"rosebud" poems
Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence,
Toast to stolen prayers with rarer player’s hands;
Soft in defiant laughter,
when drinking their wine from the bowels of brines
Sing along the Ballads of Heritage with Melodies of Exception;
Boast, not a breathe,
though sullen heirs ghost to fairer wearer’s air(s) of land—
A settlement of Rapture and Resurrection, arid, amid dirt and sand
and King and thy Kingdom sprout flowering tomb, and rosebud temple reach to the sky during the showers of spring
Devours the crescent Moon
in big pink petals of bloom;
A garden so fertile
it could look pretty in wartime—
with Gardeners of Courage and Laborers of Excellence;
(Lapse, not into digressions of Being and Essence
but hands in the soil and planting the actions of kingdom come,
patient building of Spring Reign sure
as the flame, the architect of rising Sun is
(Daughters and Sons of kingdom came,
the soldier in a land been conquered and named; abandoned
for the greenness of hope.
)May it never come, Be All The Same; (
be gentle, though whispering wind)
Seeds of Nextyear and the spores of Awhile,
carried by the Wasps and the Clouds
To the Gentlemen of Excellence and Ladies of Courage,
illuminated, eyes from the flora of stars faraway forest floor of foreign
fears,
as the hungry Owls of Time prepare a final feast—
Consume the years between Here and Now;
Watching from blank perch, among
the Trees of Afterall; a place beyond expectance.
Sing the branches of experience, to wake
in Siren’s cipher; inelegant forms
of waking,
ugly sleep on rocks of seabed; once was aboard a marooned skyline—
Those Who Are Will Be
again, again a serf in a wave of Time’s refraction. Neverending neverbeginning;
Those Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence,
on the Day That Is, arrays of seers sayers doers displayers
optimists and pessimists, toast to them
and their rarer player’s hands,
Boast they, not a breathe, though sullen heirs ghost
to fairer wearer’s air and land;
Laugh and howl and dine, they drink their wine
from disemboweled gourds
of their own divine—
Warped, in jowls of hungry fix,
no feast they fear, for they prey to the Owls of Time.
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 5:28 PM UTC
Bring me my palette board.
Bring me my paintbrush.
Look wide open, ask me not
if it’s full or a half glass.
The sea is babbling high,
The clouds swimming on the go.
Reach out to the sky!
Be quick, before a raindrop
spills off the rainbow bowl,
stirs the dew on the rosebud
at first sight of the
spring blooming fast.
So what if the sky won't
lend a blue patch away,
catch that close by,
slips through the fingers:
a pair of butterflies.
Does it matter if you say yes or no?
A piece of heaven is on earth!
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 8:28 PM UTC
I don't know how to write happy poems
because I don't really believe in them.
I thought angst would die with adolescence,
but alas I can still feel its cold dint.
Perhaps like virginity this goes too;
no longer a creep standing idly by.
Plastic smiles taped to our cardboard faces
and yours alone I felt the need to prise.
That's okay, because the teenaged rosebud
that we claim to be so very unique
is beginning to wither, can't you see?
And now it's the thorns society seeks.
So look out over yonder cityscape.
Your mask shall be shed only by the moon.
Until then, a cartographer of love;
yours that is, we'll still pathetically swoon.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
(a brief love story)
1/
The morning sun warmed the dew
from the opening rosebud;
a bee visited the fragrant heart of the rose;
the breeze tumbled a petal to the water,
drifted the pale petal across the surface of the water.
You surprised me gently.
2/
I thought - hoped - the emotional baggage
was safely in the locker,
just for once,
just overnight,
but like a Houdini homing pigeon
it escaped,
it came back.
Like a smart missile locked in on thought patterns
it found the target,
penetrated the armour,
and suddenly
just after midnight
I knew how Cinderella felt,
her new world ****** back
through the vortex,
as the life we call real returned.
Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 3:40 PM UTC
Blondes illuminate
The dizzy world of men,
Confident and forthright
And simply, oozing acumen.
So sensually brazen
In a silly sort of way
Yet intuitively capable
Of leading all of them astray.
Blondes are irresistible
When they catch the errant eyes,
When their pearly, sky blue peepers
Irradiate and mesmerize.
