What-nots
Life is not
a river;
love is
not a rose.
Grief is not
a bottomless well;
joy is
not a flower.
Wisdom is not
a pearl;
pain is
not a knife.
Strength is not
an oak tree;
fear is
not a color,
but all the world’s
a metaphor,
or so
it seems.
poem by Sonny Rainshine
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Grief is the soul of life- SONNET
Grief in the world is soul of life,
When it comes, comes like a kite.
Flying over on ones, hanging like a knife,
Everyone have to suffer from it to fight.
Life is a journey for facing griefs,
One's only thinks over happiness, but it is his dreams.
Grief is tsunami of life, robs joy from us like thief,
Grief is after all life's cream.
The whole universe is built,
Through love they say.
No one care about silt,
About grief, sorrow and dismay.
Grief is the indivisible part of our life,
It can not be seperated by axe, needle or knife.
poem by Shubham Tomar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Red Is The Color I See
Red Is the Color I See
Red is the only color she can see
Dripping from the sky sliding from the trees
Red is the only color she sees
From the blink of an eye to a dropp of a penny
Red is the only color she sees
From the pain exploding within
To the drink being mixed with vodka or Gin
Red Is the Color Hanging On the Walls
Crawling on the floor and sliding down the halls
Red it the blanket that covers her a night
The color that hugs her skin so tight
Red is the Color that whispers death
That suck up the air and your last breathe
Red is the color tell her it will be ok
Just lay down close your eyes and pray
Red is the color that didn't make it through the night
Eyes closed no more memories in sight
Red it the color that hung on the knife
Gone was a life
No a breathe or a blink
The knife now lies in the sink.
poem by Jamelia Lane
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Rose...
gift you a rose, ,
gift you my rose....
but my rose to you, is not like any rose in this world...
a rose drunk from my tears...
a rose that i take care about it by my soul...
a rose gave it a water by my blood...
and perfumed it by my love....
my rose to you, is not like an roses...
its color not like any colors...
its not a red...
and its not a white...
even not a yellow...
its color pick up from the suns` yellow color..
and mix from the seas` blue color...
and from my bloods` drops..
and from my tears...
so.. its color was mixed with my sadness and my love...
my rose to you, is not like any roses...
its perfume is not like any perfume..
its a mix between a loves` nectar...
and many of kindness, and honesty love...
my rose to you, is not like any roses...
raised inside my heart...
and takes a warm light, from my eyes` light...
and its food, from the hope, that we always wish...
and from our future, which will gather us to each others one day...
so please accept and take my rose...
poem by Hazem Al Jaber
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One Rainy Wish
Golden rose, the color of the dream I had
Not too long ago
A misty blue and the lillac too
A never to grow old.
A there you were under the tree of song
Sleeping so peacefully
In your hand a flower played
A waiting there for me.
I have never
Laid eyes on you
Not before
This timeless day
But you woke and whoa
Smiled my name
And you stole
My heart away
A stole my heart away little girl, yeah
All right !
Golden rose, the color of the dream I had
Not too long ago
Misty blue and lillac too
A never to grow old.
Golden rose, the color of the dream I had
Misty blue and lillac too
Golden rose, the color of the dream I had
Misty blue and lillac too
Gold and rose, gold are rose, gold and rose.
Its only a dream
Id love to tell somebody about this dream
The sky was filled with a thousand stars
While the sun kissed the mountains blue
And eleven moons played across rainbows
Above me and you.
Gold and rose the color of the velvet walls surround us.
song performed by by Jimi Hendrix
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Color? (Hope)
what color
was the dust
from which the stars
were made?
what color is the hunger
written on the child's face?
what color is justice,
forgiveness, desire, truth?
what color is the wind....
the rain, gravity,
and knowledge?
what color is equality?
what color is freedom?
what color is eternity?
what color is redemption?
what color is God?
what color were the nails
that hung Jesus on the cross?
what color was enlightenment
falling on the Buddha as he sat
'neath that tree?
what color is prejudice, hatred,
fear, greed, apathy.....
what color your skin?
nay, what color is your blood?
and what color are the eyes
of humanity staring through the darkness?
and what color is hope?
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Pretty Rose Tree
A flower was offered to me,
Such a flower as May never bore;
But I said, ‘I’ve a pretty rose tree,’
And I passed the sweet flower o’er.
Then I went to my pretty rose tree,
To tend her by day and by night;
But my rose turned away with jealousy,
And her thorns were my only delight.
poem by William Blake from Songs of Experience (1794)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Grief Of My Red Rose
Grief is always hiding behind me
The horrible, terrible thing
It strikes when I am least looking
And lately, it's taking everything
My love is gone, withered and died
A red rose so fair
I have nothing to hide
My red rose just didn't care
When I was least expecting it
Grief of that love came lurking near
What if my rose just never fit?
