letting go and hanging on
It’s so perfect, inside my hold
But I can feel the world around me
I can feel it growing cold
Now I am leaving this make believe
I grasp the Red Rose ever more tight
Drip, drip red petals fall into the night.
In a moment of true disgust
I slowly loosen my grasp
And I take away my trust
And wait for my world to collapse
But Pain races through my bones
So I clench a Rose inside my fist
And I realize I am alone
Lost inside this confusing mist
I grasp the Red Rose ever more tight
Drip, drip red petals fall into the night.
And I finally swiftly let go
The Rose falls to the bloody ground
No longer shall my blood flow
No longer shall I be bound
And of this single Red Rose
Petals of Love blinded me to my Pain
Being neither friend nor foe
I wash the blood with tears like rain.
I leave the Rose with all my might
Run, run into the black cold night.
In These Poems That We Write
these are the wounds of the heart
let your fingers pierce that part
blood drips from a wounded heart
pain gleaming against the light
time has not healed the wounds
you can hear the screaming sounds
these are the wounds of my heart
we are not many miles apart
we share the wounds of the heart
in these poems that we draft
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love Draws Blood (French to English)
Les pétales de rose à la lueur à minuit
Protection d'un cœur du monde
Enregistrement d'un roman de ceux qui souhaitent un préjudice
Protéger un garçon pour une fille
Elle vient et cueille la tige
Voler le cœur des garçons
Dans le même temps à japper la douleur épines
Les casser en dehors
Les épines, souillé du sang des filles
Crimson sur la tige et épines
Laissant la malédiction garçon lui-même
Et la jeune fille blessée et déchirée
Il n'avait pas voulu la blesser si
Je ne voulais pas de déchirer sa peau
Il avait voulu tenir sa serré
Mais maintenant, il ne peux pas la laisser dans
Par crainte de briser le coeur des filles pauvres
Comme avait déchiré ses propres
Déchiré la tranquillité d'esprit
Regardant avec ton triste
(English)
The rose petals the gleam at midnight
Protecting a heart from the world
Saving a romance from those wishing harm
Protecting a boy for a girl
She comes and plucks the stem
Stealing the boys heart
At the same time yelping at the thorns pain
Breaking them apart
The thorns, stained with the girls blood
Crimson on stem and thorn
Leaving the boy cursing himself
And the girl hurt and torn
He had not meant to wound her so
Didn’t mean to rip her skin
He had wanted to hold her tight
But now he cant let her in
For fear of breaking the poor girls heart
Like had torn his own
Torn asunder the peace of mind
Looking at her with sad tone
poem by Allison Pardieck
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The Guardian and BloodRose
BloodRose,
Rose of my love,
My love for Dark moon,
Dark as my heart,
Black as my soul,
And gave me my rose.
The rose of blood,
With petals soft and black,
Never as a rose so beautiful,
Grown not in light,
But under a dark moon lit sky.
Guardian,
Yes a guardian of BloodRose,
With teeth long and sharp,
Claws hard as diamonds,
Scales as dark as night.
My dear sweet guardian,
Guardian black as my heart,
Fire in your eyes,
Shadows in your soul,
A dragon of the dark moon.
A single rose,
With petals so fare,
As dark as my heart,
I now hold in my hand,
The rose of blood.
You are my darkness,
Fear of this love,
This love for you,
Love for darkness,
The cold shadows in my heart
That makes me yearn for you.
Now as you lay dying,
I hold a single rose,
The rose you gave me,
And as I hold it tight,
The thorns slice my hand,
Covered with blood,
My blood.
I have one fear,
The fear of death,
Symbol of my lost love,
Rose as dark as me,
Laying in a pool of blood,
Blood from me.
As I lay dying,
I remember my name,
BloodRose,
I am the rose of blood,
And I died of my own creation.
A creation of perfect beauty,
Petals dark black,
Thorns like small daggers,
Grown from my love,
My love for a dragon,
A dragon as dark as my heart.
Even in my death,
I think of you,
And the rose you gave me,
The rose that killed me,
The Rose of Blood.
poem by Nicolette Gonzalez
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Nature's Rose
As the vast nature
blinds the eye by its beauty
the trees grow taller
the grasses grow greener
The animals grow more peaceful in their natural habitat
But none grow as beautiful as the red rose
As the red rose grows day by day
I walk by it desiring to pick it
Sitting and waiting for the petals to grow more mature
To grow and show off the beauty of the rose
Years go by and the rose is almost grown
This special rose is different from the rest.