When they catch him glancing
At a nicely rounded ***
When rosebud lip's apouting
Leave him breathless, limp and numb.
Blondes move in a manner
Which defies all things right,
It's a sweet undulation
Which turns day, straight into night.
It's suggestion incarnate
And quite breathlessly so.
Causing pulses to race
And his expectations to grow.
Blondes think in straight lines
Periferals are lost,
And woe betide myopics
Who underestimate at their cost.
Golden locks breed pushiness
The will to have her way,
And the man who calls a challenge
Won't survive another day.
Blondes are soft and fluffy
Dimpled cheeks and curve of thigh,
And are specialists in the art
Of come hither to the guy.
But just beneath the garnish
Is a mind that calculates
And a passion for success
And a taste for wealth that rates.
Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
19 January 2010
Jan 18, 2010
Jan 18, 2010 at 10:30 PM UTC
i do not need
a man
i only need
the wandering light
of the world
that has touched
every rosebud
that has burst to life
and lived to tell the tale
of the traveling light
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 12:28 AM UTC
Coffee in the mornings
******* afternoons
Smoking joints in joints
Listening to music
Every night by moon
My youth went up
As another puff
As another sniff , a wiff
And before I knew it
I was looking very ruff
I can't even remember
If I slept at all
Or who I was sleeping with
For all I see are faces
Their names I don't recall
Rosebud tripped on the step
Coming out the entrance door
She fell into my open arms
I would never be the same man
As I was just before
See most women
Leave their jewelry
Rosebud left her name
Rosebud loved the thunder
Rosebud loved the rain
She scared me like lightning
Laugh at all my pain
She never asked me if I loved her
She never said the same
She laid her head upon my shoulder
Said when you're gone
I will be sorely pained
Rosebud tripped on the step
Coming out the entrance door
And fell into my open arms
I would never be the same man
As I was just before
See most woman
Leave their jewelry
Rosebud left her name .
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 7:48 PM UTC
Come into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat, Night, has flown,
Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
And the musk of the roses blown.
For a breeze of morning moves,
And the planet of Love is on high,
Beginning to faint in the light that she loves
On a bed of daffodil sky,
To faint in the light of the sun she loves,
To faint in his light, and to die.
All night have the roses heard
The flute, violin, bassoon;
All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd
To the dancers dancing in tune;
Till a silence fell with the waking bird,
And a hush with the setting moon.
I said to the lily, 'There is but one
With whom she has heart to be gay.
When will the dancers leave her alone?
She is weary of dance and play.'
Now half to the setting moon are gone,
And half to the rising day;
Low on the sand and loud on the stone
The last wheel echoes away.
I said to the rose, 'The brief night goes
In babble and revel and wine.
O young lord-lover, what sighs are those
For one that will never be thine?
But mine, but mine,' so I sware to the rose,
'For ever and ever, mine.'
And the soul of the rose went into my blood,
As the music clash'd in the hall;
And long by the garden lake I stood,
For I heard your rivulet fall
From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood,
Our wood, that is dearer than all;
From the meadow your walks have left so sweet
That whenever a March-wind sighs
He sets the jewel-print of your feet
In violets blue as your eyes,
To the woody hollows in which we meet
And the valleys of Paradise.
The slender acacia would not shake
One long milk-bloom on the tree;
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake,
As the pimpernel dozed on the lea;
But the rose was awake all night for your sake,
Knowing your promise to me;
The lilies and roses were all awake,
They sigh'd for the dawn and thee.
Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,
Come hither, the dances are done,
In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,
Queen lily and rose in one;
Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls.
To the flowers, and be their sun.
There has fallen a splendid tear
From the passion-flower at the gate.
She is coming, my dove, my dear;
She is coming, my life, my fate;
The red rose cries, 'She is near, she is near;'
And the white rose weeps, 'She is late;'
The larkspur listens, 'I hear, I hear;'
And the lily whispers, 'I wait.'
She is coming, my own, my sweet;
Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,
Had I lain for a century dead;
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.
3.2k
A rosebud drips down upon the pavement
as father draws a final drag from this
porcelain pipe, its tobacco well-spent.
Rest in peace sweet little summertime bliss.
Lips pressed taut admiring the embers,
while they pieced together a forlorn kiss.
