Short Mantles Poems

Wishes for magic
stored in an innocent mind.
Stockings on mantles,
sharing Christmas joy and mirth,
never happened in our home.

Connie Marcum Wong © December 5, 2011 

For Russell Sivey’s Christmas Stockings Tribute...

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Whiteness on leaves
blood in threes
warriors and companions lie in the dirt

i heard a story
about men and glory
but no words could ever bring them back

i hear their song
for their deeds i long
but armor rusts over the years

no mantles to praise
no spirits to raise
the age of heroism has ended...

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Under the light of a bright sunshine,
Sailing soft in the gallant wind,
Peaceful joys in acrobatic style.

Speckles of pearl, blend of rainbow,
Stylish lovers after perfume of them flowers,
Lullaby love songs, crooned in the jiggly wind.

Bright colours in their mantles,
As they hover in search for more,
And pretty flowers, they wave as they skim away....

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Those sparse promises are put to bed
Yet they ripen like a lie
The County Kingdom
is made from last years chancers
Darkened coaches reach their destination
Our smokey trails
are honed like marbled mantles
Predictable success are nothing
compared to the chirping of the birds
Call Summer a lie
Those bright mornings
folds its wings and flies
I cannot sleep...

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BEAUTIFUL LOSERS

Clandestine candelabra pure and pristine 
play with shadows on the walls
where perception is deceit

Golden mantles passionate back drop imbues
fragrance breath through smooth tresses
black dresses unzip discreet

Observing through miasmas of smoke vapors
invidiously neatly seated
eyes covet eluded defeat

Times bygone
Beautiful
Losers




© Kim van Breda- 6 August 2014...

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AFTER  SNOW  MELT

Their burden shed, trees  now  svelte -
Hidden beauties in luxuriant fir mantles 
Stripped, sunning  in balm light.

Grass, spruce, stream,
Once  blank and touchless, 
Crowd together, tactile, seamless.

Tall knolls the Leveller had  smoothed
Shallow  hollows had smothered ;
Landscape has  fresh verticality.

Waking birds fill the sleepy silence.  
Skyful white replaced by blue  vault.
God has lost his achromacy....

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Softest haze mantles the night amid twilights first born hours.
Dew all drenching, encroach, caress the springs first waking flowers.
Mists so gently kiss the foliage of a garden fair, as one comes hither
purest rose adorns her silken hair.

Shift of satin, unkempt curls, she steps with even grace.
Eyes of lonely, haunting beauty, beset by youthful face.
Tranquility abounds around her in vividly elusive dreams.
When awoken, shattered then.... as nothings what it seems....

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Languishing in liminal limbo
Feathers fray before striking harmony 

Tidal waves in my brain have ebbed and 
Flowed, expanded and contracted guiding 
Wings of my astral soul across desolation;
Precursors       upon mantles with no equal 

Sentinels of sanguine, like the Kings Guard
Watching over my journey, Angels cradling 
My thoughts and deeds                  push

Sometimes pull

The look on her face

Liquid

                    The Cardinals

Daybreak song!


...

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I was once in gaze,
my swaddling robes
were saffron fibers 
and interlaced
my skin


a nebula


driftless
I pulsed,
and every eve
was a glimmer


circling a necropolis 
of double-stars
alone,
apart from the mosaic
finally,galaxies away


I fell from the firmament
my trajectory
earth


swathed now in mantles of dirt
moss grows between my toes


I pulse with life again
while the colour’s 
of being earthbound
bind me,
my skin interlaced again


in Technicolor...

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