Short Wreathed Poems
Short Wreathed Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Wreathed by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Wreathed by length and keyword.
The frigid crystalline facets glimmer.
A carpet jeweled with ice,
laced with brittle brambles.
Wreathed, heavenly laden, pine boughs
groan under the weight of
winter white.
The ghosts of Gods long past reclaim
the mind and heart of lovers plain.
Wreathed with arms and eyes aflame
and lips which kiss, yet long in vain
for heavenly love one must abstain.
wreathed in silent torment
waking moments snap
at each breath of air
gnarled
echoes of pasts filter by
sleep eludes
weaves and teeters
numbing the weary mind
awake each thought
like splintered thorns
assault the dead of night
dreamless
devoid of hope
shorn of light
Form:
They turned out for the ball
decked out in their finest
gowns of green
sleeves frilly lace-trimmed
weaving and waving their charms
to a gentle breeze
alternating from deep, rich tones
to a sun-splashed yellow
topped off by lush garlands
wreathed offerings
Sharon has a rose
Red as red untold
Wreathed within her locks
Of sandbar and gold
Cradled behind her ear
And left to her face
Crowning her temple
Full-blown in that vase
Flowered like her eyes
Fragrant in her nose
As moist as her lips
Her cheeks red as that rose
Falling shades and bolder tones,
now are wreathed
across the glen and over the fells,
exposed rocks show like earths bones
currents of subtle air glow,
host to an ultra-violet dispersal
as iridescent colours inflow,
drawings, from a well of inspiration
my God alone does know.
Copyright Joe Maverick 2011
Doppelganger
Treason
Creeping in total darkness,
No wait for any sunshine,
Day he betrayed my true love,
passion bled to death.
All yearnings laid to rest,
bliss was only a deceit,
Wreathed my soul, whipped unsaid words
of treacherousness.
Written Dec 7th, 2015
For contest by Alfred Vassallo
totally
enmeshed
in a rigid
wrangle:
a place
of mist and
heavy
rain..
across
each face
unfolding
feelings
long..
suppressed,
emblems of
love
fade..
on words
wreathed
with
bitterness
I wish to fly.
Up in the clouds on high.
In the thermals to rise.
High in the sky's.
Oh, what joy to swoop and glide.
Somersault and slide.
Heavenly vistas to see.
Far away over the sea.
Gliding along, singing a song.
Happy, all the day long.
See for miles ,face wreathed in smiles.
Higher than anyone has been.
In my flying machine.
I looked down
Upon your face
Wreathed in starlight
A heart...
Filled with delight
Filled with stars
I wanted you to see
All that I am
In you
All that can be
I felt a star
In me
All that I am
All that you could see
Is for you.......
I looked down
Upon your face
Wreathed in starlight
A heart...
Filled with delight
Filled with stars
Sorrows doors do so boldly open
from what seems like eternal longings of
life's aim does caress one's thoughts so sweetly
only to find bitterness at the taste of its bud
leaving one fearful of dreamlike sprouting doors
hung with wreathed boughs spotted with poison berries
as life opportunities seize to knock
on one's psych of soul
By Susan Mills
Form:
Two Sweeties they wed on a beach,
vowed their love with nary a preach.
Though joined once before,
they had love left galore,
and reclaimed their love each to each.
Barefoot they both stood on the sand
reclaiming their lives hand in hand
smiles wreathed with graces
two handsome faces
blessed from on High ain’t love grand.
ps__JT76896.jpg
Poet: D. Guzzi
Greenery of life
life in all its varied * forms
form the circle and * adorn
adorn the door of winter’s night
night of silence starry bright
bright with red ribbons all aglow
balls of gold and berries so
so the wreath pines for life.
((((((((((@))))))))))
//// \\\\
//// \\\\
//// \\\\
wreathed tercets
fly away statistics
fly to the hindermost
fly out of return reach
out of death and despair
out of talents wasted
out of worthless put downs
put down mortality
put down those hapless odds
put down hopeless abuse
hope is Harsha's restraint
hope is what gives her joy
hope is her one strong suit
one in her parents' eyes
one who will change her world
one victor named Harsha
Curator's canvas primed white
Pure white and found wanting
a common subject to decant-
Man and Woman, in waiting.
Once laurel-wreathed,
Now ceremonially decadent.
Not a word, True Love breathed...
