Perfect rose shivers
Fears being picked at dawn
And fade in a vase
quote by by Oskar Hansen

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The Purple Rose Of Cairo
The purple rose of Cairo is in my vase
Blooming away
I am enjoying this rose
The purple rose of Cairo
I know it won’t last long
But that is the perfect gift you gave me
It brightens up my dining room table
Thanks once again for giving me the
Purple rose of Cairo
A rose is so beautiful
It is one of God’s creations
Nobody can make a rose bloom so beautiful than God can
poem by Aldo Kraas

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The Wait
It seemed
like years
before
I picked
a bouquet
of kisses
off her mouth
and put them
into a dawn-colored vase
in
my
heart.
But
the wait
was worth it.
Because
I
was
in love.
poem by Richard Brautigan

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A Perfect Rose
A Perfect Rose
So deep and pure, the one I chose
From this earthly garden. a perfect rose,
Fragile, yet it only bends,
In times of rain are days of winds.
Close to my heart, this rose I hold,
Its' beauty to me like solid gold,
A perfect rose that means so much,
That I am thrilled by a single touch.
A perfect rose it has been said,
Is the symbol of love, a long stem red,
No others can or will compete
For my perfect rose so soft and sweet.
My love for the rose, a beauty still,
Has not faded and never will,
This rose I hold, the one I chose,
My loving wife, a perfect rose.
Richard Netherland Cook
poem by Richard Netherland Cook

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The Only Perfect Rose
one perfect rose, the very best
everyone chooses the one's outside, afraid of all the rest
one perfect rose, full in bloom
that many people never know its doom
one perfect rose, the only one left
died alone a painful death, forgotten and cast aside by all the rest
know you will never know what that one perfect rose missed
poem by Margaret Atkinson

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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

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Like A Validated Rose
I feel emboldened when I'm touched.
Like a validated rose.
And even though my thorns may prick,
Always there comes along someone...
Attracted to my scent.
More radiant I feel I should show myself.
But I do my best not to overdo it.
I want to be sniffed in the air to be whiffed,
Not picked and clipped to be placed in a vase...
Until my essence just fades away.
I don't want it to be known,
I am not without limitations.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

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One Perfect Rose
A single flow'r he sent me, since we met.
All tenderly his messenger he chose;
Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet -
One perfect rose.
I knew the language of the floweret;
'My fragile leaves,' it said, 'his heart enclose.'
Love long has taken for his amulet
One perfect rose.
Why is it no one ever sent me yet
One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
Ah no, it's always just my luck to get
One perfect rose.
poem by Dorothy Parker

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A Rose Will Fade
You were always a dreamer, Rose - red Rose,
As you swung on your perfumed spray,
Swinging, and all the world was true,
Swaying, what did it trouble you?
A rose will fade in a day.
Why did you smile to his face, red Rose,
As he whistled across your way?
And all the world went mad for you,
All the world it knelt to woo.
A rose will bloom in a day.
I gather your petals, Rose - red Rose,
The petals he threw away.
And all the world derided you;
Ah! the world, how well it knew
A rose will fade in a day!
poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter

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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
rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
poem by Mark R Slaughter

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Sorry I Am Not Perfect
I'm sorry for lying
I'm sorry for trying
I'm sorry for crying
I'm sorry for dying
I'm sorry Mom
I'm sorry Dad
I'm sorry for being bad.
I'm sorry not being a good lad.
I'm sorry for disobeying
I'm sorry for being dishonest
I'm sorry for being so churlish
Although I never said sorry
This is one way for being so naughty.
I may not be the perfect daughter.
I may not be the perfect sister.
I may not be even a perfect friend.
But I am not a perfect women.
My body isn't perfect.
My speech isn't perfect..
My work isn't perfect...
Why aren't I perfect?
poem by Monica Rose

