Killing the Roses
Cutting them from their life force
Beautiful petals
Roses guided by design
Stems do stab the oasis
Tag: roses
The Roses
Roses in bloom
once they grew to find the sun on their own
Unique colours
Gardeners competed to find order in flower beds
the theme was align
Once they grew in rows of conformity, humans won
Yet the roses don’t seek the magic of the sun so well
their colours faded
What made them unique was taken by conformity
The Italian Scarf
Yellow roses adorn an Italian scarf given to her by her mother.
The scent of roses in summer lingers on the breeze of her homeland.
Spring comes to the old land to take the winter from her again.
Something found and now lost, as the scent reminds her of love.
The scarf moves about her in the breeze as she says goodbye.
She remembers the scented perfume of the roses as she thinks of her lost homeland.
Roses + Bees = Naps
dew drop rose petals
bees buzz for the sweet nectar
naps in the roses
Pink Roses
Her mind was calm until she saw the pink roses. With help, she starts dissolving; dissolving and running into puddles. She can't stop the ache, which clouds her mind and makes the pink roses blurry. There is only one cure; only the trees bear witness now.
Turkish Delight
A perfumed breeze from the rose garden
brings joy to the nose and happiness to her heart.
A decadence so sensually sweet
to tempt her to taste Turkish Delight.
Roses
Roses of messy curly hair bloom like you
as they move and flop in the wind in full bloom.
Pink roses remind me of you at home with me alone
with messy hair so wild and curly,
rust stained skin,
and blooming rosy pink cheeks;
moving through life in such a beautiful way.
To be a Prince
weighed down by duty
constrained by formality
you retreat from sight
contemplating the roses
gazing upon the free stars
The Banana Chair
Rose petals turn a brown-yellow colour as the roses die on their stems.
A bee aims at your buns.
The sky threatens to shine a bit of sun on your skin.
A fly tries to taste your drink.
The banana chair grumbles underneath your weight.
You relax for a bit. The bee laughs.
The Silver Spoon
An antiquarian silver spoon,
hidden in an old treasure shop.
A desire to caress the spoon,
to touch and feel the silver.
The spoon feels alive in her hand
as if she once touched the spoon.
An image of herself so unfamiliar,
laying down on an unknown sofa.
A dress of white adorned with
many light roses moving down.
A noise from behind awakens her,
as the book slips from her chest.
The spoon above her,
a flash of colour,
then cold nothingness.
Seeing herself dead,
looking at his face.
The man she already knows,
blood dripping from the spoon;
her fiance holds the knife.
C & K 