I pass the bag
thinking I need salt
the bag shakes, crinkles and laughs at me
“Open me! Open me!” she yells into my head.
I do not dare.
I cannot eat just one.
Waves in many ways—
eradicate what is straight
strident ripples roam
stroking cadence through our days
with vibrato, tremolo.
These waves wander in—
from sea-swell and drifting dunes,
patterns everywhere.
crinkles, murmurs, punch-lines rise,
breathing life with rhythmic beats.
Waves caress photons
wind embroiders still smooth ponds,
perms crinkle warm hair —
sand grains stream off dune-crest spines,
wave crests leap up to applaud.
Soft waves rock the boat,
lullabies for seafarers—
lilts in sea and foam
restful calm before the storm,
when wily wind turns wicked.
Twirling the senses,
waves blur the world's hard edges
with a gentle tone.
violinist's vibrato
with tremolo's memento.
Nature resonates,
reverberates waves' accord,
with quivering rhythms—
in myriads of heartbeats
in earth, water, sky, spirit.
Note here in this romantic journal,
Singing of our love eternal,
Infinite love, bliss timeless,
You feel your oats, poet's guess,
Comfort loving in the night,
Surprise, you're a bit of all right,
Is this wisdom or not?
Breathless, true love has not forgot,
Our secret blooms to treasure,
Love is our tender pleasure,
Roses bring our glowing wrinkles,
Grey romance gives us crinkles,
Smiling, once we were so young,
Romance grows, still so much fun.
A crinkled shore on the Upper Peninsula.
We are hunting Golden Eagles
cameras at the ready.
You find a small stone.
On its surface, a
crimp and cockle depiction
of wind and waves
has rucked up an impression
of an eagle in flight.
"Just water-wear."
I say.
You throw it back into Lake Huron,
won’t hold my hand,
won’t even look at me,
until I admit the possibility
of divinely inspired crinkles.
NATURE’S DECAY AND REBIRTH
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Flowers fade and decay through wintry hours-waiting for rebirth." Constance La France
in October's harsh, brittle light
the once emerald leaf crinkles,
curls, and crumbles like burnt paper edges
descending to cold soil.
the creek forgets its silver song,
its throat choked thick with mud and reeds.
heron stands watching minnows turn to ghosts.
fungi blooms on damp logs.
then frost arrives with teeth of glass.
snow muffles doe's fallen carcass—
her ribcage a cathedral for ice and wind.
silence stays ‘til the thaw.
deep beneath steely, stubborn ground,
a seed split open by the cold
unfurls and drinks the melt of winter's tears
pushing through death's veneer.
soon, sap ascends the maple's spine.
new ferns explode in fractal line.
wet-nosed, wobbly fawn stumbles, blinking wide.
life wakes from the decay.
I will not repeat myself in a song
Or among rumbles, crinkles, or prolong
My Tuesday remaining mostly cloudy
I am wet beyond pants and a hoodie
I give anyone the ear from the stage
Because I cannot tell which path is phage
There's this guy, he's tall, wears glasses, brunette, thin,
He's so sweet, always nice and respectful.
The way he crinkles his nose and looks down with a smile,
She could just watch him for a little while.
He blushes ever so slightly when he speaks to her,
As if he's nervous or maybe a little giddy.
She tries to keep her cool, act like she's not phased,
But inside her heart is racing, she's dazed.
His laughter is a symphony, a song in her ears,
Washing away all of her worries and fears.
She loves the way his glasses slide down his nose,
And the way his polite, respectful demeanor shows.
And when he talks, she feels like the only person in the room,
The rest of the world fades into a hazy blur.
She gets lost in his eyes, a beautiful sight,
And the way his gentle, innocent smile shines so bright.
When he finishes, she feels a little weak,
Just savoring the gentle, respectful way he speaks.
