Disha Verma Nov 2014

I bought
white lilies
your favourite
flowers
and I spent
two hours
to make a
wreath for
your head
smiling at
the thought
of you in a
wedding dress
I made this
wreath for
your head
but I lay
it on your
chest instead
I'm sorry, honey
I've been
quite insane
since your
death

Prabhu Iyer Dec 2014

I come floating to you Mother, dead on the river, body bullet ridden: this is how God reaps His harvest of faith.

See, those columns that support the sky now, carried once the roof of our temple. The fire burning the pyres now carried oblations to our ideals; But we face a jealous God consuming in wrath.

Here I come, un-wreathed, unsung, wet in the tears of the skies, skin carrying scars of resistance, eyes open to the tyranny of faith.

Clutch my hands, let me feel the love that birthed me, one last time before my Spirit moves onward and beyond to the worlds of light.

Religion, unguided by the arc-light of spirituality, is becoming a tool for violent self-aggrandizement at the hands of extremists
ic Apr 2014

running through
the meadow under
the scattered,
shining stars
on the dark sky,
and after a long run,
you'll start
dancing around,
swaying and spinning
with that wreath
on your head,
the one that
i love too much.
and you'll get tired,
and be out of breath,
you'll fall onto the ground
surrounded by
yellow grass and
wilted flowers,
the one that you love
too much.
and you'll stare
and stare into
the stars,
until your eyes start
to close and you'll
find yourself
falling into a peaceful
dream, filled
with flowers, stars
and me.

The wreath, quick, I am dying!
Weave it quick now! Sing, and moan, sing!
Now the shadow is darkening my throat,
and January's light returns, a thousand and one times.

Between what needs me, and my needing you,
starry air, and a trembling tree.
A thickness of windflowers lifts
a whole year, with hidden groaning.

Take joy from the fresh landscape of my wound,
break out the reeds, and the delicate streams,
and taste the blood, split, on my thighs of sweetness.

But quick! So that joined together, and one,
time will find us ruined,
with bitten souls, and mouths bruised with love.

William A Poppen Dec 2015

Skirt so yellow and bright

Eyes blue and wide,

with lips pursed right.

“Where is your joy,” she sighs?

Cotton shows years of wear

still flows yellow,  and bright.

Her lean body craves to share

him hard and yielding tonight.

After she threw the bridal wreath

their joy spilled like carpenter’s glue.

No longer did they sample from beneath

yellow skirt and sweater taut and blue.

Her scent is a flower named dangerous,

so he struggles, pulls away; all the while

wanting his graying head to rest

upon her breast and relish the joy in her smile.

comes out every year,

stored in one of the

outbuildings.



this is neither poetic nor

important, yet

we walked down the lane

together, slowly.



to place the holly wreath.



sbm.

Vanessa Gatley Dec 2015

You're a wreath
That has a whole through it
Hanging off of it a mistletoe
Sometimes I want to place you on a
Window so then you are broadcasted
But never taken away from me
To prove your my gift

Westley Barnes Jun 2014

Regret is not
The fleeting deferral of
some brief romance
Regret is
the inability to react
to the irreversible moment
of something created
slipping away

(My boy Jamie being led
  into that bitter cold by
  a hand that should have
  been none
  but my own)
  
Photographs
faded pulpit dark and
winter noon grey
are but the same as
extinguishing candles
to mark , instead , what
could have been done
for the world

(I thought they were better off
being together
with their own kind
so I used to hurry past
them waiting for the trains
their children tidy and
smiling, nevertheless)

And the Angelus bell
will continue to ring
long after we all rot.
And the ghosts we share
will take all but their
names with them, to
be dug up for some
purpose of record
to fissure a cause for disquiet
along the nuns' walk wall.

(Before that, she had been
such a carful girl
and these days I
wince at the sound
of giggles which
remind me of hers.)

All inverted lines are invented, but based on testimonies of real events.
Rustine Hamlett Jul 2015

the gentle Equinox was ours
though our time together was not always so
you tasted like magic to me
and we came together with all the fiery sweetness I imagined love to be

two halves of the same coin
it was I who dried your tears
and you who held me close
and yet I am unacknowledged

you,
my mate-no-longer,
who walks the long road with another
you have already begun to forget the heart laid at your feet

yet,
when I gathered the blossoms
when I consigned my heart’s desire to the flames,
when I laid the Solstice wreath beneath my pillow

It was you I dreamt of.

finished July 15, 2015
L T Winter Jul 2016

Silt-carriers creeping
Enigmatic tidings
-whiskering
Whiskey translucence
And vodka tonics

Age brought, silent sorrows
I wept them-slowly
For-for-getting,

I could be-
A demon cleansing wreaths
Of teeth and all
You see are leaves.

Petals grow on my skin
Talking venoms and frog-like sin
Yet people are hearing hymns,

Though my wrists are just over
Burdened bludgeonings
Theres blankness and hollows.

Jeremy Bean Nov 2015

She's very much alive
But she is dead to me
The decision wasn't mine
She wanted to be
A tombstone in my mind
A grave inside my heart
A perpetual funeral
That has no end or start
There is no wreath to set
No flowers to lay
The only place that this exists
Is buried in my wake

so i got home,and the wind yesterday has blown some of the leaves away….

taken the holly wreath down  there and surprised to find I was crying.
( ah when you are under the weather things get to you……)
it will be nice to see you. the early days are hard especially this time of year.
your hat has turned into quite a project. i took it to mill to get darning wool,and it was pointed out that lots of the holes are indeed eyelets, and what a splendid hat it is.
also spoke of leaf bags and she said that if one have had the bags a while they will start to degrade…..
how much needs mending?
sbm.

love grows under the Mistletoe
there you'll find it growing very nicely
as Santa and Mrs Claus
share a kiss neath the pine tree

now that's what I'd like to be
of wreath of Mistletoe
atop the beautifully lit
Christmas tree

how lovely it would be
to see Santa and Mrs Claus
enjoying a kiss or two
in a loving cause

yes! that's what I'd like to be
the wreath of Mistletoe
smiling so happily

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