I now have a morbid fear
What if it never belongs to anyone else?
What if it's not meant to give away?
What if I have to keep it to myself
For the rest of my days?
I will lose it for sure
So I won't let that happen
Grief can't take me by surprise
And i cannot wait until when
My red rose will bloom once more
It's petals will be full, soon
And I will be more cautious than before
Although true love comes once in a blue moon.
poem by Eden St. Andrews
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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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Love has many colors
Love has many colors
But the main is red
The color of a rose
A flower to show that you love him or her
A flower to say silently that your in love and its for sure
Love has many colors
But the main is red
The color of blood
Blood that warms when you see the one you love like no others do
And freezes when you see the one you love happy with out you
Love has many colors
But the main is red
The color of my eyes why I cry the most painful tears
The tears of love that is caused my most wanted fears
Love has many colors
But the main is red
The color of a kiss
There has to be more then this…..
Love has many colors
But the main is red
The same word that rhymes with words unsaid
poem by Michelle Guza
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0006 Saraswati
The name means
wisdom. Perhaps
we should leave it there. For
the human mind loves
to bring the heavenly
down to earth; then bury it:
maybe not wisdom, did they say –
who worships wisdom in these foolish days?
Maybe a goddess then?
We’ll name our greatest river
after her; that will help men
to remember wisdom
which flows from heaven
to the tops of the unreachable snowed
Himalayas, flows down and nourishes
the earth that nourishes the seeds
that yield the plants
that bring life to men
who meet together on her banks
and build a whole Harappan
civilisation – so, look –
she’s wisdom, and a goddess, and river bringing life itself
and so she’s in the heart
of every Indian.
so far, so good; but then –
was it anger in the heavens,
that made the lovely goddess
lift her veil across her face?
conceal her wisdom? Was it
that men forgot to honour her?
Or was it some tectonic plate, slightly tipping,
that turned the fertile Sindh and Rajasthan
into deserts? And the river Saraswati
first became not a river, but
a line of pools, needing the yearly
tribute from the rains of mercy,
brought by men’s sacrifice? And then,
finally disappeared?
and so the goddess of wisdom
who is eternal wisdom
and a river, is now
the goddess of the wisdom that’s
no longer seen so gracefully flowing there; invisible.
Maybe this purdah
is more dignified; we know she’s there,
if we honour her enough
and need her.
The story is not over, though:
the satellites have photographed
her ghost; a veiled figure seen
slipping out in the cool half-light of dawn,
waterpot on shoulder; she knows
that deep underground, her wise water
waits in stone caverns beneath the earth
these 3,500 years; to be drawn on
by wise engineers, to drink again
with awe, with gratitude, or thoughtless…
Wisdom waits,
living a life so deep in poetry,
in metaphor,
wisdom, goddess, water. How
she must love to live
lightly veiled in silken speech,
quietly in the heart, like
metaphor itself.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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A Black Rose
A Black Rose,
Glistening in the rain,
A sign, a symbol,
An insignia of loss,
It’s the Flower of Darkness,
Lying in wait on this cold winter night,
It represents the beauty of despair,
The grace of defeat,
The feelings we all find hard to bear,
The millions of people that have all loved and lost,
All behind this flower that holds us aloft,
Within its petals we drown our grief,
With its stem we clutch to what’s left of life,
Within its thorns we spite those who have set us so
And within this dark flower we find our peace,
The power to let go and leave the loved lie,
So with this flower we sign our hearts,
We accept our everlasting love,
And move on,
A Black Rose,
Glistening in the rain,
Ill forever love you,
Ill never lose hope,
But until you come back,
Here’s a Black Rose,
For my love…
- The Black Rose
poem by Andrew Rose
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The Wilted Rose
I once observed a wilted Rose
Clipped before its time
How sad it was to see
It broke this heart of mine
I thought of what might have been
Bad this Rose been left to grow
The beauty of a single flower
For all the world to know
But then again I thought
There's more here to learn
The thought of resurrected love
Does make my heart to burn
Herein lies the secrest of love and life
For all of us to share
Give thanks and praise to God
For wilted Rose to bear
This Rose I saw and understood
That hang upon the tree
He wilted, died and rose again
Just for love of me.
poem by Dan J. Najvar
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Once A Red Rose
once a red rose
bleeding of pain
the black knife that caused its pain
the bloody petals of life
fell to the ground
the blood of a fallen friend
the pain he took
once a red rose
always in pain
but know the rose
is no longer red
the fallen friend is now a
black rose
living in the shadows
the only pain he feels is
the pain of being a fallen friend
The Gardener LVII: I Plucked Your Flower
I plucked your flower, O world!
I pressed it to my heart and the
thorn pricked.
When the day waned and it
darkened, I found that the flower had
faded, but the pain remained.
More flowers will come to you with
perfume and pride, O world!
But my time for flower-gathering
is over, and through the dark night
I have not my rose, only the pain
remains.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Is letting go a metaphor?
what is letting go -
letting go of grief?
the serenity of letting go?
(must be a bad metaphor)
losing represents letting go of control
I need to understand this 'letting go'
is it a metaphor for facing the inevitable?
breathing as a metaphor for living
'the practice of pruning wine vines'
is that a metaphor for letting go?
surrender. reaching towards the future
if you'll excuse another bad metaphor...
'the last of the sand is pouring...'
onion metaphors are stripped down to the core
letting go is a metaphor for acceptance
is acceptance a metaphor for failure?
'The freedom of letting go'
that does sound grand
letting go is not for the faint-hearted
my hands and heart are tired from letting go
so many times over
examine why metaphor is not
a substitute for the literal
letting go is
a metaphor
for goodbye
110709
poem by Terri Turrell
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Red Rose Of Love
Red rose for my lover,
Red love from her heart;
Red rose from my lover,
Red love from my heart;
Red rose,
Red heart,
Red love,
Red flower,
To praise the muse of her heart with roses;
Love is all around you.
A rose for me,
A rose that says more than two weeks in water;
Just like the dream that brings tow together,
My heart waits for you always.
Red rose of hearts,
red rose of love,
Like the true life in paradise;
I am living with the rose and,
I have a life to share with her.
Life is like a rose from a tree,
Visiting Canada in style;
Where i have more ice to see.
Roses of red to swim my muse with,
Together with my wife to take a trip;
This red rose is more than two weeks in water!
It is still going strong,
The roses of love on this journey;
Red rose of love,
Red hearts at peace,
Red rose of a muse that muses;
I am living in paradise on my lover's rose.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Color Me
I wish that they would color me
The color of the rose
The color of the spring
Or the color of the snow.
If again they’d color me
The color that I would be
Would be the color I could see
As long as I am free.
As I wish that they would color me
The color of the trees
Or the color of the leaves
And then that color I would be.
I wish that I was a rainbow
With the many colors of the sky
Or the single color of a star
Shimmering in the night.
And if again they would color me
The color that I would be
Would be the color that is me
Is the color that I could see.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Birth, Pain, Love, Happiness, Sacrifice and Death-A Life Quoted
Penning down the fantasy,
From the land with mortals as scarcity,
Every frame having its liberty,
Where no word is struck with sterility.
The verse depicting a prose,
As in the clouds the sun rose,
Earning the smile of every earthly rose,
And going to touch Lord’s toes.
A flower was born out of the soil,
Where others were in turmoil,
Beauty of love it had in its essence coil,
Budding out it was juvenile.
Grew it on every ray of light,
But the days were not full of delight,
The clouds and the floods came into its sight,
And it slept every day as if it was a night.
Faded were the colors,
Days it lived like counting numbers,
But there is a God who never slumbers,
For the life of a child He played like a gambler.
Sent He a gardener with His smile,
Who never left that flower for a single while,
Who would bring the showers from the flooding Nile,
Who gave the flower a new color and went away as He's agile.
Gardener being God,
Sent by the Lord,
Was the only reason for the flower to make a nod,
Made with the flower a life bond.
Nurtured he the flower and its roots to the earth,
Never let the flower move away from mirth,
Everytime he touched it gave a new birth,
And the flower died every night in his memory when he returnest.
The gardener had to do his service,
This was too known to the flower’s nervous,
Told it to him, it was thrown in a circus,
But he never completely acknowledged its reverence.
God was the supporter to the shining flower,
Which showed like a bright star,
The gardener’s pain was its scar,
And his hand was its power.
Flowers cursed by the Satan,
To live until the autumn,
But gifted by the God’s solemn,
To live ever after, by the aroma, in men.
Said the flower to his Almighty,
“Crush me under your bare feet”,
Replied the planter to his child,
“You are my child from the bosom
And I would melt myself in the guilt.”
The flower with a pearl in its eye and a smile in the sun,
“The colors of my life, the water in my roots,
The food in my shoots,
Are no a pleasure of Him or the earth’s loots,
But of your might.
I would get my heavenly abode under your feet,
By serving my God who gave me my colors,
And my fragrance would keep you in my Light.
poem by Aashish Kalra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I met a flower
I met you like I met a flower in the street
A secret a beautiful magical growth
A wonder of life I suppose
And yet that flower speaks with curiousity and pride of what it has become
What kind a flower did I meet though?
Is it a rose? a meaning of love
Or a camillia who represents graciousness?
Did I meet an anemone? Fragile and delecate
But I met a flower that made me understand why a flower so spectacle about life and so couragious brought me to beauty and elageance in such a world
I met u flower like it was the beginning of ur life and u will be there till your pedals fall....
poem by Luisa Sanchez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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