"thornless" poems
Hope is like a harebell trembling from its birth,
Love is like a rose the joy of all the earth;
Faith is like a lily lifted high and white,
Love is like a lovely rose the world's delight;
Harebells and sweet lilies show a thornless growth,
But the rose with all its thorns excels them both.
8.2k
Imagine being alone and free
Surrounded by lovely flowers and beautiful trees
Barefoot, and the grass tickles your feet
Nature all around you, what a treat
The wind blows in between your toes
In your hand is a thornless rose
The sweet aroma drifts into your nose
In this place there are no miseries or woes
Fast forward to a sandy beach
Many delightful seashells are within your reach
You feel the grainy sand as you grab a seashell with your hand
The waves gently crash onto the soft sand
The ocean gleams as the sun shines bright
But as you stare, mesmorized, it becomes night
The stars sparkle and the ocean glistens in the moonlight
And there's nothing in this world that could feel more right
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 3:51 PM UTC
Thornless roses,
Seedless fruits,
Stormless seas,
Calmness fleas,
Landless routes,
Loveless Atul,
Are all unfeasible.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 1:04 AM UTC
i used to think you were the first thornless rose to ever exist
until i accidentally pricked myself on you
and haven’t stopped bleeding since.
that was the day i learned that
sometimes it’s the beautiful things in life
that can hurt you the most.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 5:05 PM UTC
Kiss me like there is no tomorrow
As if I were the rarest rose
Cradle me in your sunshine
Make me feel at home
Be the silk rose petals on my pillow
The air through my lungs
The tender kisses that sustain me
The lyrics to my favorite song
Be the hot breath on my neck
The soft nibble to my ear
The arms that surround me
Conquer my fears
Be the hand that I hold
My lover for life
The keeper of my heart
The thornless rose I hold tight
I vow to you my love
I place my heart in your hands
I will love you like no other
I will give you all I am
I will adorn you with kisses
Loving each inch of your flesh
Showing what true love feels like
I will take away your breath
For me you are my rose of perfection
I have loved you a thousand years
I promise to love you forever
Never with doubt or fear
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 6:14 PM UTC
He awoke and found himself
inside the body of another.
Safe in the darkness
gentle amniotic arms held him whilst muffled voices dictate his fate
“You’re having a girl” they exclaimed,
and he lay, wondering what this meant.
He awoke and found himself
inside the words of another.
Inside the “brother” he never was, rather than never had
and the “boy” that scuffed his knees in adventure.
He awoke and found himself
“a pretty girl”, “a princess”, “just like her mother”
so he closed his eyes and dreamt of another.
A world of train-sets and barber shops,
birthday candle wishes to replace long, curly locks
he awoke, and found himself floating
in space
his face, unrecognisable in the mirror.
His chest seemed to grow branches
as if by night the doctors that had pulled him from her womb
had suddenly discovered his secret.
They grew like thorns until they were all he could see.
Those and the other boys, s h a t t e r i n g jigsaw piece body parts
every time he looked at them.
He wondered why when their voices deepened, it was called a voice
break and not a gift.
A broken larynx. A birthday present lost in the post,
instead he unwrapped their super glued puzzle pieces,
piling them onto his plate
if you eat your vegetables, you’ll grow up to be a man.
“You’re having a girl”, more like “You can pass go but you will never collect 200 dollars”.
“You’re having a girl”, more like “earthquakes will erupt inside your mind every time you hear the words
“She”, “Her”, “Sister”
“You’re having a girl”, but he was
“He”, “His”, “Mister”.
And when he cut his hair, and found himself
in the arms of over-sized t-shirts and grown out leg hair,
they would say
“you look like a boy”, as if they expected him to protest in offence
but his heart feels as warm as the breeze that blows through thornless branches of trees
and he wants to say thank you.
He wants to say that the words
“You look like a boy” manage to stitch up his jigsaw piece body parts,
for these are the words that cut through his mothers dresses and threw away the thread
these, are the words that in time would cause his voice to break;
remind him that he is not broken
and bury his girlhood beneath his bed.
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 11:11 AM UTC
i.
Mine Filipino rose
Didst thou knoweth;
When thou art gone
Mine worry doth showeth.
ii.
Mine Filipino rose
Doth thou understand;
I'll waiteth for thee
Forever to be, in thine arm's and hand's.
iii.
