Best Creasing Poems
I tried folding a paper crane again the other day
and it didn't turn out right
tracing back my folds,
I knew I missed somewhere
unfolding, re-creasing, refolding
just tracing my fingers back
fingers
feeling the paper
and beyond
A three-minute fold
times 10 now
Even if I needed to do other things,
I paid no mind, determined to fold that crane
I had to get this right.
I had to.
Almost there...
As it turns out,
I only missed one step,
--something to do with its wings, I believe...
Amazing how a single step
could be so important.
Stretching its wings now,
the paper crane
soars proudly on my palm...
So beautiful.
In refolding this paper crane,
I hope I never forget...
Amazing how easily things slip from our minds,
but more amazing
is when our hearts Do remember.
We remember,
and then we Do something...
...I have hundreds of paper cranes yet to fold,
it may be taking me far longer
than what I had initially planned...
but yes, you are in my thoughts,
you are in my prayers...
and I shall continue folding these cranes.
...I revel in the thought, for that moment,
when I can send them flying towards the Sun...
0409/142012131a133/1139p1155
Categories:
creasing, dedication, life, recovery from...,
Form:
Free verse
our hearts were once joined,
now apart the degrees
of separation are burning,
my wounds are weeping
there is no other day
judgment came yesterday
Autumn leaves began their journey
as my night was laid to rest
the walls started falling down
scattering the Rose of Sharon
a bed of flowers to die in
a place to lay my weary head
I can no longer go walkabout
black smoke is streaming
a signal, all is not well
there is only one reality, now
tomorrow has yet to come
yesterday is already history
I must savor these last
moments, sucking in each drop
in desperation I prayed for hope
for the will to fight again
but also for the strength to let go
my fingers slowly lost their grip
creeping my purchase crumbled
sinking ever deeper
becoming an automaton
I am going through the motions
watching the lights extinguish
along with my last grain of sanity
the cloudy waters of my heart
dream poems, writing of the light
I can surf the stars once again
the lip curls, it is folding my heart
and creasing my mind
sanity has fled on golden wings
as sleeves of soul sway in the breeze
Categories:
creasing, depression, imagination,
Form:
Free verse
Memories move like shadows,
A slow and mocking waltz
Across a backdrop of loss.
Breakable as glass, tiny fissures
Through my mind.
Malleable as sand - eroded by time,
Washed away in pieces.
Still, the senses torment:
Vacant voices, ghostly glimpses,
Wafts of faint perfume -
Your phantom scent
The worst kind of haunting.
I fear your image has become plastic -
A product of albums
Flipped through yet again:
A cruel, addictive time loop.
And I can't keep my mind
From creasing, fading,
Curling at the edges
Like an old photograph.
Categories:
creasing, loss,
Form:
Free verse
Traced backwards through dreams gone—
Saw a cobblestone path creasing palm of land
Slowly, images ripened beneath memory’s dawn
Faded, pattering feet stroking stone into sand.
2010.10.
NOTICE: I'd like hard-core critiques, please!
Categories:
creasing, love
Form:
Rhyme
Technological age.
Advancement of advancement,
Digital acceleration unlimited.
Gifted and pocketed,
This watch,
Dull dark silver,
True and tested mechanic,
Short and sturdy chain,
Analogue accuracy.
It fits comfortably in my jeans pocket,
Ages alongside my creasing lines with wear marks,
Time isn't well kept with its adolescent sporadic tock,
Certain to be set to be kept at a minute ahead,
I am directed to watch this future unfold,
While it clings to my pocket lining and present time,
And the engravings pull me back to the past,
You told me not to let this time pass me by,
As you held me tight before you passed me by,
And I never kept very good time like this
Fresh watch that sticks close to my side,
I cannot say that you were lost,
For the path you had set was more set than stone,
No improper implication should be allowed,
The wallowing whispers that beg me every which way,
They told me to go away from the very place
That I had interest to stay and investigate,
The stars sway with no stationary complaint,
Our night sky that's not so city bright,
Contains a dim white plate in-between its phase,
Much like my pocket of space it hangs,
A witless glow behind the cloudy night.
I am no more than I was except for a simple realization,
To look back and find I am not the same as I was,
Commonly known as growing up and moving on,
But I know I'll be happy in just a few short years,
Just glad I am not the same as I am now.