Others grow, beautify, and die
While this one grows year after year
The blood of the rose is pure
as it flows up and through the beautiful flower
But the rose has not completed its growth
I run my hand down the body of the beautiful flower
Shedding my blood from the sharp thorns
I grasp the flower and thrust it from the ground
As my blood drips, the blood of the flowers does so too
The red of both mix and mature and fall to the ground dropp after drop
The smell of the flower overtakes the pain
This is Nature's Rose
Love Blood Tear Heart
LOVE
I love you
I believe you
you made my heart beat
I can't believe it
I'm in love
when I see you
my face turns red
my voice shakes
what can i do?
BLOOD
I can't believe
all was false
you wasn't the truth
I'm heartbroken
my heart is bloody now
somebody help me
let my heart stop
that still beat for him
blood blood
my heart is bleeding
TEAR
what is this warm thing
that flows on my face
Is it the blood?
that overflowed from my heart?
It is tear
no, it is just a salty water]
I can't be crying
I tear my heart
so that it won't beat anymore
It hurts...
not the pain that heart is torn
but the pain i'm betrayed by you
the pain we can't love anymore
HEART
my heart will never beat
my heart will stay cold
and nobody will find me
don't expect me to love you again
I'm not fool anymore
my heart has stopped
my heart has torn
In future i will be able to say to you
'you're just somebody, i forgot you'
LOVE
BLOOD-
TEAR
HEART
I Am A Rose In Your Garden
A sun ray tickled to my face this morning,
Waking me up from sleep,
I straighten up my stalk and look toward the sun,
And shake off the fresh dew out from my face,
So i can take deep breath and have a new beginning.
But suddenly i'm seeing my reflection in dew drops around
And i am so amazed
'Who am i? ', i asked to myself
I am a rose, with velvet petals,
I am so delicate, perfumed and red
All other roses start looking at me
'Who are you really', they asking me
'You are so beautiful, what you are doing here
Among all these thorns and weeds?
Here, you dont belong '
I am so confused
Why i'm here?
Why i'm alone?
Who's taking care of me?
And suddenly you show up,
You are so handsome and looking at me with love,
I am looking at you and melting in your eyes
Your face is moving slowly down to me,
And look to me so deeply.
Drops of your tears is falling on my petals
Seeing me, you are so happy
So do i, feeling your love
You made my heart beat faster, stronger
Even i dont need water
I am feeding with your love.
Dont leave me, stay with me,
I need your love to live,
Protect me, nurture me with your lovely words.
Enjoy my perfumed petals
And reward me with a smile
Do not forget me ever,
I am a rose in your garden.
poem by Cristina Teodor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Death of the soul
The tears keep flowing,
the blood won't stem.
my open heart glows,
like a blood red gem.
Those words still hurt,
those thoughts still pain.
you hurt me even though you knew
you had nothing to gain.
Like a glinting black blade,
covered in crimson red blood.
Your mind is corrupted,
like a withering rose bud.
The Rose With Thorns
The rose with thorns
Beautiful passion red rose
But dangerous with thorns
Picked off the garden
By a bard on
Realize he was bleeding
Thought roughly about his feelings
About why the rose had thorns
Never again would he pick up the red rose with thorns
The rose only brought him pain
Thoe he did not go insane
By wanting to stomp on it
But he just forfeit on it
He just let the rose there on the ground
And the rose was hoping it would be found
So the bard on
Left the garden
Checked his finger with the thorn pulled it out
finger was bleeding and never looked back at the rose with the thorns
poem by Jose antonio Torres galeana
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Garden Lady
Her fingers long and slender
As to the rest of her
Wonder how such frailty could, labor
Seen with dirt under nails
Her drive is a better world
She has gone further
Than just a frail young woman
Her fingers long and slender
With the smell of future flowers
Soon will give you much to see
Exceeding your garden needs
The plants she sows
They are hardy
They will grow
Through heat
Through neglect
She will give you what you expect
And tell you not to neglect
Keeping them alive is nothing new
Seedlings comming through
In a secret garden
Away from the cruel....
She holds a thornless rose
Timeless and fragile
Pretty and pink
With other pastel inks
The blossoming is forever
In her heart
A model for all to know
For no other could grow
Another season begins
Life lush and green
That is her nature
Fingers long and slender
poem by Howard Johnson
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Pain Pain by cedrick dennis
Pain Pain over here pain over there Pain in my heart pain in my soul Pain in my mind Pain in my skin pain in my bones Pain being caused left and right Pain being caused till the heart bleeds red Pain being caused till the skin and bone rip Pain being caused till you break into tears Pain at school Pain at home Pain in my head, pain in my heart Pain in my mind, pain in my soul Pain happening in my sleep Pain happening in my thoughts Pain happening when I’m alone Pain happening in the shower, in my room, in my bed, in my house where I’m all alone Pain happening every hour, every minute, every second of my life Pain caused by anger and hate Pain caused by hurt Pain caused by greed Pain caused by sorrow and depression Pain caused by grief and confusion Pain caused by your family and friends Pain caused by the world Pain caused by people you love Pain driving me crazy Causing me to take pills till it fills up my veins I go to sleep never to wake up and see that light The light that will end my pain for good
poem by Cedrick Dennis
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The Rose
This immortal rose that lovers seek
will be glimpsed by all in youthful peak
for her presence will be on every corner.