Mine Filipino rose
Mine angelic being of glow;
Meeteth me at the show
In the kingdom of ourn endearment abode.
iv.
Mine Filipino rose
When thou art not near;
Mine stresses and mine fear's
Bringeth sorrow and tear's.
v.
Mine Filipino rose
As thou knoweth, we aren't an illusion;
We art conspicuous in ourn fusion
Forgiveth the jealous one's of their intrusion's.
Mine Filipino rose..........................
I loveth thee more, mine Reyna......
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 7:41 AM UTC
It’s a hazel daze
Your eyes so close to mine
As we stretch and groan
On this lazy Sunday morn
Delusional smiles crease our faces
Kisses planted on foreheads
Soft and tender
Like a thornless rose
Intertwined like vines
Crawling up a terrace
In this moment
I wish to stay
In the arms of my love
Where I know I am safe
Jun 9, 2019
Jun 9, 2019 at 9:19 AM UTC
Till death, my love.
Till death do us part.
Through thick and thin,
bones and blood,
nicotine and temporary highs,
we'll make it through it all,
because we know that none of it
ever really mattered.
Till death do we part,
because it would bring too much pain before,
and we know that together,
we could scale mountains,
while only struggling up inclines,
when apart.
What, my darling,
is a rose without its thorn?
what source of protection does it have?
how long shall it live,
without its immunity?
without its lifeline?
not long, in reality.
Till death do us part,
for without you,
I'm simply a rose,
lacking thorns.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 11:17 PM UTC
Wiping clean
The bathroom mirror,
Didn't absolve
The inner sinner.
Two eyes bore through
A remorseful soul,
Like silver pissholes
In the snow.
Then the blood
Ran while shaving,
Red droplets
Not worth saving,
Found design on my neck,
Like the thornless rose
From the tarot deck,
Looking at a lost soul-mate,
Red-faced and forlorn.
Fierce and piercing
Love and hate;
The paradox
Of the repentant's fate.
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 1:18 PM UTC
Walking in the procession, I see roses
fall from a mezzanine ---
had their purchasée been slighted?
*Rough tumble with the wife perhaps?
Girlfriend who's seen her "prince" deknighted?
A child's impulsive toss?*
Women in the procession
reach out, ***** the breeze.
Some rose is trampled.
Between rush of feet,
I see them thornless, likely perennial ---
a hue that reminds one of injury.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 7:28 PM UTC
Always forward turning
Past, present, future
All dizzy and blurred
The only thing I see
That stays so steady
Is your face,
spinning with mine.
I can't tell you what a blessing it is
To have you
As a compass.
Thornless vines wrap us together
Neither of us fighting
It's a constraint I welcome,
For when I am alone
I am lost.
If we were pulled apart
And pulled away
Know you could find me
By my weeping.
It is when I am silent
That you should worry
For I might have passed.
Drowned, suffocated.
For the only air I breathe
Is yours.
Mar 22, 2010
Mar 22, 2010 at 4:13 PM UTC
I'm a part time poet
though you likely wouldn't know it
I get in touch on the fly
just a glitch in my eye
between the patchwork smile
the catalog file
of a mind that finds an opening
once in a while
I could never do it full time you see
it would undoubtedly be the end of me
full time negativity
twenty four seven reality
round the clock visions of the truth cannot be
I'd sink too low to view the light
into my well of darkest night
where truth and clarity
reside
where truth and clarity
reside
I'd drink and smoke in my little cell
like Poe or Plath it would not end well
and unlike them there's nothing when I'm done
but words remembered by few
or none
so I'll keep smiling and read my lines
and dance among the thornless vines
and when I get that glitch
I'll play
in the well of truth and dreams
and stay
for just a moment
then I'll be back
before the dark gray turns to black
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 1:39 PM UTC
thorn and thornless types
and diarrhea remedy
safe dye, blackberries
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 12:53 PM UTC
I held a rose without a thorn,
I say with certainty.
Every other rose has thorns;
every one save she.
There are other kinds of rose:
Long stemmed, hybrid, tea.
Still it was the thornless rose
that I kept close to me.
Perhaps I held a bit too tight
and her love began to wane
Sadly, I relaxed my grasp,
vainly hoping she'd remain.