These penultimate moments are a blur,
whispered by magpies on the window-pane,
wrought by dust bunnies, and letters from her.
Oh lord may we be blessed and insane;
stifle these stains with bullets to the brain.
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 9:16 PM UTC
i.
Pink doesn’t play into it, that delicate
petal of perfume & flower stuff.
She abhors it.
Red suits her better.
Red for Fridays & red for Aries.
Red for the blood her dagger could draw.
Her seal of wax is no
rosebud adhered to
fine paper.
Warrior, she escaped its letter.
With Roman candles & Roman sandals,
sword, wand & chariot,
defender of her Eden.
Seashells are her votive gifts, the
stars of her Atlantic.
It is within her reign of Camelot.
At the edge of the Earth,
her kingdom dreams.
ii.
Blue maid
a curious ***** in her armour.
But she wouldn’t flinch
if an army of soldiers came crashing in.
They are hunting the witch.
A woman can never have such power.
It is reserved for the patriarchy
to wield at will.
Up it goes.
They can ***** steeples with it.
They are stoking the fires & sharpening
the axe with it.
But threats of torture
don’t make her beg, plead or recant.
She is guilty of nothing.
Even broken on the Catherine Wheel,
Athena still keeps her
bow & quiver intact.
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 6:34 AM UTC
from dirt I come
whipped and cracked from the sun
rain flows and heals my wounds
when my fruit grows
I'll forget my troubles soon
still I love, still I rise,
giving blessings
to the the grass
I dry my own tears
and hide in my own fears.
nature is my mother
the moon is my brother
my father inhabits the sky
and he takes pleasure
in his little flower
that is me...
a brown rosebud
a baby from nothing
more than mud.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 11:56 AM UTC
Curve soft, silky, chills
Swell, taut, protrudes, aches
Tunnel, tight, hot, wet
Nub, hard, throbbing, spasms
Petals, flushed, swollen, moist
Well, soft, slick, hugging
Tube, hangs, soft, wrinkled
Bags, sway, firm, sensitive
Rosebud, closed, but opens
Pillows, press, linger, invoke
Pearls, grip, burn, mark
Velvet, glides, trails, excites
Swell, is twisted, pulled, pinched
Petals part, exposing the nub
Nub, rubbed, licked, ******
Tube delves into the tunnel
Pistoning as friction builds
Stands, hard, smooth
Hard smooth enters rosebud
Pushes, prods, breaksthrough
Screams, pants, moans
Velvet enters well, circles, exciting
Pressure builds, senses heighten
Ice chills turn to fire to volcanic
Ohhhs, ahhhs, turns to moans
Turns to gasps, and whimpers
Cries, screams that cresendo
Nectar explodes to honey that drips
Lava thick spews deep
Mixture like cream paints the walls
Tangled, exhausted
Sweat, essence
Dreams, snores
Jul 18, 2010
Jul 18, 2010 at 6:14 AM UTC
In my Autumn garden I was fain
To mourn among my scattered roses;
Alas for that last rosebud which uncloses
To Autumn's languid sun and rain
When all the world is on the wane!
Which has not felt the sweet constraint of June,
Nor heard the nightingale in tune.
Broad-faced asters by my garden walk,
You are but coarse compared with roses:
More choice, more dear that rosebud which uncloses
Faint-scented, pinched, upon its stalk,
That least and last which cold winds balk;
A rose it is though least and last of all,
A rose to me though at the fall.
2.9k
The cuckoo-throb, the heartbeat of the Spring;
The rosebud’s blush that leaves it as it grows
Into the full-eyed fair unblushing rose;
The summer clouds that visit every wing
With fires of sunrise and of sunsetting;
The furtive flickering streams to light re-born
’Mid airs new-fledged and valorous lusts of morn,
While all the daughters of the daybreak sing:—
These ardour loves, and memory: and when flown
All joys, and through dark forest-boughs in flight
The wind swoops onward brandishing the light,
Even yet the rose-tree’s verdure left alone
Will flush all ruddy though the rose be gone;
With ditties and with dirges infinite.
