"wreathe" poems
Love, though for this you riddle me with darts,
And drag me at your chariot till I die,—
Oh, heavy prince! O, panderer of hearts!—
Yet hear me tell how in their throats they lie
Who shout you mighty: thick about my hair,
Day in, day out, your ominous arrows purr,
Who still am free, unto no querulous care
A fool, and in no temple worshiper!
I, that have bared me to your quiver’s fire,
Lifted my face into its puny rain,
Do wreathe you Impotent to Evoke Desire
As you are Powerless to Elicit Pain!
(Now will the god, for blasphemy so brave,
Punish me, surely, with the shaft I crave!)
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Tear asunder
the hatred and disbelief
and you will find a sapling
crawling under your skin
digging deeper as you breathe
finding its way to your heart.
-------
Close your eyes
and feel your pulse
as it weakens every moment
finding light from deep within
as the blood
gush and wreathe
In your soul that has been rifted apart.
-------
Rest your mind
and think
of the carcasses that has once surrounded you
and how long the time has been
when you pulled the sword out of its sheathe
and the battle has yet to start.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC
With Donne, whose muse on dromedary trots,
Wreathe iron pokers into true-love knots;
Rhyme’s sturdy ******* fancy’s maze and clue,
Wit’s forge and fire-blast, meaning’s press and *****
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Monsoon Rhapsody by Nishu Mathur
I am rain on a summer day
Drenching drowsy, lifeless buds
Stirring them to a dancing wakefulness
Washing leaves dull and dry with dust
Dousing fire in a desert ringed inferno
I am the drizzle on a pale moon night
Easing into the heart with music
The melange of water humming with the wind
The splash of puddles in fields of barley
Gently filling thirsty river beds craving for a flow
I am showers before monsoons
Impregnating the air with soothing droplets
The hint of life in an oasis of colours
Breathing moist on a farmer's bronzed skin
Tingling the world with shimmering emerald
I am sawan, the monsoons
Winding my way through a chorus of clouds
Thundering my presence into the sea of renewal
Cascading on sandy shores that glisten with light
Whisking away waves of gold with jubilant darkness
I drape the land in arrays of greens
Scent the soil in my fragrance
Dance with the rhapsodic dance of the peacock
Wreathe petals into flowers that vine
And curve in the soil of growth.
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 7:47 AM UTC
It comes suddenly
a storm that rages to fury
bleeding me between your hands,
your mouth,
to where each syllable lost
between midnight’s satin
crests into a crazed madness
where the soft slide hardens
to gripping intentions as my arousal
tastes in jasmine-licked surrenders
like manna
for your hungered heaven
there, where no scream
goes unanswered but only echoed,
you are with me
primal
seared,
the flesh of you wetly hot
to my thundering pulse,
I am surrender laced
with impetuous desires
woven to linger upon your reddened lips
pressed *******
scrape across your flesh
as you moan in greedy adoration
to my whispered frenzy,
“taste me here,
let me feed you
there”
the suckle of your hot mouth
plastered to my ******* fills me
and I am burgeoning
upon graven yearns
here,
I ache in throbbing flames
as your tongue lathes
love’s lick playing tag
to my purr of silken gasps
and breathy mewling cries
in your ears
stating my submission of this
plunging dominance….
I burn…burn
…to inferno
Smiles wreathe pearl
as you revel in my passionate blossom,
your lick peels me wanton
where we are
pooled
shameless and painted,
my torrents are spilled for you
stained and swallowed
greedily
and I,
quivering in the tsunami
that you bequeath to my racking body,
I arch,
reaching that shattering golden gateway
singing joyous to the columns of fate’s
raging wave
Unleashed,
I am
the tide
Where you are damply hollow
and drowning...
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 8:08 PM UTC
Time swirls above me
in the dead of coldest night,
when the witching hour brings you
in copper cloud's delight,
So I can feel you moving,
touch the quivers of my skin,
bursting through the cascades
of the naked storm within
Rushing you inside me
pushing deeper,
deeper in,
tasting salt in tongues
when the droplets cleave the wind
And the boundaries
cease between us:
dissolve where sweat begins.