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Ice Dreams
Glacial chards of cosmic ice
They wander in from space
The person that I once was
Has vanished without a trace
Nothing left behind this trance
No form will soon replace.
A life once lived in joy and prayer
A love so near and dear.
We only find a vestige of
The loneliness and fears.
In that day when nightfall ends
And dreams they fade away
We find ourselves in perfect peace
As the dawn of Life appears.
poem by Lynne FincherSpringarden

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400 ~ Bloom
Just begins to bud,
a rose,
holding hopes and fears
behind
black-red, velvet-soft petals.
Startled by a bright, new world,
it opens,
revealing petals of humility.
Blushing, growing,
opening as it becomes
accustomed
to beauty in light.
Proud color spreads wide across,
full bloom,
not as dark as at first,
glowing
from light that has filled it.
This rose can never die.
As love,
It can lose color, wilt, fade,
but in the mind,
the rose
will forever be in bright, full bloom.
This rose stands a symbol,
to time.
What has occurred to arrive at
now?
All the bloomings have led to one bright bloom,
this rose.
As someone has made me bloom,
she is
beauty and
light. Changing
my colors, releasing
my fears,
I owe her much, love
will never die, like
the glowing bloom of this,
a rose.
poem by Stan Pelfrey

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MY love is a rose
not a rose in a vase
but a rose in a field
haiku by Sallam Yassin

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Just a rose.
I'm a rose, but a damaged rose. The winds have torn my peddles and my color has faded. I've broken my stem through these uncontrolable storms, But a rose that has been picked and fiddled with. A rose who has learned to grow it's thorns, but a rose without it's bush.A rose that still has yet to say 'I've survived' this grassless dirt spreaded field.I'm a rose, just a damaged faded rose.
poem by Ashley Derenda

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The White Rose Tree
The red rose lay on the ground
Knocked from the tree by the small kids
It lay there, what becomes of it
Does it blow away and dissappear
Maybe a passing man will pick it up
No two things in life are the same
But I suppose there ending will always be alike
The small kids that climbed that tree
What becomes of them
Do they dissappear as well
Just like most people in this world
Do they just fade into the darkness
behind the curtains of life
Just another passing drone
Maybe there’s a bigger picture here
That I'm always missing
Maybe the rose has a purpose
The passing man who could of picked up the rose
He may of given it to the women he loved
Who now keeps it in in her diary
Reminding her of the day he first said I love you
The red rose still lies there
I see it with my own two eyes
The women standing over it finally picks it up
She smells it and walks away
I wonder who she is
Why was there a tear in her eye
and why a red rose lay under the white rose tree
poem by Niall Boland

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I'm His Rose
I was a rose in a garden of many thorns,
Until the day that love was born.
His hand touched my heart, giving me hope,
He picked me up, untying the thorn rope.
I'm his rose whether he knows or not,
I'm his rose because he protects me,
I'm his rose because he set me free.
I'm his rose because he never opened his hand,
I'm his rose because he's the right man.
poem by Adnana Saric

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A Valentine Rose to remember
The Rose
The rose will wither in the days to come
However, not the memories of where it is from.
In a vase stands tall your rose,
When it dies, I will find a book
To press its Memory for a later look,
your Precious rose will never die,
To live on, a feast for
Someone’ else’s eyes.
Written by Charles Garcia
2005
poem by Charles Garcia

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How Does It Feel To Fly
from a walk early morning
you enter the door
of your house
you see a glass vase
with a red rose
alone in the
living room
you go near and smell
the rosiness
of the rose
and gaze at it
as though it is the only
rose of your
home
you feel
a heart with wings
you fly
like a very light feather
on the wind
poem by Ric S. Bastasa

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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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Just Angels
BETWEEN sleep and waking up,
i felt the demon playing in my
skin.
THEN the angels picked me up,
and i felt the manic laughter
begine to fade, and me win.
BETWEEN sleep and waking up,
i smelled something burning,
maybe copper, or rust.
and then the angels picked
me up, and i felt the manic
laughter begine to fade, fade
into dust, still i was afraid,
so i prayed my way out, but
the next day,,,,
poem by David Gerardino

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