Photograph by Chris Sims
The poems below were all written in response to the photograph above. I loveed them all. The readers favourite however was Poem 1 Doorway of Dreams by Lizzie Ballagher. Congratulations Lizzie! Thanks to everyone who submitted and voted.
Doorway of Dreams
In one over-heated room,
Everything’s been thought of:
Even perfectly matched socks in rows
(For once no holes in toes)
That his brothers and his friends will wear.
All, all are redolent of roses.
The trembling fingers of the groom
Reach for the blushing roses’ sweetness:
The wrapped, enfolded buttonhole.
Deeply breathing, he steadies himself.
While in another room, and up another stair
Where a fan shifts warm air
And voile curtains lift and stir,
A mother weaves bright buttercups—
Ranunculus asiasticus—
Through her daughter’s glossy hair.
The bride is trembling, blushing, too.
She knows she’s found her perfect match.
So, reaching for a rose,
Deeply breathing, she readies herself.
Around both upper rooms music breaks
In waves, foams, creams
In the whorled shells
Of their hushed and listening ears.
The love-song they have chosen swells,
Calls them to the doorway of their dreams.
Lizzie Ballagher
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Poem 2
They Left Their Mark
That day Lord Kitchener’s strolling-players breezed-in praising
Balaclava’s brave six-hundred, an unwaged-clutch of local,
Sunday-suited lads, who never really meant to leave their
homes for ever, were so swayed by the pied-piper’s
patriotic penny-whistling, the limping major’s rhetoric
and the complimentary ale that, come eventide, they were
marching-out having autographed their lives away.
These beardless Parish-Pals had never-ever meant
to only leave their names behind, etched upon some
sandstone-cenotaph yet, their heroic shadows still
stand proud, guard the village green, salute the knelling
towered-bell, join the annual-rollcall alongside kith and kin
who bow their heads with their remembering at the annual
laying-down of Flanders’ everlasting, blood-red petals.
Mike Lee
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Poem 3
Wedding Guests
One perfect summer’s morn,
united in our wedding livery,
we witness two loving hearts profess.
Three wishes swirl with the confetti-
Love, Health, and Happiness.
By day the sun beams down,
her beatific shimmer,
warm-wraps every guest,
bestowing nuptial gifts;
our conviviality is her largesse.
Meanwhile, Venus and Jupiter
sleep the hours away in conjunction.
By night they lead our step,
dancing on a celestial stage
deep-draped with indigo velvet.
Later Luna will mark midnight,
discreetly intimating her gift;
a sacred consecration, soon,
as lovers’ hours
become a honeymoon.
Stephanie Haxton
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Poem 4
Sevens
Fathers of the bride and groom
Groom and best man by his side
Three team mates as ushers in
Hankies, ties and socks costume
Nervously await the bride
Sporting roses fixed by pins
Lapels blush and slowly bloom.
Sold on, “it’s like rugby kits”
Every man wears clothes that match
Feeling they’re dressed up as fools
Thinking chums will call them twits
That’s until their eye-lines catch
Bridesmaids tell them, “You look cool.”
Secretly they’re thrilled to bits.
Photos of the day’s events
Show the guests in lines of scrum
Supping pints and downing gins
All day wedding men have spent
Fetching cake for aunts and mums
Smiling large and cheesy grins
Smartly dressed like proper gents.
Sue Spiers
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Poem 5
Wear red
He said he’d wear red
On their wedding day,
His ushers,his best man and he,
Red for danger,power,control,
Surely he must see.
He said he’d wear red
beneath morning grey,
To show passion and love
for his bride,
As they stand at the alter
and make their vows,
to journey side by side.
The red he said
would send out a glow,
From his heart to his feet and head,
She’ll look in his eyes
and realise,
The soulmate she just wed.
Leela Gautam
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Poem 6
Counting ties
This time he seems to be trying
He’s changing, he listens,
she may be the
One
They live together, talk together,
See friends together and laugh together
They are a
Two
The months pass by
She makes her plans
She includes me, that’s
Three
But yet again, today, the future is uncertain,
But a mother can make plans too
Steadily losing weight, now at month
Four
Confiding she’d like a child
Time’s not on her side
She’ll soon be thirty
Five
I’m just plain selfish
Hearing about the grandchildren
of others. One friend’s got
Six
A photo brings it home. The count
is on. How many years left?
The count brings us to
Seven
Or will there just be a flower left to remember
No one to wear the tie
No, time is not on our side either and we are left counting
and waiting.
Angie Butler