Torrents sweep in waves
coursing through the joining Syn
Face to face we rise
from the pipes of Pan
within
breathing mist together
as the bird songs wreathe
a ring
of foliage and of flowers
around ancient stones
and altars,
Where all the others leave us
their carrion
in the garbage,
we take Raven with us
and soar
above the bloodlines,
the glisten of the kin
Raising new horizons,
we feel the morning spin,
hatching suns beneath us
in the shadow of our wings,
un-folding life together,
ten-folding on forever ...
and ever ...
Within.
Aug 15, 2012
Aug 15, 2012 at 6:17 PM UTC
Death himself in the rain . . . death himself . . .
Death in the savage sunlight . . . skeletal death . . .
I hear the clack of his feet,
Clearly on stones, softly in dust;
He hurries among the trees
Whirling the leaves, tossing he hands from waves.
Listen! the immortal footsteps beat.
Death himself in the grass, death himself,
Gyrating invisibly in the sun,
Scatters the grass-blades, whips the wind,
Tears at boughs with malignant laughter:
On the long echoing air I hear him run.
Death himself in the dusk, gathering lilacs,
Breaking a white-fleshed bough,
Strewing purple on a cobwebbed lawn,
Dancing, dancing,
The long red sun-rays glancing
On flailing arms, skipping with hideous knees
Cavorting grotesque ecstasies:
I do not see him, but I see the lilacs fall,
I hear the scrape of knuckles against the wall,
The leaves are tossed and tremble where he plunges among them,
And I hear the sound of his breath,
Sharp and whistling, the rythm of death.
It is evening: the lights on a long street balance and sway.
In the purple ether they swing and silently sing,
The street is a gossamer swung in space,
And death himself in the wind comes dancing along it,
And the lights, like raindrops, tremble and swing.
Hurry, spider, and spread your glistening web,
For death approaches!
Hurry, rose, and open your heart to the bee,
For death approaches!
Maiden, let down your hair for the hands of your lover,
Comb it with moonlight and wreathe it with leaves,
For death approaches!
Death, huge in the star; small in the sand-grain;
Death himself in the rain,
Drawing the rain about him like a garment of jewels:
I hear the sound of his feet
On the stairs of the wind, in the sun,
In the forests of the sea . . .
Listen! the immortal footsteps beat!
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~~~~~~~~
I pray:
Eternal Light in Whom I vest
Pandora’s gaping box in my chest
Reverse! Reverse! Reverse; give rest
Wreathe instead a humble dove’s nest
Unleash! Unleash! Unleash in me
The faith I need to set my soul free
In love for all - humanity
~~~~~~~~
Aug 16, 2012
Aug 16, 2012 at 3:09 PM UTC
*A romantic grace that ebb and flows
A wilting palour, or gleaming candour.
Dressed in the most splendid melancholy
Dost thou, Yesteryears, again bloom and wreathe
Piercing the fibres of succoring apathy
Unyielding, haunting asymmetry
Ghost of my Roisin Dubh vent thy effrontry*
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 5:03 PM UTC
If someday on a stone you read
My name, by a dying flower
Please find one memory to cherish
Some hope, for a dreadful hour.
Wreathe it in an ivy circlet,
With the wisp of a silky ribbon;
We'll make of the bare bones of love
A feast, whether taken or given.
Sep 20, 2010
Sep 20, 2010 at 10:28 AM UTC
Swift bee, the gilded messenger of bliss,
Begirt with golden stars of Heaven’s span,
What draws you to the clover’s gentle kiss?
Sweet nectars, that the strongest drinker can
Carouse with dreams and dizzy waves of sleep,
Or mocks the freshest breath of summer’s clime?
Swift bee, a flame-plumed star of black and gold,
Why do you with your mouth, completely reap
The liquors that each golden bud does hold,
And lulls with somnolence the might of time?
Oh, bee, you spread the tufted pollen clouds
Like nebulae of opal stars crossways
The delicate, soft digitalis crowds,
Which passionately garner sunbeam rays
Within their coral shells. I can’t express
How much your toil’s worth to coming spring,
And how so passioned glide your wings around
The purple, gentle harebell’s loosened dress,
And make, through pretty hums, spring’s hopeful sound
Oft too profaned by your most fearsome sting!
Oh, pretty hummer! Hearty worker! Bee!
I see you roaming round the garden’s bend,
Where sweet, white daisies wreathe a canopy,
And make you but a hearty, cheerful friend.
