Little Rose
Little rose,
What did you come from?
Little rose,
Look how beautiful you are.
Little rose,
With your soft peddles.
Little rose,
With your sharp thorns.
Little rose,
Why can't I pick you?
poem by Jameaka Shibles
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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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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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Just One Rose...
that's a homework i need you to tell me if i should hand it to the teacher or not...(:
just one rose, a pretty rose...
just one rose for me with no coze...
just one rose pure and true...
just one rose for me is all i can do...
just one rose somewhere out there...
just one rose for me to care...
just one rose when dark days prevail...
just one rose when people only use petrail...
just one rose and all the time...
just one rosefor me is a crime...
poem by rose of death XxX
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One Rose
Rose
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each bruise
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each time you cheated
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each time you forced me
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each pointless arguement
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each crime
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each time you try to end me
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
How many more can I live through?
poem by Lexie Night
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What A Rose Can Say
A rose can say I love you and want you to be mine,
A rose can say I thank you for being so very kind,
A rose can say congratulations, whatever the occasion may be,
A rose can say I miss you and wish you were here with me,
A rose can say I'm sorry if I've hurt you in any way,
A rose can say get well soon, May God bless you today,
A rose can say I wish you happiness, and the best for you each day.
A rose can say farewel when someone goes away,
A rose can say hello, I'm thinking of you today,
There's just so many wonderful things that a rose can say,
A rose can say goodbye when a love one is laid to rest,
No matter what there is to say, a rose can say it best.
poem by Margie Driver
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Still A Rose
A rose is a rose every day, every night
You too are the same, except different in my sight
You are like a rose, such a beautiful creation
But a rose in disguise, meant to blume for every nation
So show your beauty, for I know what you are
You are a rose in disguise, and very, very wise
A rose is a rose is a rose.....
poem by Pearl Adaeze Okafor
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A Rose In Disguise
A rose is a rose every day, every night
You too are the same, except different in my sight
You are like a rose, such a beautiful creation
But a rose in disguise, meant to blume for every nation
So show your beauty, for I know what you are
You are a rose in disguise, and very, very wise
A rose is a rose is a rose.....
poem by Sarah Mellberg
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Red Rose Destitute Prostitute
Rose has the reddest hair I've seen...
Rose is a prostitute of high repute....
Rose smiles and all your thorns fall off
along with your shoes..............................
Rose and I get along real swell not like
you think....
Rose lives on the streets as well...being as
she is actually she has as many as tree
or four homes a day.
Rose did not show up for her doctors appointment.....
Rose was found in an empty lot with her bush
lopped off.
Rose was destitute when found she was sent off on
what we call the gravy train to every where
rose was cremated under tarp then bailed out.
poem by Cigar Aficionado
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The Rose
Sometimes you come upon a unpicked wild rose
And sometimes you come upon people
Who are beautiful like an unpicked wild rose
There so beautiful and smell so great
But somehow seem much more beautiful
Every time you look at them
And when you come upon a rose that's unpicked
You can't help but want to cut the rose off
And carry it around and show it off
We all know roses have thorns on them
But there so beautiful that you
Must have one for your own
So you try and cut a rose off
And get pricked on your finger
You bleed but you still keep trying
After you get the rose
You run home
To show it off
You eventually get a band-aid to cover the prick
Where the rose bit you
After you take the band-aid off you see the scar
It eventually goes away in time
But you will always remember
Where the rose bit you
But it doesn't stop you
From trying to get another
Beautiful rose
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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Rose, Rose(by Henrry Zhou)
Rose, Rose(by Henrry Zhou)
Rose, Rose
Love you, without words.
When I touch your waist,
Close to your lips.
Rose, Rose
Kisses are what you send to me.
Endless mythical dream
Every kiss seems to be
Rose, rose
Aren’t you the waves of the red wine
Of the first night in a wedding?
In your soft heart
slipped the lovers’ laughs and tears.
Love you, Rose
Light vortex, pink whorls
full of a garden I wish to plant Roses
Even waking to be a sad nightmare
Still I will hold you.
O, Rose, my dear Rose
poem by Henrry Zhou
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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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Rose’s rose rose
Rose’s rose rose
In the light of the day
While the wind blows
Round its flowers of the lightest rosé.
Rose’s rose rose
In a way Rose may
When she grows
As her rose
Shows
How it grows
And by the end of the day
When her rose’s flowers’d close
And its head would sway
In the wind, Rose would say:
“My rose, as you rose
In the light of the day
Did you notice those,
The sounds of your stay?
Not only those of the day,
But, too, the ones of the dark, rose,
The ones of the dark and the moon in its pose.
Did you notice those, rose?
Did you notice those? ”
And the rose would know
What Rose would want to say
And it would sleep
With its flowers of the lightest rosé.
The Rose Family
The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes
That the apple's a rose,
And the pear is, and so's
The plum, I suppose.
The dear only knows
What will next prove a rose.
You, of course, are a rose -
But were always a rose.
poem by Robert Frost
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Alankar(Decor) -36
Making Of A Rose(Triolet)
Just making of a rose a Rose
Cuts and folds plastic or paper
Then paints with all pink rouged a Rose
Just making of a rose a Rose
Blooms, scents, charms rosy Rose her rose
Thorns and scissors-they don't differ
Just making of a rose a Rose
Cuts and folds plastic or paper
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Without The Rose
Love is like a rose
good to hold and smell
but then that rose begins to die
and you go through hell
One thing you should know my friends
is that love can scorn
and just like life
every rose has it's thorns.
but as the rose you hold
withers and fades away
another rose has appeared
and your pains is taken away.
This cycle of life
no one will ever know
why we would fight amongst ourself
for that one single rose
And even though we try
to let our pain go
we can't do it
without that rose
poem by Shelbie Bozeman
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Pondering upon the Rose on a Sunday Morning......
The symbol of love
When giving in love a rose speaks for itself
The beauty is picturesque
The scent it gives lasting for ever
The rose never seen without her thorns
Still who can not feel happiness when a rose is seen or given?
Even for a brief minute, a second the rose brings a smile
Or perhaps a small sigh of delight
If one were to think upon a rose…
The thorns… the beauty…
The petals that carry the essence…
That lingers even after it is withered
If one were compare to our Lord…
He held thorns upon his precious head; the head of the rose is above the thorns
His love was known for its beauty and compassion, the rose noted for love
His words and Spirit lingers for eternity much like the scent of the rose
My Lord created the Rose
Perhaps he created it for remembrance of His son
Looking upon the rose I see it all so clearly
The meaning of love
The beauty
An essence that shall always be with me
poem by Patricia Gale
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Always the Rose
Roses always stand for love,
But why a rose and not another?
A rose may be fair, a rose may be sweet
But its thorns are sharp, and can cut deep
Just like simple words can create a rift
That cannot be bridged, not even by love.
So why a rose, why the two-faced flower
For something we perceive as flawless?
poem by Anne Rhitak
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rose Peddle
'rose peddle'
as the rose flower is left on the table.
and is left in a vace of pure water.
as Jesus Christ was whiped, the rose would slowely shrivel up.
as they spat on Him the wrose peddles would fall one-by-one.
as the nails went inot Jesus hands and feet the sten broke and the thorns fell.
and when Jesus said 'it is finished'
the vace shatted and the pure water leacked into a small river.
and the rose was thrown away,
when Jesus rose again the rose was re-healed and the wace.
sitting back on the table where it died on.
this rose i speak of was touched by the Lords hand,
as Jesus was ressurected.
poem by Jordan Scown
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