2.6k
It wasn’t me I said it wasn’t me
In my tangerine dream I wish for something closer
All that’s been happening was myself struggling out the water
I get a little rattled when you ignore my questions
But I guess you’re happy flaunting pictures that’ll make everyone drool
Feeding their opinions down our throat
Invisible to every single soul
There is charm in this four leaf clover but luck won’t bring in much
I’m still green with envy
I guess I’m the villain in this movie
I didn’t know I could fly when I let my eyes close
I’ve been reeling in the bones while you were awwing the moon
when it all goes dark I think of life as fairy tale
You say I was in love with you? I never knew
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 6:07 AM UTC
I have looked at sunsets as long as they lasted
the reds and the golds and the pinks of them
the play of light on the edges of clouds
the changing shadows over the land.
I have watched the sea steadily rolling in wave after wave
breaking against the rocks with the energy of distant storms
or gently lapping at softer shores.
I have gazed up at the brilliance
of a black night of stars million upon million
no moon to dim their richness.
I have seen the hidden blues and greens in a slow river of ice.
I have known forests and mountains.
I have known you also and you no less
are part of the universe. I can admire
the changing sky in the colour of your eyes
the moving sea in the curve of your neck
the wonder of an opening rosebud
in the crook of your elbow.
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 10:22 AM UTC
Keeping your hands in your pockets won't keep you warm
in the cold air of a winter night
raging against the warmth of a fire and a place to rest your head
acceptance and satisfaction cracking your lips
The key in a puddle carved like a knife
shattering the icy calm of the little pool
reflecting the thunder clouds above your head
looming like scissors over a barely blooming rosebud
Calamity and discord seems to be your comfort
or are those lies I see glaring in your obtrusive eyes
silence is the last thing you could ever hear
unless it's the cries of a helpless child sighing into the night
Hope never abandoned you
I watched as you burned the unscented candles
the wax waning and the smoke dissapating in contempt
your fingers dancing in the last dip of flame
I watched you disappear into the coming season
observing the ground as you tread
leaving a dull key in that evaporated puddle
the wax molded to your hand and a burn on your palm
Feb 20, 2011
Feb 20, 2011 at 11:50 AM UTC
It’s always Monday here with the hustle and bustle of the boisterous marketplace,
Negotiations carried out over loudspeakers and hailers,
It’s never without a fight.
It’s always Monday here with the cries of half-dead swans and suffocating dolphins,
Collateral damage is a word used loosely,
Now that the main guy is here.
Last night was a good night, befitting a Sunday’s catch,
Rest is only for the lost and lonely on a lovely Sunday night.
They brought them in, lined up in rows of ten,
Nothing on but a white singlet and pretty underpants.
They cowered in fright and tried to huddle,
The whips flew as freely as the flies that came to meddle.
It was not long till your turn came
Pretty as a rosebud
One man claimed
Smooth as a rose’s petal
Another one gleamed.
It was all too real for you and you fell dead, in silence
It’s always Monday here, someone said,
She was so pretty...
As they carried you on their back
to dump you in the truck
to throw away the body
just outside the city.
It’s always Monday here, said the man shaking his head,
as he went to the playground to fish
for another haul of fresh blood and good meat!
It’s always Monday here...
Someone said...
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 7:53 AM UTC
You should hear Her speak of the time
When love had struck Her, left Her blind;
The intuition in Her breast
Was left ignored with just one request:
“Please, love with care (with no hate);
This may prepare you for your fate.”
Then, a One-Eyed-Monster dared to peep
At this starry-eyed Girl with a soul still asleep.
The Monster's nature, as it strove with pleasure,
Pleased Its infinite fervor, which nothing could measure,
As It Schemed, and found, and mostly destroyed
Her love-struck spirit that It yearned to employ.
These reckless hits made by this Daring Dart,
Un-mended the Girl from Rosebud to Heart.
Not believing all the Monster said,
The Girl sought the truth, but found it with dread.
Upon seeing this Monster's very bright colors,
She drowned in sorrow, but refused another
Hit by this Dart, as It still carelessly slaughters
Other Hearts, like Its future Daughter’s.
And then came a time, much later in life,
When the Girl understood love’s unending strife.
Many One-Eyed-Monsters, She now bears in mind,
Aspire to love, but still cannot find
The passion They hunt for and ache to sway,
Because they zip Themselves up when love comes Their way.
Confusion They feel, and this does not die;
But, what can They see with only one eye?
