Folds Poems - Poems about Folds

pleats and folds

pleats and folds
a winged makeover ~
sleight of hands



AP: 3rd place 2025

Time Folds

Time folds inwards,
like paper cranes in cosmic flight.
Time folds inwards—
a twist of clocks in glass-bound wards,
its orbit skewed by quantum might.
We dream in loops by neon light—
Time folds inwards.

Folds

folds in a napkin
paper crane come to life
memories of you



AP: Honorable Mention 2025

Amidst the folds of time, the shadows of memories stretch silently

Amidst the folds of time, the shadows of memories stretch silently,
I dress myself in your echoes, garments of dreams and bygone desires.
They don't fit me, but I wear them like a cloak of untold stories,
slipping off my shoulders like a river of whispers lost in the night.
You extended them to me as relics from a

In folds of silence, I delve deep, losing myself in the shadow of a day that refuses dusk

In folds of silence, I delve deep, losing myself in the shadow of a day that refuses dusk,  
Where halves find no place, and words are gold coins,  
Heavy and whole, without concealment, without shadows slipping between truths.  

When I choose to be silent, my silence becomes a boundless ocean,  
A

My Love In The Folds Of Mountain

My Love In The Folds Of Mountain
                                Dr Ranjit Dutta
              

Curves Contours Vale Mounds And Folds

Curves valleys mounds and folds
A sweeping landscape we choose to travel 
And enjoy to linger for a time
Whenever we can
To us and our companion
To the High peak of satisfaction
And release mounting tension
In the pleasant valley below

A much-needed vacation
Then it's back to work 
Again.

Beneath the Folds

Beneath the folds within the brains
Of some of us exist remains
Of early traumas, tucked away
And if we’re lucky, there they’ll stay.

Yet if we aren’t, they’ll sneak through
And possibly provide a clue
To why some triggers make us snap
As if we’ve stumbled on a trap.

That knowledge, though, won’t be enough
To call that bottled genie’s bluff
For once he’s

On realms hidden within the folds of the celestial map, a murmur of light is woven

On realms hidden within the folds of the celestial map, a murmur of light is woven,
And among the sacred, within an inner world, resounds the divine call.
Your values, ancient bastions within the whirlpool of the ages, raise them as standards,
Be the echo among souls, in their endless dance, parallel and burning.
On the vast stage of

Hide yourself in the folds of dreams, amidst the stray bosoms of darkness

Hide yourself in the folds of dreams, amidst the stray bosoms of darkness,
Snow trickles down, over fields in their metaphorical slumber,
An endless prolongation of silence, a voiceless query,
Where do you linger, when your thought is but a shadow over the restless past?
The night interlaces its hands with the cool thread of silver, letting its veil

Through the folds of silence, deep into the serene night

Through the folds of silence, deep into the serene night,
I wait in the melancholic shadow of my thoughts,
For the rhapsody to wrap me in its delicate wings,
To lead me into mysterious, starry worlds.
If I write on the pages of dreams with ink of the moon,
Long verses stretch like wide rivers,
Lost through landscapes beaten by wind

The Thirteen Folds of Old Glory

Each fold recalls our first thirteen territories—
   The first for the soldier’s life and those they defend.
The second for their hopes of heavenly glories,
   And the third fold for when their life comes to an end.
The fourth fold for man’s weakness and God’s guiding hand,
   And the fifth is

With Blinders On

God carved him from his finest cloth.
He gave and gave.
They drank his broth.
Most unaware of what was given,
with blinders on they kept on living.

In the Folds

O hollowing gales,take me to the breathtaking sights
Where dreams abide and love resides
      in the ensemble of butterflies 
      and beautiful summer skies

where morining sparrows narrate the lore of romantic lovers
and sunny spells were followed by scattered showers
   you are my queen in

Growing Up In the Sixties

As a young teen I sadly confess, I dreamt of becoming an actress.
A class assignment drew me to Warner's  in D.C., where I
brushed up against black history..
I stumbled into a meeting of the NAACP.
The people  welcomed one out of touch, this
young white girl who had way too much..
Months later, although mom's words were

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