Swift bee, the aching, swollen heart of mine
Desires comfort where pain knows no ruth
The buds hold, like rich garners golden grain,
Ambrosia of the gods, dream’s honeyed wine
So bring and let dear bee, such moisture stain
My lips and warm my heart with spring’s bright youth!
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
If Fall shall rob fair summer of her boon,
And steal the gloried rays of her gold sun,
And dreamy essence of her calming moon,
Whose beams across the Heaven’s bowers run,
And all her sweets, her candied charms and spells,
And all the finest beauty of her store,
Then days shall come, in which Cronus compels
Fall to make grander all that summer bore:
To make the sunshine doubly gold and bud
Much sweeter, golden blossoms, and then birth
Much fairer fruits, rich with sweet, temp’rate blood
And feed with triply fresher dew the earth,
And pave the roads with golden folds of wheat
And piled gourd, and hang the trees with leaves,
And spread with posy flame the glades where meet
The murm’ring brooks, and where the sunshine weaves
Its silk of light across the morning skies,
And all the flowered bowers with sweet breath.
Aye, even if the summer clime soon dies
The Fall shall wreathe a beauty of its death.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
Eyes to the skies and mantra repeating
this is the time that I see it all clear
hands on the grass heart steady beating
hardly believing the days led to here
the moon slowly croons head in her keeping
this is the air that I presently breathe
I realize now that I've always been sleeping
nature content in it's beauty to wreathe
light of the night disturbing my slumber
in a way only magic of the eve really can
seeing the world in deep shades of umber
I live in the present in love with the land
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 3:04 PM UTC
From art, from nature, from the schools,
Let random influences glance,
Like light in many a shiver'd lance
That breaks about the dappled pools:
The lightest wave of thought shall lisp,
The fancy's tenderest eddy wreathe,
The slightest air of song shall breathe
To make the sullen surface crisp.
And look thy look, and go thy way,
But blame not thou the winds that make
The seeming-wanton ripple break,
The tender-pencil'd shadow play.
Beneath all fancied hopes and fears
Ay me, the sorrow deepens down,
Whose muffled motions blindly drown
The bases of my life in tears.
891
a language ever unspoken
words that have no meanings until
they are printed on the pages of a perpetual knowing
a life lived in beginnings
a destiny of sunrises
a world ever in creation
a woman writing the birthsong of her dreams
she has collected like seashells on angelic shores
they were waiting to be discovered behind her green eyes
she pushes aside the layer of words
that capitulate to her wealth of lovely image
getting to the words spoken to her as the girl
getting to her written soul
where the implication of essence that becomes
the fragrance on which a heart may lay
sweet song to the listening soul
meaning of our lives...
I can see that smile in many ways
but I can only see you in your
expressions of your heartfelt wreathe
expressions of your art
true to who you are
in that creation you strive
who needs no other name than the song
that you cast onto the worlds waters
the very same song that upon which this poem thrives
that makes it live and breath in the summer breeze
I can see that smile many ways
but it is the listener who tells the tale
it is the lovers of images who purchase the wares
its the lovers of a world ever in the creation
who wear your words like a gift of sunshine
© 2017 mark john junor all rights reserved
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 11:09 AM UTC
There once was time to sit and spin
The dream without, the light within
When young ideals like creed and rote
Would wreathe their blue tobacco smoke!
When wine was certain at each sip
When answers leapt at every lip,
Such were the days, when we all knew
If we were asked, what we would do.
But life began to call us in
And time, as such, has grown so thin,
We rush to do the things we must
While dreams, ideals, are things of dust.
And soon we turn our backs on them
Those shadows that were once young men
Who never dreamt hypocrisy
Would spill their dreams, philosophy;
And rule them with a rod of steel
And teach them well how not to feel,
And lead them blindly through their days –
They spare no thought for younger ways.
And where that dream, ideal, that once
Was held to spell deliverance?
Well we might ask, and well we might;
It’s life, not death, puts out the light!
