Best Wrapping Poems
soda sparks
and lemon juice
on every lip
and candle wick
explosion
of the champagne kind
to bubble brains
and swirl the minds
when summer limps
upon two heels
we break our vows
and kneel to feel
the rhythm of the losing heat
when soda sparks
in weak appeal
as sidewalks bend
their thoughts to me
while overactive melodies
complete themselves
in summer nights
I barely fall without a fight
and candles dim
and lights grow white
I know the drill, tonight's the night
I lick the summer off my chin
and grab September, and head on in...
Inscribed still stone unholds, supine spirit enfolds
bemoaned psyche enwrapped, entranced soul strings unsnapped.
WRAPPING IT IN PURPLE
-For Prince
Black onyx handsome,
Small is beautiful,
Soft campy creature,
Definite in feature,
All chiseled, boned,
Talents honed,
And used for a king's ransom.
A royal purple mist,
Rained down on fans.
A thousand in the cast,
(He's never going to last).
Sing, Hip hop, do yer dance,
It's really yer last chance;
And maybe you'll be missed.
Let's do! Let's go crazy!
Count sheep, fall asleep,
Red flag, Swag dance, Sweet feet!
Tap it, Rap it, on a side street.
Keepers, weepers, of the dark,
One chance to make yer mark.
Sigh or sing, no time to be lazy!
Speed of light, day or night,
You know time can't be defined.
Check it off, count loves,
Hope you hear the cry of doves.
Yer wanting all yer extra time,
Kiss it in yer billboard climb;
A nanosecond dove in flight.
Burning up your axe,
Ending up an icon,
Pay your ticket, seeum,
In Hollywood's museum.
Paisley is the handle,
Stiff, dripping like a candle,
Just a manikin in wax.
No birthday's, no gray, or wrinkle.
In purple paper, wrap a lost chord!
You float above a cherry moon,
Wing it, sing it, it's your last tune.
Spirit vaporized, name that's canonized,
And all your data to be analyzed.
Precious purple, a periwinkle sprinkle.
Always cry for love, never cry for pain;
Elevé, do rise, caught up, surprised!
Don't stare sleeping there,
Death upon the stair.
No liquor, no last flicker,
No barcode, no heart quicker,
An April snow has left you sleeping in the rain.
By Edlynn Nau
© April 23, 2016
My husband doesn’t get the point
Of wrapping up a gift.
His reasons aren’t mainly ones
That have to do with thrift.
He thinks it’s just a bother.
First, the paper must be bought;
Then measured, cut and folded if
A winning outcome’s sought.
It’s time consuming and, of course,
It doesn’t last too long,
For daintily removing wrapping paper
Just seems wrong.
Yet the wrapping on a present
Gives the heart a little lift
And the fun of ripping paper off
Is equal to the gift.
Saint Monica's Mission
Tots rushing and jostling, reaching for gifts
Three hundred and two presents we did carry
We drove to the shore, used pallet jack lifts
Children gathered about cheerful and merry
Everywhere bows, ribbons, bright wrapping paper!
Sandcastles decked with candy cane ornaments
Boys and girls enjoying this wild zany caper
Eggnog, carols, and the smell of peppermints
A dapper Santa in his swimsuit chuckling, ho, ho, ho
Grab your boogie boards he bellows, time for a swim
We all shout out, hey Saint Nick, go man go!
Some of the crew followed Santa and joined him
Goodwill and cheer were now within reach
With broad grins, ringing bells, kids thanked us guys
These unfortunates grew joyful this day at the beach
As did Saint Monica's who brought Christmas in July!
To wrap Christmas gifts
Is not so easy to do
When the dog is near
As soon it is wrapped
It is pawed openedhe
She is told to stop
Barking is heard loudly
She does this to open gifts
The more gifts wrapped-
She will paw open
Whether it is her's or not
The dog does this every year
something tells me
I have to leave this place
unremembered
the wind smells foul
the grass has changed color
the shrine is now a Clubhouse
and the Diviner has lost his memory
where do you find blessing
when everything stands still
where do you find blessing
when the trees are dead
and beneath them are
decaying bones
of passersby
whom do you call
when the gas stove in the Tower is leaking
and the Door of the Refrigerator
stained with rust
to whom do you turn
when the air you breathe
belongs to Someone
what do you do
when it is raining
and the roof has curved in on you
what will you say
when the brick Wall has lost its battle
with the Rain
where do you go
when the stairwell to the King’s chamber
slops to a dagger-point
and tongues groan and sing
in glutton voices
with whom will you stand
when the mugs on the table are ugly
and maggots dance round it
in steps
to dark unfathomed caves
where do you find blessing
when there is laughter inside the kitchen
yet you hear no footsteps
something tells me
I have to leave this place
unremembered
and tell it all to my pillow
my only friend
(Xenia, 08/22/2011)
I want to say I’m sorry - your present looks like that.
It wasn’t kicked by UPS or pummeled with a bat
The master wrappers I prefer, simply aren’t around
A slow economy got them or the covid cut them down.
