Roger A. Rose
Biography of Roger A. Rose
Retired and living in Lake City Mn.
- My Father, In A Dream. -new-
Roger A. Rose Poems
The Night Sky
I lay on my back, gazing at the majesty of the ebony sky; playing connect-the-dots with the silver spots, drawing pictures with my mind. Clouds whisk by, sculpted by unseen winds in whimsy,
Tears For Oklahoma City
April 19,1995 At the morning table I view my world
The Lights From Under The Snow
It was in the Dead of Winter I saw them, glowing under deep fallen snow. Eerie fluorescence showing supernatural. Strange lights somehow comforting,
The Old School
I remembered the first of the days, when Mama dragged me by the hand, heel-dug in the gravel of the playground; into the unknown.
To My Sister On The Death Of Our Father
We watched him in the stark room. Our vigil. Mother stayed through the day, we by night.
O the damned white of winters cloak and the biting winds of 'Northers soak into the skin and into deepest soul of those who brave the coldest howl
A Gathering Of Roses
Gravel crunching tires wind the trails of the wooded park, they stop at the cabin and the travelers debark. Children spill out and they flow through the grass,
The New Year
The New Year slipped in, I was reading and didn't feel. My Love was asleep upstairs and the house was still.
Just A Thought
The thought came to me as I contemplated my rapidly advancing years; my three-score and ten very soon to be upon me. I thought: The old dog still can bark; the old
Ol' Mabel ain't purty and it's such a pity, she was just perfect in her younger days. Now she's old and she's tired and just sits in the yard. prob'ly I done used her just a little too hard.
Remember the long days of endless summer. How we passed from childhood to arrogant youth?
Sun And Moon And Halcyon Days
You own the morning, and I own the eve. You are the sunrise, and I am the stars. In between, the dark and the light become we.
In the crisp spring air, basking in the noontime sun even as winter snow remained, verdant shoots pushed upward
Hadn't thought of you for a while, of your licorice hair and chocolate eyes, and your lascivious, unsweetened heart.
Sing A Song Of Me
Songbird, sing a song of me.
Make it sad, make it long. Empty loneliness sing.
Tell of building Walls, hiding behind, and never free.
Safety in internal solitude, where joy cannot ring.
Songbird, sing my forlorn soliloquy.
I hide behind an outward ruse
And tell the world and others I need them not.
In truth I need them all. In my self abuse,