We parted as the best of friends
as she got up from my bed.
I looked down, dumbly,
at my hands
and wondered why they bled.
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 3:07 PM UTC
miles away(go)
by
clicktrain by
clacktrain or
bybusby or
car
miles away(go)
where between
a city of roses grows
One thornless rose)its
stemwhich
thoughthornless
hurts to feel fingers
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
I held a rose without a thorn,
I say with certainty.
Every other rose has thorns;
every one save she.
There are other kinds of rose:
Long stemmed, hybrid, tea.
Still it was the thornless rose
that I kept close to me.
Perhaps I held a bit too tight
and her love began to wane
Sadly, I relaxed my grasp,
vainly hoping she'd remain.
We parted as the best of friends
as she got up from my bed.
I looked down, dumbly,
at my hands
and wondered why they bled.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 8:18 AM UTC
Make me a fictional character
turn my into your nightmare, your dream
As shadows lengthen the sun I
will lengthen my hold in you
Devote me to the recesses of thought
and bring me out when the need overwhelms you
I am whatever you want me
to be, and mold me into
the figure you want me to be
And strong like clay when you put me to fire
My desire to be the ideal
The thornless rose
The willing partner
And after the crime, one of your many
waiting alibis
Should any one inquire within
I am going to be the brick wall they are faced with
Faceless
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 6:17 PM UTC
I gave her thornless roses,
thinking there is space still for something
between those ageless hands.
Very nice, sir.
Never dear, never darling, never precious—
Such old words, she says.
She means: like lungs and gasoline,
we just don’t need them anymore.
But I get my smile.
Always do.
Measured, weighed, tested, and yet:
Brief eclipse, splash of night.
The model was a fresh Rita Hayworth, 1939.
Yes, very nice. Only, tell me, sir…
Do you remember?
When the world was cruel?
Later, when there is time,
I swear to start again.
I have had dreams of honeyed girls
and an end to fearing silence.
What is it
that you want from me?
Oh,
wild things.
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 8:26 AM UTC
Wallowing in grief, they said.
Clad in black, face wet--
Distant, drowning eyes burning
Silver
Hands clasped, knuckles snow
White
Rose; thornless, flawless
Too fragile, they said.
Lips pulled down, face blotched, splotches of
Crimson red
Stained shards of glass
Crystal clear mind, jagged
Edges
Of a window (pain)
Broken, they said.
Shivering shoulders, silent spells
But--
But those eyes. Those
Shining depths, they bore love in its
Purest
Form, held her together like glue.
Broken, they said.
Well, she'll live to smile another day.
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 9:45 PM UTC
To chase
honesty
in a bramble
rather than
in a thornless
rose.
Feb 15, 2019
Feb 15, 2019 at 3:12 AM UTC
In the garden of my heart, there grows
A beautiful red thornless rose
Humming birds, butterflies and lady bugs fly all around
A place where peace of mind can be found
I look within myself to try and find
That which is tender and kind
To come to know the real me
And be the best that I can be
To forget the reality of my life
The daily struggles and strife
I try to make a work of art
Out of the garden in my heart
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 9:03 AM UTC
what do I refer to, when I talk of something
not real or sensible, but need so god ****** much
people do **** for
we hopefully feel it like the need of a newborn to
cry and breathe, to wriggle for and seek
only hours old
written in song and themes of novels
and tragedy wrapped up into poems with
roses thornless
Or affairs we do casually take lighter than
a coffee break as we laugh at the young
things feeling it all out
And the body human the Mother Earth if
not for it would not revolve , and the poet
would not rhyme
And Philosophy would have never been born
a thinking man who thought of it all might
be just a normal man
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 3:53 AM UTC
**** and fire. The smells of food and drink:
desire. Small handprints on the rocky womb
mark where we began to want — to think —
before we left our ignorant stone tombs,
tossing rocks behind us, where thoughts arose.
Memories awoke to chide us. Confide
in me: who was the third, the thornless rose,
you held between your teeth? Don’t try to hide
from me. There are some things the blind can see,
and I have known them all — and told them all.
Flowers grows where tears flow like a stream,
and soon, if you don’t speak, these vines will fall
across your eyes. I recall a stolen kiss:
tasting the words before you could confess.
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 9:12 AM UTC