Free Verse Poetry 'The Blue Rose Titan'
The Beautiful Mystery Of The Blue Rose
Blue roses : Are they real?
Blue roses, often portrayed in literature and art as a symbol of love and prosperity to those who seek it, do not exist within nature, due to genetic limitations being imposed upon natural variance. Traditionally, white roses have been dyed blue to produce a blue appearance; in 2004, researchers have used genetic modification to create blue pigmented roses. A blue rose is traditionally a flower of the genus Rosa that presents blue-to-violet pigmentation and also the Morganus Clarke sunflower seed disposition, instead of the more common red or white variety.
Just another Rose
Though, my blood not be Roman.
I place a bouquet of roses before my door.
To assure no disturbances occur.
Shower Flora with flowers galore.
Open up my sweet poetic soul,
hours upon in about different hybrids.
Invite Aphrodite to a candlelight dinner.
Hand her a cabbage rose on first sight.
So she just might remember,
what true love may feel like.
I have been a slave to pain in many ways.
Yet, to this day,
my heart remain pure like Nectar.
Before Bees' try,
to invade my center sector.
you could embalm me in rose oils.
Your plans will foil in seconds,
like the lifespan of a banana before it spoil.
Familiarize all the Gods.
Tell their eyes to record my lifeline.
Remember and capture every moment in time,
to be completely sure that the blue rose is mine.
Any fool that dare design or try,
may my blood boil red in color everytime.
When the soul be taken from my core,
I'll explore all over for Goddess Flora,
Speaking from dusk till aurora.
For its beauty can't go untold
like a one of a kind poem unfold,
burning words forever in a mind,
forever entwined in the rectum of an eye.
My style is unique so beyond the hybrid kind,
for a while I've been blue so very hard to find.
As death slowly occur...
Like a rose I will grow even more,
leaving indelible beauty in time forever told!
Look of Stone
A sudden glare into my eyes..
Surely catch any by surprise.
Deep inside the depths lie a blue rose
supposedly known as death to those.
Lord knows this be not the life I chose
deep inside black shade like Medusa;unknown.
Warriors who escape remember friends of stone.
A helpless fate eternally known as prone.
Never again to see their family or homes.
Unless your name is Perseus
I suggest you don't come alone,
so history suggests as known.
Heart Of Stone
My hearts shield is a hundred times strong
like the armor of Achilles',
with the texture of a beetle.
Therefore, penetration be impossible,
like access beyond the walls of Troy,
an unconquered magnificent obstacle.
To gain my love and trust be improbable,
though my wits and charm be unbearable,
causing pure fascination and hysteria.
My words of beauty shall travel the sea,
to never ending depths like the seagulls see,
indenting my name in poetry for eternity!
Those that gain access never leave,
it is an impossible task while I breath.
No other man's love be as pure as a dove..
No women can withstand the confidence,
that's blinding, come push and shove.
They are remembered as the ones,
who thought they wouldn't fall in love!
who intrude to lude.
Shall roam the cold underworld,
possessing no feeling to ever warm their chest.
Never toy around
with the blue rose of death!
Blue Rose : The Sacrifice
The relationship with my father is strained.
Everyday, since the heavenly lights are so far away.
Necessitating some communication,
be a desperate reach with my intense revelations.
Since that very day In 1987, as time pass,
deterioration of my heart be at a slow pace.
Like a grain of salt shrivel a snail.
It place my name as a rare creation,
very winter hardy creating my own class!
Easily surpassing and hybrids that dare clash,
with the everlasting blue rose of passion.
Immediate death will always take action,
assuring no other come close to matching!
The Blue Rose Tone
In my time of Poetry design,
my mind be known as a legend of master rhyme.
Shining like a star glisten in the sky,
so seductive to the Humans eye.
My creations are pure revelations,
seeming to have relation to the first rose.
So people just imitate like a hybrid grow!
Trying to copy beauty,
they will never truly know.
I am the only Blue rose,
ever known to have grown.
For Flora requested,
there be no other clone!
My mystique be solid as a stone.
Prone to be a model,
of the most perfect tone!
People try an dig inside my mind!
Abuse and use it like fuel or coal,
until, no more one day at a time.
It trigger my warm heart,
to touch chilling depths of cold
Good thing I am a sight to behold,
for the Blue Rose not be prone to death.
Passing all the tests,
lasting through any depths of freezing.
Love at first sight
Sometimes when my mind design,
the beauty horrifyingly comes alive.
Like a glimpse,
of the blue rose for the first time.
At times, when my mind unwind,
the fascination be a totally peaceful shine.
Like a star,
blinding my brown eyes.
One of a kind
My pen hold the secrets of eternity.
People are attracted,
like bear smell honey.
To the picture perfect blue rose.
That one that define poetry.
Just to be able to say,
so they know me.
If you see me consider it rare.
I am from a special seed,
that require extra care.
Unlike any hybrid's glare could share!
A lonely Impulse of Delight
My swagger is a heavy stench,
that be ready and handy like a wrench,
given by God so it be the purest scent!