In this moment,
I see visions of bed sheet caught in slow motion,
I see crinkles in corners of eyes and smiles that turn into giggles,
I see screaming fingers tips up and down my skin,
I see something new to brush my fingers through,
I see him grazing his facial hair on my upper thighs,
I see my new poems and problems coming about,
I see myself saying “I need you” again.
oh no it’s happening again,
Oh Oh it’s happening again,
Oh it’s happened again.
Drizzle and frizzled hair crinkles,
such sounds demand a symphony;
Clammy cold showered with sprinkles
there’s a vibe that says ‘Be easy.’
Stock up the wood burning fire place,
it’s raining I’ll send you a song;
Smoke creates a treble clef trace,
that rhythm will help you along.
He took risks you might not have
Thinking that he deserved to beat the odds
Flames like heated fiery thorns
Eat through his flesh numbing as they go
In pain, he swirls, his muscles roil
He wishes, Oh he wishes it would end, be over
His burning enthusiasm is consumed and charred
Blackened by the flames of false expectations
Reducing now into a smoldering heap
After all, he did set himself on fire
Believing the illusions, the lies he told
For power, more power, grasping for it
As the dark smoke fills his lungs
Choking his life's last breath
Scoffing at man's inhumanity to man
Inhaling humankind's immolation
As if were not his fault at all
This man on fire could be you
And so, the soul crinkles up into a ball inside
What's left of you has no place to hide
145 words free verse
Colored Pencil illustration G.Gaul 2024
Time wrinkle, grey crinkles, not too late, peace meditate!
Of feet crinkles crispy snaps with your mate,
as the ebbing tides that breaths winter's fate.
Echoes summons a dusty field in white,
closets freed skis and sleds still not quite right.
Few sunflowers escort its mentored sun,
facing their eastward repose position.
Brisk breeze tails a crafted shawl snuggly wrapped,
home, hot cider, lit fire, read book is lapped.
A forested cabin that's well-engaged
coast reservedly entertained assuage
A prominence forestalls in burgundy,
copper, and blonde. Snowflakes smooch tenderly
the fallen perianths. Forgivingly
melts to a smooth touch that norms Autumn's eve.
Bestilled and collected grand sensation,
stares at the glint of a harvested moon,
cast haulage divorcing neath horizon,
rise the yam sun that courses a forenoon.
Northern sways o'er ripen earth, fortunate
lofty leafy legions stretched abandon,
piles of crumpled layers, gifts pearlescent
brilliance of the immortal descension.
Towering mist espouse the crusted loam
and verdurous instilled life progresses
amid impaled saffron petals that comb
the scene all strewn against a capricious
path of lain chartreuse fronds and with the weight
of feet crinkles crispy snaps with your mate.
As for Mornings
The skin on my feet crinkles and looks like an old newspaper left out in the sun, I have five pairs of shorts and can use none
I have bought a cream for dry skin, but first, I need a shower that
makes the skin drier still, and I think, it all!
At a building site. nearby, they are boring a big square hole in the
ground presumable a garage for electric cars and stick a big building
on top, I hope it floods!
The building site used to have a nice house, set in a beautiful garden, but Sharks with cement, bricks, and money came and a story ended
There is talk of banning petrol cars, that means we, pensioners and
low low-paidkers learn to walk or take the bus, getting wet and soggy when it rains, the bus is late.
it all!
I sat behind him
He looked over to the side
I saw his lashes
My heart clashes
They're so curly
That I fell there surely
His eyes shine brightly
Full of life
Free of strife
When he woke up from sleep
I wish to swim in that pool of red sea
How I wish to never forget that bliss!
We locked eyes
I felt it hard to turn
I got captivated like I was never before
How I wish to get lost in there!
In those brown orbs , forever,
So enchanting ,yet warm and gracious,
And the crinkles when he smiles
Behind lies great sorrows and hurdles
Still looks innocent when he sleeps
I just want to look at him once more
To look into his eyes
To relive everything
To say goodbye ,
Just once more.
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