Peter Beales Roses Online Community Forum

Very good  Ravenna. I am no poet, but here is my favourite rose poem about black spot by Reginald Arkell.

I heard a rose remark last night,
"It isn't fair, it isn't right,
that I should get this beastly blight."

An incident which clearly shows
that things as lovely as a rose,
have got their problems, I suppose.

Hope you might like my poem...

Great stems arching high,
Climbing, curling, seeking sky,
With cruel hooks that grasp and tear,
Draw your blood and snag your hair;
A devil you would shun, surely,
Not dote upon or love so purely?

Red for love or friendly yellow,
Heady scent, strong or mellow,
Musk and myrhh, spicy and fruity,
Promise from bud of swelling beauty:
Rose lovers tend and care, with scorn
For clinging branch and clutching thorn.

Last edited by ronymaxwell (2010-02-06 11:42:50)

Lovely poems.

Of course the rose ones are lovely, but I really like Ronys above.

I'm no Robert Frost by no means but will also add an original from me 

Letters To My Brother

Dear Brother :
A rose you handed me !
Was I who grabed it by it's thorns.
Do you wish not to even see ?

Dear Brother:
At you I donot scream.
I ask that you come look
My pain you shall not feel.

Oh Dear Brother:
How far is it that you would run ?
My wound is small as are all,
be certain that it heel.

My Brother:
Look high upon this stem!
This beauty I see, is not just for me
Do you wish not even see?

Dear Brother:
Why do you not hear me ?
I begged you not run a far!

Dear Brother:
Come help this wond to heal.
Share with me it's beauty
so others may also see.

Last edited by fragrencebuff (2010-02-26 06:24:31)

As I gazed upon my roses
My lady stood by me,
And as one oft supposes
I thought that she would see,

Then as my passion took me
She whispered words so soft,
And wrapped her arm around me
And held my head aloft.

I told her of the wonder
I felt that instant there,
My senses all asunder,
Expectation in the air.

My eyes were filled by beauty
My ears by by sighing breeze,
Whilst scents spicy and fruity
Wet my lips with urgent tease.

My senses, I said with awe,
Drowned in rose born sea,
She turned and closing the door,
No sense at all, said she!

Yes, Pete.  All my own work.  I have always scribbled down a few words when suitably inspired.  I can give you an example if you like.  Some have said that this is one of my best.  It isn't strictly appropriate to the 'Growing Roses' section, but as it continues the theme of the thread, perhaps you will forgive that.

It was written many years ago when I was in the army in Northern Ireland.

The Venom of the Adder

What news headlines flare for men who fall like sheep?
Which reporters would bow their heads and weep?
There is only the lonely vigil of isolated guard huts,
Fearful of bullets and home made bombs.
A distant, sullen thud suddenly puts
A deathly hush over rainswept tombs,
While mothers at home cry
In case their sons should die.

The innocent lie among the convicted
As still as any other.
The streets are lined with the evicted
From homes destroyed by a brother,
And still the fighting forges
Furrows of hate through the land
Forming impassable gorges
Cast by the assassin's hand.
The scars scale the longest ladder
And are strewn from border to border,
And like the venom of the adder,
They destroy all sense of order.
And as is too often the case,
Behind hate, man hides his face.

Last edited by ronymaxwell (2010-03-30 09:42:40)

Indeed.

Nice poem

Am I picking up that you have got an interest in eastern culture Matt?

Pete, I received a couple of roses from you today, and as always in top condition.  Perhaps that's why this came into my head...

I know of a Beale called Peter
Whose roses are smelling sweeter,
A great quality selection
And comprehensive collection
That's why he is a world beater!

I have no talent for poetry so I am completely in awe of your poems.  In this thread, I am particularly fond of Ravena's, but they are all very good.  I have to admit, Rony's "The Venom of the Adder" is powerfull.  I relate most strongly, however, to this one, also by Rony:

ronymaxwell wrote:

I had a thought last night
That probably made me wince,
Can't remember what it was
As I haven't had one since!

Rony - have we met?

Last edited by jnmccool (2010-04-22 23:17:21)

They say that the best poetry comes from inspiration, but when I wrote this it was because I had nothing else to do, as you may grasp from the title!

Boredom.

As I pencil out
This poem about
People being bored,
I can't help feeling
My fate, I'm sealing,
That surely I'll be floored,

Because it's plain
If I'm to attain
A thought from anyone,
I need to create
An interesting state
To keep you reading on.

So where's the art
In making a start
On a poem such as this,
When people like you
With nothing to do
Are sure to give it a miss?

The answer you'll give
Wherever you live
From the north of the world to the south,
Is though there's plenty to do
It is never for you
When you're feeling down in the mouth!

Last edited by ronymaxwell (2010-04-23 09:37:33)

I'm happy it cheered him up.  Hope he is well soon.