“It surely takes a grievous toll
Near the end of snow-white roll” (by author)
My lifespan by default, bawdily brief,
Sadly signifies excremental grief.
From pristine white to shady hues of brown,
Crumpled or creased, crudely disposed aground.
Paradox: I’m the most needed token -
Yet most disrespected, tissue-broken.
It could be smelly feet but no, alas!
It has to be the dark side of an ass.
I don’t intend to make you humans blush,
But you waste me on your waste in a flush.
Thus my life on a roll, floating in vain,
Down the drain, down the drain, down the drain!
August 14, 2026
Nothing arrives whole.
Everything comes folded~
creased at the edges,
tucked into itself
like a secret that forgot
how long it has been carried.
To be unpacked
is to let the day exhale,
to open the small, stubborn corners
where memory hides
like lint in a pocket.
I lift each moment
from its hiding place~
a peach warm in my palm,
a kitchen light trembling
on the rim of a glass,
a childhood street
still smelling faintly
of percolator coffee
and women laughing
in their housecoats.
Unpacked,
the world softens.
It stops pretending
to be tidy.
It spills~
slow, honest,
like a drawer finally opened
after years of silence.
And I stand there
my hands full of the past
realizing none of it
was ever lost.
It was only waiting
for me
to unfold it.
In the quiet of the crowd, you caught my eye,
a delicate silhouette against the night sky.
Your amber gaze was weary, deep, and dry,
bearing heavy truths you'd always deny.
Your paper skin was creased; folded pages where shadows lie.
I felt a sudden grief, and began to cry,
to see your hidden pain, no words could buy.
You offered up a smile, gentle and shy,
and it changed the landscape like a sunrise nigh -
lifting up the dark, without a sigh.
For brokenness is not the end, say I -
with the deepest grief, the gold will lie.
Sun-warmed boards
glow
beneath lingering footsteps~
heat
rising gently
from their time-soft grain.
A faded ball
spins
through amber air~
sun
warming its seams
like a memory held close.
The infield
breathes,
dust rising
in slow
brown spirals
of yesterday’s hush.
A foul ball
arcs,
threaded with sunlight,
its seams
catching the hush
of a summer crowd.
A glove waits,
creased,
as if shaped
by every catch
that ever
came home.
The glove lifts,
easy,
as if greeting
an old friend
returning
home.
~ ~ ~ ___ ___ ___~ ~ ~
~ ~ ______ ~ ~
____/ |____
~ ~ \_______/ ~ ~
creased with childhood smile
paper boat on old pavement
memories ripple
You always talk about the past
the events that have battered you,
the anguish and betray
that have left you bruised,
things that put your heart in a cast and a sling.
I hear you well,I understand,
all I say to you is, let it be,
start afresh! give me a ring.
there is a wide array of people,
each is not the same, each different,
a new game, roll no more dice and wait
for chance, but grow a little hope,
give your longing a new wing,
there may still be new love,
a new life, happiness…
all i say to you is
start afresh! give me a ring!
Do not let past days leave frozen
sorrow on your eye brows,
your forehead creased and heavy,
we can turn things around and make
it to your liking, life can yet be given a new lease,
start afresh! Am waiting for a ring.
Smooth the day,
seize that curled and tousled head
grease its creased and mottled entrance
come all wailing to a waiting world,
slide from the arms of midwife night
attempt to keep the light
as round and full as well remembered,
bend each hunkered cornered shadow
pull it hook and line
pierce the fish flesh bone
stretched and knotted twine about your fingers
skewer any little patch of dark that lingers on
heavy in that morning scented room,
fling the curtained windows wide
cast that latch aside and breathe,
fill your foggy winter lungs with spring
embrace the gasp and grab yourself
a newly minted season
bursting fresh with sweet unsullied air
this is not a moment,
it’s a revelation
just for you
and one you might not want to share
Five years ago today, we watched,
In horror, on TV,
As insurrectionists attacked
Our once-democracy.
We couldn’t really comprehend
The havoc we were seeing,
As worldwide outrage hit the waves,
Most normal folk agreeing.
The government held hostage,
While the president stood by
For many drawn-out hours,
Which was covered with a lie.
And all those brought to justice
Sadly pardoned and released,
Our Constitution, once revered,
Now tattered, stained and creased.
I thought we’d seen the worst of things,
But that was just the start
For we couldn’t know just how our country
Would be torn apart.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The clockmaker’s daughter
whispers to gears:
undo, rewind~
her fingers brush the blur
of pendulum’s arc.
a moth, pinned mid-flight
in resin,
remembers the flame
it never reached.
what if we folded minutes
like origami,
creased the edges
of dawn to meet dusk?
the past is a room
where all the chairs are already
occupied by our shadows.
the future hums,
a struck tuning fork
lodged in the throat of a
bird yet unborn.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The clockmaker’s daughter
whispers to gears~
undo, rewind
her fingers brush the blur
of pendulum’s arc.
a moth, pinned mid-flight
in resin,
remembers the flame
it never reached.
what if we folded
minutes like origami,
creased the edges
of dawn to meet dusk?
the past is a room
where all the chairs are already
occupied by our shadows.
the future hums,
a struck tuning fork
lodged in the throat of a
bird yet unborn.
“What’s it all about, Alfie?”—
Are they hedonistic choices—and the katabatic void they leave?
This cup’s clutter, this timetable of supplejack sighs.
If the moon forgets—will it ever call us back?
Are we meant to have beyond what we bestow?
Or are we required to be seraphim?
We chase glitter, blind to its lamplight and oil.
Alfie, if a fool shows no interest,
Is revenge the clever answer?
And if life belongs only to the strong—
What’s your wager on the sphinx’s ancient rule?
Our aspirations fold like creased napkins—
still clean enough for an evasive guest.
Love? A leftover coat on the wrong hook,
a name spoken softly, reshaped when no one listens.
Hope? A medium-rare object—
warm in the middle, a blush of pink.
Never raw, though.
And relevance? The hum between two clashing chords—
your laughter mocking silence.
“What’s it all about, Alfie?” then…
Perhaps nothing.
Perhaps everything.
Or simply this:
You hesitate—and maybe that’s the answer.
The man in the elevator wore trousers like a skirt,
topped by a foul-smelling creased crimson shirt
that stank like rotten onion, the scent failing to drift.
I stood by his side, through the crowd I couldn’t shift,
I held my breath as long as I could, felt I would faint.
So, plugging my nose while I tested my self-restraint
I heard him say rather loudly, “it’s a new perfume”.
I thought it’s his silly invention to make people fume.
When the lift stopped running out at the ordeal’s end
I told him “nice perfume, gift a bottle to you girlfriend”.
A Creased Spine
A fall with back on stairs steps, a dire pain,
I ever up till now have to sustain;
X-Rays discerned spine crushed and nerves entwined
That hard it`d be to make it again shine,
Treating doctors revealed the words of truth:
Surgery, with metal hold, can pain soothe,
Yet, I shall be able to tread ahead,
But only with ache and limping, instead;
I`d prefer walk for short while, slow and weak,
Rather than limp when my days are quite bleak.
No I'm not stumped by a Cricket test
so here's my pitch
which creased me up it's my best
by the contender
who hit one for six the incumbent he
who shall not be named
(begins with 'T')
was bowled over and out
in 2020
of that there is no doubt
for by all scores
and there were plenty
(more than 81 million votes take note)
and what's more
based on his batting average
as a matter of fact
the latter was on a sticky wicket
and as for his later behaviour
no it's just not cricket
creased mind blank uncared
void visage dumped unclaimed…
tears dry sub-psyche
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