Recoiled lives once ravelled
will be parallel lives travelled
in convoluted loving.
And truer twisted hating.
Posted: 21/07/2018.
(This is about the love/hate aspect that unravels what could be good relationships.)
O dark angel bring forth the light
in delight let me see your face
your face of shadows from the night
this night of fury and disgrace.
Graceful lady hear my plea
in pleasing chants and mystic charms
a charmed voice of humility
your humble child in stillness calms.
Calm my seething breath with your love
your loving touch and holy rede
the rede I see in stars above
above the clouds where spirits feed.
dayspot caskets introduce the introductions...
....parenthesis with nothing in between them.......
.. patterns and builders in the open fields
destroy what little was left...
... ..... ......
..waiting for the explanation..
the reason for the hesitation....
the papal heart in the wreathed skin
of a divine second guesser.....
skips a beat.. skips a line..
forgets the need to forgive
and hardens to the touch...
Form:
Into the silent darkness bring,
Come bring the beauty of your light,
A lightning bolt on angel’s wing,
Radiant wings lucent tonight.
When in the night I call for love,
Will love answer me in my dreams,
While I dream upon stars above,
Above all, I need her it seems.
And so, it seems love made her claim,
Her passioned claim upon my heart,
For my heart held on to her name,
Her name that tears my soul apart.
Form: Wreathed Quatrains
A Chipped Heart...
Dreaming, my heart brittle as glass,
my solitary facade a pitiful farce,
shards tearing out of my skin,
seeking release, from cages within,
I am lost, in the dream,
bellowing out a silent scream,
torn from reality, drowning in the now,
yet I refuse,
I refuse to succumb,
I refuse to bow.
My chipped heart, may be wounded,
wreathed in pain,
still,
I believe, love, truth, belonging,
will take my hand,
again...
Form:
In the dim mists, a place exists,
An ancient world that resists,
The ravages upon itself bequeathed,
In the green misty fog in which it is wreathed.
To hide the pool of the never-ending,
That shows of turmoil and the rending.
At once like a spiral tower of a keep,
And with uncounted fathoms it is so deep.
So are the fountain and the pool,
All humane and yet are cruel.
The fountain in the air starts to die,
Then I realize it is I.
On a blustery Sunday in May
an odd little message came my way
on a whispering wind from the west
in the strangest code it was dressed
Abel, Cain, Jacob, Esau, Samson, Delilah, it said
Single or married, we're all cut down in the end
Madame Curie, Einstein, Enrico Fermi, Christianity
Science's gleaming Cross wreathed with rosaries
Once the meaning I grasped, I inhaled to gasp
when struck dead by Cleopatra Philopater's asp
She sits above the rolling waves,
Her golden waves capture the sun,
The sunlight beckons wistful slaves,
Enslaved their hearts are led to dun.
For her beauty entraps the soul,
The soulful songs she sings at sea
As eyes see her beauty cajole,
So cajoled they can ne’er be free.
And I, the poet, gave my art,
In artful words pleading for love,
But can love touch her wicked heart,
Or leave my heart her mourning dove?
Form: Wreathed Quatrains
I dance round a ring wreathed in flames
Leaping spinning never burning
I am the flame dancer
I spun my circles around the leaping fire
Souring as my fiery wings can take me
I dance around the sun never ceasing my flaming dance
I am the flame dancer eternally on fire
I am ever inspired to dance my way throughout eternity
I am change brilliant and unceasing
Spinning New beginnings and new endings into place as I dance with the flames
My heart may break, wreathed in somber silence.
Yet I care, I search for valleys of peace,
where rare black orchids bloom through violence,
for fallen leaves too shall caramelize,
and kindness too will be what the wind sees.
Time is a traitor only truth can stain.
Are we lost, hiding behind masks of pain?
Is my rhythm of speech, now a song of shame?
Whilst I'm weaving hope amidst woes in vain,
deaf to your hate that burns strength of my name.
Light dawns outside and yet the clock
delays its morning squawk. Of late,
my furry mate and I would walk,
but balk she does till nearly eight.
It’s great that she can stay asleep;
I leap from bed at hours strange.
Deranged to most, I wish they’d keep
on saving, stop the bleeping change.
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A 'Wreathed Octave', ababcdcd where lines 2-8 have an internal rhyme with the previous line's end rhyme. (e.g., clock/squawk, late/mate, etc.)