Categories:
creasing, loss, love, time, me,
Form:
Free verse
As our eyes locked in the tiny rearview mirror I could see your fear
jerking your arms in a sudden movement
to veer to the side of the road wishing for a way out to unload
But I'm quick to rise and whisper in your ear
'This would not be wise my Sweet Devine'
I see your eyes so full of terror and wide
as your tears start to slide
My hands creasing up and down your cream color slender neck
your mind wondering what I will do next
as I run my fingers through your long soft hair a beautiful brunette
While my tongue probes around your ear I can smell and taste
your sweet sweat of despair
you seem to enjoy..."Oh my, was that a twitch of a grin on your lips
or just a tiny slip?" as I start to toy
Reaching behind my back I bring to you a single white rose
just for you my Sweet Devine
now that we are so close my blood starts to flow
my heart wanting to explode
Gently I place the white rose inside your baby blue dress
giving you full details of directions to our private special nest
as I continue to blow and caress you to impress.
Do you feel me? Do you want more?
T reams 4/4/15
Categories:
creasing, dark, desire, devotion, evil,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
Creasing Out Happiness
My little luxuries of life I refuse to barter
With Solomon's or Queen Sheba's treasures
Its ecstasy bewitches and beguiles me
As pirates to laden vessels to surfeit
Scrubbed and freshened from bath salts
I prepare for my vintage treat
The shaded candles are lit while
The fragrance of jasmine incense sticks
Stabilise my flickering thoughts
And in a loose kaftan I take my seat
My fingers lightly move to click the button
Soft meditative music plays on for few hours
As I sit in my comfortable position relaxed
My eyelids drop allowing my thoughts
To travel into the past pains, present turmoils
Until they start enjoying the sonority
Of the babbling waters, the tweets and whistles
I think of the beautiful holidays I had with the family
In all the beautiful locales elevating my joys
The creases on my brow get unwrinkled
And the heart floats in nature's midst knowing only bliss
The hours pass and I float out of my transcendence
In a daze feeling as weightless as the air, and I breathe light
I neatly fold my Kashmiri carpet, feeling healed
After listening to the calm transcendence of the binaural waves
April 15, 2016
Happiness Of Life
For Nayda Ivette Negron
Categories:
creasing, beauty, feelings, happy, love,
Form:
Free verse
Memories of you talking,
Simply talking to me,
About your day,
About a new song you heard lately,
About how you like worn out jeans,
And how you fangirl over John Mayer.
Memories of you smiling,
That smile with your eyes,
Crinkling up,
Creasing,
Happiness.
Memories of looking for that flower from Italy.
Turning on the flashlight,
Searching for it on the road,
And finally finding it back in your room.
Memories of that night we never wanted to end.
Our last goodbye.
Our last hug.
Our last kiss.
An end we never saw coming.
You said 'Remember me and smile someday.'
And I do.
So now, with no talks,
No goodnights and goodmornings,
I remember you and smile.
With an irreplaceable warmth.
And I am happy
Like I was before.
Categories:
creasing, for her, i miss
Form:
Imagine the weight of the air in that house
which in the summer months would strangle you,
wearing heated gloves. Tough luck.
A gulf of emotion that is always a week ahead;
trying to claw back
a sense of permanence
as it lingers in a cold sweat. Windows
crack with discomfort; the place is dead.
All of those whispering memories
that remind me of my crippled crown
an accolade
of atrocities;
dripping with blood that is warm, not red.
Dried it looks a heavy brown, stiff as lead.
Imagine the ricochet of a drunken fist
that snuggles nicely between the nose and lips.
Impact dribbling
down
the spine and slapping the hips. The barrels
of my skull, those holes that whistle in the wind
a sort of lubricated lisp that rests on tears.
A sense of brutal butchery that batters
the borders of belief,
a false economy
to pray that some how, some day and in some
small way this tale will turn. Dismay,
this is not pain. This is not the teething
clamp of a hungry blade, the creasing
curve
through flesh and vein.
This is my reality, or at least it was,
why? because. The luck of the draw, the imploding
exploding, digesting, regurgitating ying and yang
of this universe - the gaunt keeper of humanity.
Sanctimonious,
a symbol of sellotape
that binds me perversely to my past. Manipulative
memories that need to be restrained, filed
with all the crap. A thrill, a subversive
all too serious sensational sense
of seniority,
capped with stark stupidity.
An intoxicated journey that reached an end. Your
choices scarred me; let's not pretend.
Categories:
creasing, angst, introspection, life, me,
Form:
Free verse
A skating I go
On the thin ice of life.
A skating I go
On the thin ice of love.