David Lewis Paget
Dec 2, 2017
Dec 2, 2017 at 1:39 AM UTC
Time does not drink tea
Not with sugar, not with milk
It does not have time
Not to stop, not to think
Time it moves
Without legs, without feet
Without a body or a head
It flows, it fleets
Time does not sit down
To eat, to breathe
To take a break is unheard of
It must go, it must wreathe
Time does not have time
To drink tea, or to think
It does not have time
To stop, or to blink
For time is generous
It gives, it heals
It grants us moments
To love, to feel
Time gives us chance
To live, to be
Thank you, Time
For the time to drink tea
Sep 15, 2025
Sep 15, 2025 at 9:15 AM UTC
Let us, my dove; just rub along as planned,
This is the place for the clever pipe to sound.
Should I be ashamed to live content with one girl?
If this be an offence, the offence is loves.
Let no one blame me- Emily, please to share
A dewy bed on mass clad heights;
There, you shall hear the sisters nine haunting
The craggy rocks, and singing the sweet
Thefts of old world Jove. How he burned for Io.
But if there is no one, who ever can
Beat the youthful wingéd ones taut weapons,
Why am I alone guilty of a crime all share?
Their chorus knows what it is to love!
Shall I suffer the holy Ivy to wreathe my head?
You allow me to pluck down the stars by hand!
For without you, my Emily, my heart is powerless!
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 3:42 PM UTC
Bread of
hearth that
wreathe my
wire bare
the byway
that always
wits our
touchstone here
and paint
her screen
that market
dream with
nature while
fantasia is
always rapture
again while
wholly political
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 8:18 AM UTC
with no room
to breathe, we wreathe the shanks
of our slow breach, with retreat from our null ranks.
we are going to burn for the very thing the water sparked..
the undarked sun of our unwashed medallions; marched
from sea wreck, to the bottom
of unmarked
fathoms.
clarity bleats -
and howls. but the chaos engines purr
like kittens in a bin of catnip and gypsy porridge, as it were.
and however docile the violence of our retrospect, we wander.
but never turn again to the nuisance of what two hearts
may ponder.
and yet
so it is... we kink the smooth blithering of gnats and hatters.
but only have ourselves to blame
for what if ?
if anything mattered.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 10:26 PM UTC
Let us share
an incantation of the old world
Let us unfurl words like a string of pearls
torn from ocean deep - I battled Krakens
to bring you these words – let me wreathe
the drowning seed of ancient demons
in a modern tale of high rise jewellery
You can wear me at your leisure
for I am a book of poetry - open in your hands
caress my pages - I offer ages of wisdom in sand
strung sorrowful about a stony neck
can you see the mystery of that cloud
striated by the mountains tip carved
deep into the sky in defiance of the wind
unbowed by time yet so vulnerable
to lion and tiger, to the hermit and his tearful rain
did you know that every beach was once a mountain?
so every ocean floor kissed the sky in its youth
let us built these fragments into clamshells
string them on pearlescent pages turned
by curious eyes and ponder how time
makes a mystery or a monster of us all
Let us share
this incantation of the old world
for in words
we can live forever
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 10:05 PM UTC
Life has given me pain and torture
My sweetheart behaves like butcher
Difficulties are in cluster after cluster
Life is nothing but a death chamber
Now it has become difficult to breathe
Poisoned sword comes out of sheath
My beloved comes out with wreathe
My restless soul crops up just to seethe
What is life who will make me learn
Turn after turn and to **** and to burn
In sojourn we discern to take concern
Let us feel intoxicated but at the tavern
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 12:29 PM UTC
Worms of wrath and worms of envy
Wreathe beneath my aching flesh.
My heart lies cold on the floor of Lust
Yet alone it beats afresh.
Is it pride that keeps it beating,
long after others end.
Or is it greed to long for someone
Wishing to be not just a friend.
Silly slothful thoughts sometimes
rush trough my weary mind.
leave well enough alone they say
love's something you won't find
this gluttonous desire
for somebody to hold
Can never be fulfilled
Yet it will not be controlled
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 3:54 AM UTC
Knobby-wristed boys stroking my thighs
Arms wrapped 'round my waist, filling my ears with their sighs
They hold me, and they ask most politely
To touch each of my ******* when they're pressed against me tightly.
I'm lost in the haze; it's a plume of smoke in my brain
Requests patter past me like drops in the rain.
The room is dark, outside it is cold
I am older than they and they are not as old
'Round my soft unkempt body, they wreathe their desires
We don't ask, "Do you like me?" We are not liars.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC