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Anastasia Sep 22
red roses
and tulips
in your hair
on mine
a day
like this
in the air
on my waist
cherry taste
this love
of mine
by crimson twine
blood drips
from tiny ******
sharp thorns
with ruby tips
with all of my being, i love him
Eloisa Sep 18
She made her crown out of thorns and broken things and built a castle in her ruins
and became a forgiving queen.
Gem Palomar Sep 8
You can build up a palace in me with your touch and your tongue.

But no, not the big and massive kind of palace with many different alleyways.

No, you did not create a palace in me that is made up of silver and gold,

nor a palace with glistening windows and tulip-filled gardens.

You have created in me a palace with empty halls and blank walls, so empty, not even a voice would echo. No glistening windows, but instead it is cracked and has shards of broken glasses on the floor to show how broken I am. No tulip-filled gardens to soothe and satisfy your soul. Only thorns, vines, and I, still tangled in the idea that you would come back.

Only hate, regret, and pain is in here within the abandoned palace where you once stayed

...and left.
Kamau Brathwaite wrote
That "the hurricane doesn't roar in pentameters"
And I really believed it could be true
That Caribbean hurricanes had their own cadences, their own dances :
Ida was reggae, Allen was merengue Brigitte was gwoka
David was cha cha cha and Edith was kadans rampa and Dorian calypso
All dactyls hatched instead of iambic pentameters
Out of each island Zeus 's head
Until i met the still eye of Hurricane Muse.

Muse was her nickname
Her real name was Shar
Named after shark and share and shear
and sharon,
Named after a calypso rose
Fearless except for lizards, a rose of  tiny thorns
With a taste of a stormy black coffee
Born to a dragon of Jade and a   white *** tigress
In the midst of the 1961
hurricane season.
Shar has the S of Sébastien Sally Sam Shary Sean and Sara
The H of Humberto Hanna Henri Hermine Harold and Hélène
The A of Andrea Arthur Ana Alex Arlene and Alberto
And the R of  Rebecca René Rose Richard Rina and Rafael
And she dances not only calypso
And quadrille and zouk
But a mix as well of Salsa Hustle Affranchi and Reggae
In iambic pentameters
While she gently paints fearless green lizards
Having her five iambs of coffee
First thing in the unstressed and stressed morning
Before she even opens the syllables of her still Muse eye.
Anastasia Sep 2
the inside of my lugs
the petals
i can't breathe
but i don't want to
Growly Wolfus Aug 12
I hate the
color it has.
such a strange
part of us.
it's only a natural
element of our being.
Roses represent an
love and romance.
I do not believe in
the hatred of our world.
love is
for us,
a beacon of hope.
Death is
Why must blood be red?
Why must the rose be red?
Red is the color of love and
Love is
Pain is
Blood is
red symbol of despair.
A rose, a
gift of love.
a true
gentleman carries a rose
for his love
"though it rots
it will not die"
I look into
the mirror
blood covers
the thorns on a rose.
Love is
freedom from the chains of torment.
nothing hurts more than
pains of heartbreak.
feel these
from a bleeding heart.
or enduring the torture of
I dealt with
little of this.
I knew
the truth in love.
Lies are only
the thorns of a rose.
See beauty in
I hate
looking at the ****** rose.
read from the top, down then from the bottom line up.
This is my first try at a reversible poem, and I liked how it turned out.
Personally, I've always wondered why both love and evil are represented by the color red.
m h John Aug 14
you locked me in
a state of mind
where i could no longer move
as if i were a child in the womb
who does not have room to grow

a state of mind
where i forgot how to breathe
unless you were there holding
the oxygen mask over my face

a state of mind
where i felt as if i were
a rose petal surrounded by thorns
but you were always there
reminding me of how fragile i am
by pulling me apart
one by one
Bruce Demos Aug 5
a ball in roses
too scared the thorns will catch me
so i leave it there
A recurrent dream I commandeered
Anastasia Aug 5
Let me go

It hurts

To be in your rose bush

The thorns

Are drawing blood into my throat

And it bubbles out of my mouth

But I can't see it

Because your beautiful roses

Are blinding me
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