On the fine sheet of ice, I draw fine lines
As the skate curves along the icy floor
Like a child scribbling indecipherable incurvates
My creasing destiny, on my palm I delineate
Ignorantly apprehensive of my desired fate.
Reeling over the stones of enticing mutiny
Orbiting along an extended apogee.
Gathering myself together, combating myself unceasingly;
Victoriously I follow my self-defined philosophy.
Cognizant I am, of the hardship and pain
Of the marathon race I've undertaken.
Yet on the thin ice of love and life
Inexorably carrying the burden of life
A skating I'll always goalless go.
Categories:
creasing, introspection, life, philosophy, sad,
Form:
I'm still wearing the
red lusted lipstick he hates
as I try to explain that
it's impossible to
wash this disease away.
My father says I'm
a picture of teenage cliches,
mourning puppy love
as if it is something tangible,
him, always one to rip
the band aid from the wound,
quick and with only the
slightest sting of nostalgia.
He wonders why he was cursed
with the mass of emotions
bleeding before him.
"It's later than midnight..." he says,
but they are everywhere,
dampening my hair,
flailing into my mouth
already creasing into
the laugh lines and
fleeting moments of yesterday.
My father wanted the boy,
five years younger and
dead before born
but all he got
was this:
frayed heart and torn jeans,
sheet stains from two kinds of
melted foundations,
the moist aftermath that I will
swallow in sleep, as the
constant question marks
adorn his face.
Categories:
creasing, age, childhood, dad, father,
Form:
Free verse
A Flower Through the Snow (or The Traveler)
--
Why is it always the merriment that’s rattling at the door,
In the middle of the day that keeps the night at war?
If only you could open up and let this traveller in,
There could be a-something done about hushing up this din.
There’s a bottle sure, an open sore, the salt of seven seas,
White lines lay upon on the shore from brow creasing pleas.
Well first it’s a little, little sorry then it’s just little more,
‘Til the book finds a new page - now who’s this written for?
Why’d you bury the bones and start thinking they were treasure,
And dig ‘em back up and find the horror not the pleasure.
Is it startled reassurance that the truth ain’t in the flesh?
Well it ain’t in the bones too if there’s no cartilage to mesh.
Now all the chorus girls know a thing or two about this
That night weary wanders see only blue for bliss
As they’re walking through the day putting night sighs to test
Shaking stuck fallen leaves from shady places where you rest
Shut your eyes, go to sleep, though there are a thousand things
To do before tomorrow when winter’s cold voice sings
Can you let this traveller in while there’s still flame in the fire?
Ask to hear his story but if you know it he won’t tell yer
Wait there warm, sit there childish, wait until the new spring.
If he’s asks you the way or to see just say it’s something
In your smile, so stick around it may show, might grow
Like a song in the belly, like a flower through the snow.
Categories:
creasing, confusion, hope, life, lovenight,
Form:
Couplet
Death shrouds each
ancillary moment
Pain lashed without reason
A blind game against the sun
Humans turn against dirt
Where they search
Thoughtless configuration
My sense
Of cryogenic soul hovering
Imbuing fluids, mystery without expression
And creasing against
The wind of ideas
My only source of direction
When you speak germane
Fertilizer falls out
With no patience
To encircle the pants
You left trailing behind
Instead a tumor grows
Simultaneously banished
And buried under the surface
Without recognition
Categories:
creasing, dark,
Form:
Free verse
Steel water in milky mist
Ripples creasing the duck’s vee
The boat’s horn blaring
Categories:
creasing, nature,
Form:
Haiku
The Marshutka travels down
the jarring road, and
just as in
life, we are unsure
of the hurdles we will
encounter
along
our
winding
journey.
The torn and
chalky seat carries each
of you,
And you are with me,
Just as was
intended, by a divine intervention,
for our blessed
meeting.
Your kindness needs no
words because I can see it in your
eyes,
beneath the veil that
covers the raw you, the one that
cries,
Scripted within
your
iris,
I follow your narrative, with
every creasing blink,
And through passing
looks
our living stories
interlink.
In those speckled brown
pools, I see your soul,
I see
your past and
the worries you hold, passing windows
of cobalt blue
I feel the truth that lives
in you,
and
in apertures of forest green,
I see the things that you
have seen.
Your dandelion clocks,
show where you
went astray,
and where the wind of life blew your
seeds away,
And on this everlasting journey,
the two of us sit opposite one another
on this rickety marshutka,
Separated by the language we speak yet
found in our own translation.
Categories:
creasing, friend, spiritual, symbolism, together,
Form:
Free verse