My boys at Neiman Marcus, I miss those guys so much
and the girls Bergdorf Goodman had such a subtle touch
the lacy Le Bon Marché ribbons, are what set their work apart
no matter where you placed those gifts, they always looked like art
I miss those tasteful craftsmen, but instead of being depressed
I watched some Youtube lessons - and I tried my very best
but the present came out so miserably, I thought I should confess
A foot large package mailed
From a dear friend to me
For my birthday on October.
I observe and deal with:
Why this freaky gift-wrapped
In the local newspaper?
The small card inside:
“Happy Birthday!”
And a well-known signature.
Wow! I’m totally screw up.
Misinterpreted!
Misconceived!
The outside of an object,
The beauty of packaging,
The clothing of people.
Why shouldn’t I focus
On the true value
Hidden in people’s heart?
Lisa and I wrap and rap for Christmas.
Can you imagine the two of us doing that?
We’ve got Christmas playlists going
Christmas scented candles glowing,
and milky hot-chocolate flowing.
“Stir the marshmallows with the candy canes,”
Lisa says, like that’s something she has to explain.
We’re humming, singing and laughing,
and dancing because we’re happy.
We’re dashing to finish our wrapping,
we can’t have our suitemates catching
us executing the plans we’re hatching
to surprise them with gifts, enchanting.
The paper’s exotic, delicate and glittery
bought at Boyars Gifts, in New York City.
Why do the scissors keep getting lost?
Getting low on scotch-tape - we’ve used a lot.
We’ll be putting them, sneakily, under the tree
where they’ll add glamor and tease to our festivities.
I love the lights of the season - I love giving gifts.
For me, playing Santa is as good as it gets.
.
.
Sometimes, I just need a silent hug, like a blanket of stars wrapping around my soul,
Without words or advice, just a circle of arms saying they don't know what I'm going through, but they're here,
An unconditional refuge, where silence becomes music, and quiet turns into solace,
Just simple and true warmth, like a gentle fire in the midst of an inner winter,
I'm allowed to fall apart and still be held, like a leaf carried by the gentle evening breeze.
Sometimes, the world is too noisy, like an ocean of sounds flooding my thoughts,
And I'm too tired to appear strong, like a shadow retreating from the day's light,
In those moments, a hug is not a small gesture, but the entire universe condensed into a point,
It's all I need to regain my balance, a sanctuary that welcomes me with open arms,
A place where vulnerability is a gift and not a burden, where fragility is seen as delicate art.
Between the tumult of days and the silence of nights, the hug becomes a soundless language, like a mute poem,
A deep understanding between two souls who don't need words to feel, just presence,
It's a sacred space of being, where time stops and the heart finds rest in a constant rhythm,
Where the simple act of being held becomes a poetry of existence, an unbroken and endless connection,
In that hug, I find answers to unspoken questions and the desired peace in silent chaos.
And I understand that sometimes the greatest act of courage is to let yourself be carried by the wave, like a ship without a compass,
To allow someone else to be your support when you're too tired to fight, like an oak that supports its branches,
And to accept that a simple hug can be all you need to be whole again,
To find your center in the midst of the storm, like a lighthouse illuminating the path lost in the sea's mist,
And to know that in someone's arms, even for a moment, you find the universe waiting for you with open arms.
facing the final chapter of our mortality
AP: 3rd place 2025
Wrapping Paper
Every color I have bought,
red, green and gold.
There is blue like the heavens,
white like pure snow,
they both glitter and shine.
I have saved and resaved them,
year after year.
Time after time.
I have no money for gifts.
But I will wrap…
wishes for fishes,
songs for the lost.
cookies baked,
still in my memories…
from grandma’s house.
I will send thoughts of the bible,
my grandfather’s favorite verses.
Mostly and most importantly,
I will send prayer…
I will pay special attention
wrapping each and every one.
Healing… gets broken easy.
Hope, must be sent over night, fresh.
Joy… comes in a basket at the door,
unexpected, brought by strangers,
with honest and good intentions.
I will smile at enemies,
with no malice in my heart.
I will strive to remember,
Our Savior from the start.
Even when I am somewhat afraid.
I will not let fear win.
I will set it outside in the cold weather.
I will leave it where it belongs.
I will pray it does not make it,
until the thaw.
It is an unnecessary.
Such things, need to be left out,
and off the list.
Now I need to get some nice bows.
I have no money, so I will find…
something else to decorate,
every line.
With a prayer, you came first
Leading into the promise
Like a poem of proud insights
Powerful and pure
And, as in grape, in the middle
Of something alive
Dancing like poetry and prose
Two of you who know
Past, present and the potential
To elope, in the center
Prompted by a pop at both ends
Where rap left you lastly
Feeling like you were strapped
To two people who knew
You are praising God
When you give your peace
To the hope that lives within
Thank you, P, for the power
To be polite, poised and pure
Pleased to know your prominence
The piety that you wrap it up with
When it comes to wrapping presents,
I am really not that good.
The edges aren’t neat and don’t
Lie flat the way they should.
The paper that I use, though,
Is quite festive, to distract
From all the perfect extras
That my presentation lacked.
And if I have a lot to wrap,
My efforts just get worse,
Though fortunately, the receivers
Cannot hear me curse.
It really makes no difference, since
To get at what’s inside,
The wrapping gets ripped off
No matter how it’s sealed or tied.
And once that paper’s in a heap
Or crumpled on the floor,
Nobody can remember how
That present looked before.