Mary, Queen of Bucks, with beauty sharp as fate,
A painted smile, a poisoned crown, she’d wait.
From velvet lies to whispered tongues of power,
Her hand would grasp, and kingdoms would devour.

A tempest in a lace-edged gown, so sweet,
She danced upon the backs of men’s defeat.
Her lover’s eyes—how they bent to her whim,
Yet in her mirror, shadows grew so grim.

She wore her crown like thorns upon her brow,
For what is love if power’s taste is now?
In silks she moved, but in her veins ran gold,
A woman’s wrath, too dangerous to hold.

speech of a term is speech of a speech
speech is speech of a speech
speech is speech of america
america is a figure of speech
speech is a term of speech
speech is a term of america
america is a term of america

america is a beauty of a beautiful speech
beauty is beauty of a magnificent speech
beauty is beauty of a magnificent term of speech
a beautiful america is the beauty of america
beauty is a beautiful america
beauty is a beautiful speech
magnificent is a figure of speech

america is a figure of america

These are poems about roses, and what they say and don't say to us ...

Roses for a Lover, Idealized
by Michael R. Burch

When you have become to me
as roses bloom, in memory,
exquisite, each sharp thorn forgot,
will I recall—yours made me bleed?

When winter makes me think of you—
whorls petrified in frozen dew,
bright promises blithe spring forsook,
will I recall your words—barbed, cruel?

***

What The Roses Don’t Say
by Michael R. Burch

Time is the architect of fate,
and our life is the play of love and death,
To live a life that matters,
make the house,
where Gods may dwell,
there, in the temple of the soul,
we will not die an unlived life,
we will not live in fear of falling,
there, the dark stars waiting with their light
to draw the veil from truth.

Every dark cloud has silver lining,

Bed roses full of thorns stabbing,

In the dark of the night stars shining,

A sunny day turns to rainfall pouring,

Cool afternoon cold moments calling,

In a year summer and winter showing,

Making this the beauty of living

Tears and laughter comes in turns,

Smiley and gloomy faces takes shapes,

Teary eyes drying as moment passes,

Blown out candle rekindles in hearts,

Suppressed light shines in brightness

Bar of gold covers our paths in boldness,

Beautiful day,
hold me tight.
Show me birds
in high blue flight.
Show me bare branches
once clothed in green.
Show me fields of
waves serene.
Help me look beyond
things i can touch.
To see God's eyes,
I love so much.

Rick

 Do not spurn any chance to mourn. Mourning is a kind of Return. - Norman Nightingale, from Small Favors of Mourning