These perilous passings on love’s sojourn
The Girl does not dwell on, nor does She mourn.
Instead, She has found new ways to see
Love’s ultimate beauty, unexpectedly:
A journey enGENDERED with Ladies of taste,
Where only Her own *** can love back without hate.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
Of all the names
To call one's ****
Ironically,
Rosebud's
The most heinous.
And ***** pics
Of ***** and chicks
Are also known
As Rosebud Flicks.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 2:50 PM UTC
Small and dainty
like a tiny ballerina on a music box,
arms reaching above your head
as you pirouette on your toes.
Your chin tilts upward with
bright ruby-red lips poised,
ready for your very first kiss.
Jun 23, 2010
Jun 23, 2010 at 5:47 AM UTC
Powering whisker's tense, the unfurled orange;
teethed with nature's rosy armament.
Brother Tiger sniffs. burning nose
whispers of passion
with breaths of love.
More than two million years under human life
And she knows more than you, a white milliner
roses bloom
rose is a dove.
Brother Tiger gazes off into the East
Rose smiling, rose laughing,
Roses are searching for proud preys
Heaving breaths
dynamic, catlike stealth.
Heartbeat’s thunder
****** shadows hide.
She sends him a fairy-white rosebud:
“Hey Love, let’s off to search again for spring…"
"come home safe, Brother Tiger: Don't be feared"
Chant and roar along please
A kiss of desire on the lips.
Feb 24, 2022
Feb 24, 2022 at 2:35 AM UTC
If only there were words
to the unspoken verses
when silence is the only sound
More than only
near paralyzing torn,
weary of searching endlessly
for what cannot be found
silence whispering poignantly
drowning out the midnight rain,
There is no more sorrow
in search of the lost
unstrummed guitar chords
Unwritten psalms
forever left unsung;
without amity,
woe betides an unfinished,
abandoned heart's song
Only a heart lonely knows,
there is no absolving darkness
whispering of screaming silence
by night and by day:
"all things must steal away"
not to be thought of wanderings end
as a velvety-crimson rosebud
shamelessly withers brown
Swirling eddies stir
a black swan of loneliness
swimming within the flood
of raven river waters'
silently eclipsing
its pitch black flow
Muted pleas silent as pity
blowin' in the fleeting windsong,
speaking in beckoning salutations
singing in sweetly beseeching tongues
Like the hush of a pensive soul,
once touched by another, moved
like a bedrock marrowed mountain
left stifled, stranded and wondering,
feeling an awkward silence
when the leaves come falling down
There are no misbegotten promises
cast lightly in the moonlight’s restless spell;
there is no solacing stillness
when silence is the only sound...
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 8:46 PM UTC
There once was a boy with summer sky colored eyes.
His mouth was made of wild raspberries.
His laugh of falling leaves.
He fell in love with a girl with trees in her eyes.
There was once was a girl with trees in her eyes.
Her mouth was made of rosebuds.
Her laugh of rushing waterfall.
She fell in love with a boy with summer sky colored eyes.
His hands were made of water.
When he touched her,
Her strawberry heart grew.
And grew.
And grew.
And grew.
She bathed in his summer eyes.
She tasted his wild raspberries
And always wanted more.
She danced in his falling leaves.
She lived to see the sunshine sparkle in those summer eyes.
To feel his water hands
Ingulf her in his sea.
But then the summer sky eyes filled with icy snow.
Her strawberry heart gave a sorrowful squeeze.
He told her he had to leave.
But he told her he would be back.
He kissed her rosebud mouth one last time.
And flew away.
The trees died.
The rosebuds stopped blooming.
The waterfall stopped rushing.
The strawberry heart grew still and quiet.
She looked.
And looked.
And looked.
And looked
For those summer sky eyes.
She saw
The deep blue of oceans,
The emptiness of a cloud covered night sky,
And honey filled hives.
Even green colored lemon trees.
But never the color of summer sky.
She thought they were gone forever.
But he was her forever.
He flew back to her.
She saw the summer eyes again,
When she thought she had stopped looking.
Her trees shook with raindrops.
His water hands engulfed her.
She felt the pulsing of his waves.
He said "I told you I would come back to you."
And she floated in his summer sky eyes forever.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 2:27 PM UTC