And those who confuse that heady perfume
with a lust for love,
will only find winter in an unknown heart
for beauty was always a fragile thing.
We who have seen this gift from above
will always get burned by its light.
The poet and the painter
have perfumed our existence
with loves testimony to this.
The pain and tears fall on empty shield
for love will break your heart
but when we reach out to hold the rose
picked from these fields of hope,
a moment in life unfurls,
love will kiss your soul
and the world belongs to you.
Fleeting are the petals of time
the rose is a symbol to love.
For others it is the pain of life,
to find and lose this immortal gift
leaves a desert where life cannot breathe.
The laughter replaced by silence
the smile that is kept in darkness,
the kiss exiled to the memory.
Love is lost in the deepest pit
of your despair,
the thorns will bleed your soul red
but she can never die.
Love will always leave a spark
that will lead you to redemption
and only death can take this from you.
The rose was never yours to pick
but its creation yours to admire
for your being was made for this.
And as our mortal bodies die
the spirit will seek the rose once more
for in death its petals fall too
blessing the ground of your resting place.
The rose was always yours
and its beauty a source of life
the chains of doubt will always
break in its presence.
The rose is pure
as is your faith in mankind.
It can show you a deeper meaning
for you are the petals of life
she is the perfume of your existence
and it is you that made her life complete.
poem by Steven Cooke
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The Quintessence Of The Flowers
Pensively, come to where the garden is
With your feet sprinting through the brambly sophistication.
Pry - you never did, and you never will - for
The peculiarity of the flowers rouse the tides of your scruple;
The petals are tethered to the body so slender - modest
In a starburst as the malingering shrill of the flower is the
Catalyst of the somersaulting noon-time delight,
Caught by the fancy of this inveigle, the farce has been played out,
Dear agile lover - you dare not pluck this flower for you tremble
In the nullity of its feigned void - there is an augury to be found
In a flower: prolix, sapid and perennial like how the trees
Have witnessed the scowling of the heavens as the mire
Satiates each of the heaven's parcel!
You ask me incessantly now, that you have come to the
Acquaintance of the petals - these wondrous parasols,
The cantankerous thorns cloaking the flower's flagrant body;
These are no more than wry and insidious invitations:
A challenge to the eagerness of your heart to pluck the flower
Out of its perturbed garden as the beasts of the night trample a trifle morose
Anguish all over the tapestry.
Its roots need not an explanation dear love, just open your callow eyes
And there you will see that the petals, the thorns, the curtailed stem,
And the perfunctory silence of the roots are one and the same.
This flower at the cynosure of the garden is a vivid reflection of you,
Conjured, and that is the meaning of the flower:
That forever you are girdled though your thorns
May perforate my entirety, my hands - let it bleed
And that is the meaning of the flower,
That even if the petals - your petals whittle away
I will still hold your reminiscences like that of a multihued petal
Fluttering away into the sea where I look for you.
And your slender body that I will cradle as we sieve
Through everything and anything that will impede
Our inexorable swiftness.
I am the garden, and you are the flower, ceaselessly
I will girdle you until the vale abates into nothingness.
poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
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The Rose
In my hand I held the rose
As I would a woman dear,
Within my fingers I held it tight
As I wished it would not disappear.
From the touch, sight and beauty that I knew,
When the kiss of beauty, once had blew.
I held the rose as I would a love
As I had held in memory and thought,
And then the rose I could not let go
For the same as a lover, she became my soul.
The stem became the body and the petals became the skin,
Then I held her lightly, within the wind.
The rose held me, as I had held her
The two of us had become one
Then the act of God had prevailed that day
For he commanded the wind to take the rose away.
And towards the heavens She had flew,
As though to join the love that I once had knew.
In my hand there laid a thorn
Though to remind me of the sting of death,
So upon the Earth, I then laid the thorn
So love of life could again be reborn.
I buried the thorn as you would a dream,
Knowing never again, will it be seen.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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About Rose
What to write about rose?