My words are posted in today's poetry,
,like a tent, so most people have heard of me,
as the rose who bloom so very frequently.
My mind is an exquisite design,
unlike any kind that ever be known to mankind,
dating far back to different generations throughout time.
The heart that beat inside,
signal rhyme to allow my hand to unwind,
lasting so long like a star far off in the sky.
The pureness that gather to splatter,
be fragments and pieces of my brain matter.
Folks that know me be struck by the might,
from a billion impulses of lonely delight I recite!
I have Seen the "first Prize"
,yet, my eyes were deceived,
surprised by the color that be.
I have held "Chicago"
to bring peace to my heart,
embracing the "land it grace."
Though, if yellow be your taste,
pedals of "JFK" be softer then a doves face,
yet, a young "king's ransom" make a Hefty case!
So many roses of beauty,
names with a " Touch of Class."
Now a days to catch my eye,
it's said be an impossible task,
for my favorite color does not grow within the mass.
Some nights as the "Blue Moon" glow..
I look up ,praying, Jesus will show,
a road to where the blue rose grow.
If need be I will travel seas to speak with Flora,
exploring for her until my eyes see historical beauty.
In the summer time I dream..
The perfect summer sunshine
shining down warmth on me,
putting my mind at such peace.
Flaming beauty suddenly release
along with sheer elegance ,
leaving a fragrant memory of speech.
A technique so unique like Irish gold
creating a star in the end to unfold,
in honor of ALL AMERICAN BEAUTY TOLD!
Portraits of elegance untold,
about a Lions red blood
that roar with a bold passion.
A new breed
with a touch of class.
A breakthrough in time at last
surpassing any hybrids in its class,
that dare clash with the blue rose,
picture perfect like all those combined.
A super star so very hard to find!
Sweat like Tropicana
no matter the standards outside,
10.0 Hardiness no matter the sky.
The Blue Rose
When I die, shower me in a sea of Blue Roses. Different shades, like the seagulls see, passing over Oceans. Allow my notions, to carry on after I am gone. Then, my poetry in motion, will always carry on.
Wanted! Dead or Alive
Found a flower lost,
headed by its root and stem.
Severe consequences would be the cost,
if the villain be apprehended.
In the deep depths of the forest,
before Mother Nature they stand.
For petrifying the flowers bud,
cut down by willingness at hand.
Today, we recall how Sweet,
this nectar truly was inside.
This will not fly well with the Bee,
as a buzz spread wide across the seas.
Plucked eyes for unseen beauty ,
be a fitting punishment to me.
So thy can roam the underworld,
as a blind Demon who can't see!
Leaning Towards the Light
My style is so perfectly pure,
In such a viciously corrupted world.
I am the thorn,
on the stem of a a rose.
It's not fully understood how I grow,
found in cracks of concrete all alone.
The sun just barely reached,
allowing few people to ever see.
All I can be is me.
This is all I have to bring everyday.
leaning towards the light of God's way.
All men and women are merely participants"
as I set the stage for significant change,
In the poetry world known today.
My names beauty will not die in vain
for eventually It bloom whole again,
to 'intrigue' the 'impatient' crowd,
when a single vowel of my poetry is said.
Hopefully, before the day I drop dead.
I receive a 'Gold Medal" for my head
as I age and the white set In.
My Aries soul can't stop designing.
The heavenly stars are slowly aligning,
providing a heaven as my mind unwind.
I tried to keep it in check,
yet, words stain my blood like a boat deck.
A majestic sunset sets just above the wreck.
Creating a thorned rose,
the entire world must inspect.
They love me, they love me not!
A poem rhyme inside my mind;
It lingered for some time,
then, my pen started to unwind.
Picked like rose pedals,
one perfect word at a time.
Suddenly it showed and behold,
this poem, right before our very eyes!
Confessions of a Rose
You may not remember me,
who, what or where I reside.
I will not lie,
nor even pretend,
it has been a time,
since I stenciled you in.
Bless me father,
for I have sinned,
you know of these deeds; things I have done.
Maybe petty for the life I have lived.
I can't change things,
I did when I was a young kid.
As I grew,
you allow me to blossom like a flower.
Holding the power to touch lives,
with my words at any day or hour.
Now, I put my color into the world,
with style and grace from the Lord.
Mother Natures Prince
I have a colony of words,
that travel in packs like herds.
Natural impulses with impetuous force!
Protecting its sweet honey of course!
Friends, brothers and sisters will swarm,
with adjectives, nouns and verbs galore.
Mother nature know of this way,
so, trust and access be granted too few.
If you are lucky enough;
Like a flower,
I just might open up to you!
People try to understand me,
though, it is like a bees' sorest need for nectar.
To figure out how thoughts,
poetically glide like a projector.
Somewhere in a sector of my brain,
words gather like cumulus clouds forming rain.
Some days it drizzles,
others a thunderstorm could set in.
Yet, every now and then,
I completely focus zoning in.
God allows me to wow the crowd,
when the touch of a Rose is allowed!
© 2011 Ryan Christopher Beitler