S.S. Rose

When you think of how the winter pales in the light of the island sun, trinkets made from shells were our jeweled encasements, and our regrets were strewn like embers ...

I've tasted of what's holy but like five minutes at the end of the tunnel it didn't last and now I've found an errant gypsy soul, you you are the ...

A mumbled toast stammered out on wine-breath as we meet at the well -- Rylee's hands, shaking from the dark merlot. Hand in hand, that holy kiss, a sacred incantation ...

Umm so the last two poems I've posted are spur-of-the-moment and need TONS of revising. For that I need your help, YWSers. Thanks a bunch! I sip tea while night ...

Anger settles quietly sifted like flour though careful pleasantries, kitchen-counter talk and hidden need. We thought we were compatible, or so we were told, and now we are too simple ...

Aw, crumbs. Wish you'd review poetry. :/

Hello inkwell. Nice. Good. I'm liking it. However... The air is a billowing thicket of acrylic heat This line sounded nice, but "billowing thicket" just didn't seem right once I ...

Hello there, bonnie babe! Decent little poem you've got here, let's take a look, shall we? If only I were young, I'd try my best to catch them. I suppose ...

Hello there! My name is Rose and I will be your literary surgeon for the day. :) So, diving right in... Poems should not be cryptic or mysterious. They should ...

"Wooing in the Desert" I: Gomer Painted like a fool, I am whiter than lilies in your arms, though not near as sweet -- for lipstick is not like cherries ...

Greg -- this poem actually had nothing to do with God, aside from the biblical allusions scattered throughout. For example, the title is the latin phrase for "way of grief", ...

Greetings, clever friends -- do please tell me what you think of this. I'm not sure if I like it or not, I find it rather melodramatic in its fervent ...

Greetings, clever friends -- do please tell me what you think of this. I'm not sure if I like it or not, I find it rather melodramatic in its fervent ...

I can hear in you the hum of electric lights – papery-wasted skin, hair, a chemical crimson waste of color. The hue of whorish lips, a monstrous, bloody smile. I ...

Tears of Things There was nothing, and yet the girl was not afraid. The formlessness of the dream was typical, and though the depth, space, and hollowness of the place ...