Many questions they pose
About thorns and other things around
Answers not satisfactorily found
Things go on and I spend the time
I find the answers sometimes
Yet it is occupied with ifs and buts
I will have to go straight and prefer no short cuts
Rose may be beautiful and attractive
Pleasing to eyes and very selective
Yet it has something to worry
See people in tears to feel sorry
Unknowingly they may try to pluck
Their fingers may be hurt and struck
The beautiful concept may disappear for a moment
The moment you extend hand and fingers carefully sent
“I can be seen form distance” that can only be message
It is delicate but lovely and beautiful stage
The rose may appeal but send request
Leave me where I am to serve only best
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Woman Dear
In my hand I held the rose
As I would a Woman dear,
Within my fingers I held it tight
As I wished it would not disappear.
From the beauty that I had knew
When the kiss of beauty, once did flew.
I held the rose as I would a love
As I had held in memory and thought,
Then the rose I could not let go
For the same as a lover, she became my soul.
The stem became a body and the petals became her skin.
Then I held her softly, within the wind.
The rose held me as I held her
The two of us had became one,
Then the act of GOD prevailed that day,
For he commanded the wind to take her away.
Then towards the heavens I saw her flew.
As though to join the love that I once had knew.
In my hand there laid a thorn,
Though to remind me of the sting of death,
So upon the Earth I then laid the thorn
So the love of life could again be reborn.
I buried the thorn as you would a dream.
Knowing never again, will it be seen.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Prick Of The Thorns
reality is not in the red petals
of the rose
decorated with six drops of dew
it is in the prick of the thorns
piercing your skin
letting out drops and drops of
blood
it is the pain in the mind
when the body starts to move out of focus
when the heart
begins to sing the old lines of the blues
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Rose Is, But A Rose
A Rose Is, But A Rose by Kenny Davis
A rose is, but a rose
Its illustrious petals has me drawn to her
With every one that blooms and blossoms I yearn for her
For with every one that drops and withers away I mourn for her
A rose is, but a rose
Holds such beauty like that of the Garden of Eden
Thanking god for the gift of this rose, I find myself pleading
Hoping that the beauty found in this rose is not misleading
A rose is, but a rose
With its true essence hidden under its thorns
Cherishing, treasuring, and loving it beyond its pain and scorn
Hoping that through all the love I show for her, that its spirit is reborn
A rose is, but a rose
Through the storms, finds the strength to continue to bloom
Where most would have been doomed to allow life’s rage to be consumed
Through my admiration of her creation send a sensation to have her faith in love renewed
A rose is, but a rose
Though there are many, none like her
Much like the fiery red of her petals, my love for her continues to burn
Blessing me with privilege caring for her, she allows me to shower my love for her in return
A rose is, but a rose
Gardening every inch of her nature overwhelmingly fills this void inside
I gained an everlasting love for life, when my world with hers collided
Much like a rose without water, without my rose, I would wither and die
© May 2011 k.davis
poem by Kenneth Davis
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The Nightingale and the Rose
The song, it echoed sweetly
This melody of purity so fine
To cause this bud to life
To cause this rose to form
The price to pay… the thorn
This precious price to pay with life
Pressed against the heart of purity
So pure this gentle heart
For in the name of love was formed
This rose so red, so rare
And with this blood so red
This sad song so sweet this night so long.
Until the thorn so sharp did pierce
This gentle feathered heart
And spilled the blood to form
This red rose, so rare.
And as her song of love grew faint
And as her life it spilled unto the rose
The dawn approached to quicken this endeavour
Lest this rose of love be less than perfect formed
As wilder grew her song so sweet of love
As bitter grew the pain as life it ebbed
So slowly born this death that does not die
So one heart grew the other passed away.
Borne on the wind this melody of song
This song so sweet to cause to life
This rose of blood, of love, of pain and tears
And yet so easily cast into a gutter.
poem by Mike Shanahan
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Red, Red Rose
Red, red rose, she blew her breath
Fingers, it’s stem she caressed
Then she closed her eyes and breathed the fragrance in
Tell me red, red rose, where does love end
She placed the rose, gently against her lips
She plucked a single petal, with finger tips
And as the wind caught and carried up high
Tell me red, red rose, can love it fly
Slowly one by one, each petal fell
Upon the last in her eye, a tear it swelled
And then she sighed as she asked to her self
Tell me red, red rose, is for love, is this what’s left
Red, red rose, red, red rose
You stand for love you should know
Should we hold on tight with all our might
Must one day we let go
Red, red rose, red, red rose
Your petals fly in the breeze
If I let go, red, red rose
What becomes of me.
Copyright 2006 Bill Simmons
aka BillWilliamStar
[email protected]
poem by Bill Simmons
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