Long Creased Poems
Long Creased Poems. Below are the most popular long Creased by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Creased poems by poem length and keyword.
13/3/2012.
Doleful lugubrious quests feverously churn within my mind,
To quell thirst of my hunted and sought cravings consigned.
Every night and every day they scald and scorch,
Thoughts charred smothering move in and fade away, akin a blinking torch.
I seek with hankenrous desires, faux pas,
Yearn, carvel for my illusionious coveted cause.
My creased desire to be someone more,
Seems round the corner yet I keep avariciously, groping for.
As winds of change blow silently into rough seas, my ambitious dreams,
The pent up rage inside me emerges out with venomous gleam.
Their sputum wraths will spittle at what others, of me think,
Its unchained fury will ravage from sanity’s brink.
I want to free my thoughts from silo and rules,
Live life like a game, full of fun and not like laboring mules.
I have fought and succeeded to become what I am now
But I realize that that I am still not free from that yearning vow.
No moment passes when occur passive thoughts of who I will become
All the emotions I have kept caged up and kept under my frozen hum.
I keep dreaming and longing for what I should have been,
And what I should have done and what was apt for me.
Little did I realize that all the encountered impossible situations,
Were great opportunities of simple manifestations.
And sometimes we need to die a little inside,
To rise again, stronger and wiser outside.
Doleful lugubrious quests feverously churn within my mind,
I seek with hankenrous desires, of all kind.
As winds of change blow silently into rough seas, my ambitious dreams,
I want to free my thoughts from silo and rules and illusionary, imaginary themes………
contest: what's your fear?
I remember nights on the south side porch
After a full dinner & nothing on TV
We gather to sit talk and listen to cicadas cry
High
Into the spring night
Or deep into the fall gloom
Or even long into the summers eve
We watch lightning playing across a dark sky
Anticipating the wrath of summer storms
Or fall rains, spring showers
I’ve remember my father weaving
Tales of another time
Another place stringing memories
Into entertaining far away worlds
He would strike a match
A light will flare and highlight
His deep creviced face
I would watch enchanted as the amber
Light of his cigarette tip trace lines in the night
Weaving tapestries of other times
Seasons long gone in memory
Orange the color of his history
The pumpkin light dance deep into the night
As he wove stories of another past
memories of his childhood
With each deep inhalation of breath
A Spark would flare an outline of his heavy creased
& well warn face
Sparks would twinkle in highlights of
deep aged UMBER eyes
Like reflections form long ago summer suns
Or deep harvest fall moons
We don’t craft and send no more
Penned words residing in my draw
Those dated thoughts and gone events
Scrapbook of yore it represents
Handwritten mood, pain and regrets
Once sunny days, audacious bets
One young at heart, the choices made
Mundane events still on parade
Creased paper, yellowing in time
Cute fading stamps, once worth a dime
Ideas frozen, saved and kept
And people, places somehow trapped
For boys and girls, for moms and dads
Grandmas and wives of spouse-nomads
How stay in touch, to share crave
To savor love and send the wave
The way we were, like photo framed
Re-read those words, yourself reclaim
A little pile, ribbon-tied
Link to the past it hides inside
The world has changed, days flew by
We type, not write, and say ‘goodbye’
To letters, pushed aside by chats
So glued to screens in our flats
I have regrets, as letters gone
The dialog to act upon
Mailbox flag’s up, lagged outcome
And glory, when the letter comes!
September 11, 2024
old photographs~
faded and creased
my grandma's treasure
inside an embroidered album
where memories are etched
upon each page
printed in grayscale
those filmed-captured
by a vintage camera
vivid were memories
despite decades that passed~
my first smile...
my first crawl...
my first walk...
sweet reminiscence
of a first-born granddaughter ~
So much loved...
So much treasured...
grayscale transformed
into colored outputs
as it captured
the highlights of school life:
me and my grandparents
smiling faces
gold medals in my neck
graduation day~
as I turn another page
I see a dried leaf...
teardrops fall.
12 April 2022
Written: May 19, 2025, for contest by Edward Ibeh
Quote: "Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise, so I am changing myself." By Rumi
*********************
As the seacoast swells, I'm the ticking clock,
Medusa’s buds melt wild in cosmic shock.
Too vast to trace the whisper of my touch,
Once shrieking in the gales I loved too much.
Leverage—a lattice of force spun soft in farms,
A catapult kissed from naiads and their charms.
I rise beyond the sigh of earthbound tale,
Folding time in saffron-sage on silence’s trail.
A crown of hours hides loss's jagged edge,
Each tear a fulcrum, each star a silver wedge.
Leverage: the sly magician’s unseen hand,
Lifting fate’s beast with a wand’s command.
Crawling on bone, I trade a dream for a wink,
An alchemist stirs fear in jasmine-gold ink.
Weight turns to promise in twilight’s brief peace—
A cog sonata in a galaxy’s creased crease.
Life glows as ember script, footnoted and odd,
A whispered nudge in thunder, kissed by God.
One key turns inequity into a lyrical code—
Leverage: the hidden root of the common node.
With empathy, patience, and a poet’s dash,
A cracked cup tilts, still spills its splash.
The braid unwinds when a thread is pulled—
And so the days dissolve, and the dark is lulled.
The wrong key turns, but never fits the lock,
A defiant glance becomes a harboring heart’s dock.
A single word, well-timed, redirects the climb,
A fulcrum set beneath the weight of rhyme.
Leverage, not force, moves all without loss,
Find fulcrum in chaos—smile wry at the dross.
Though bent toward stillness, the shift draws near,
Where regret finds voice, resentment clears.
A single seed, pressed into fractured earth,
By unseen hands, the coiled land finds rebirth.
One life uplifted by a lever’s quiet grace,
World seeks levers to lift my breathless space.
No bothers
No wonders
Of restless opinions
Swaying me from the way
No cowing away
From ty thoughts
We still shuttled through
Though tossed away from our turf
Without manly smiles
Even as they stride in then out
We were humbled
Amidst their kin’s
We creased thoughtlessly
Awaiting the plan
But without a set course
We puffed up windless
Emerging in circles
Sighting the blazing flames
We lit up our grins
As they fired up the grill
We took several sips
With widen grins
We took several cheers
While bellowing Ganbei
with spicy treats soaked in gin
even sisters’
could not resist
we sat adorned
making blunders
making heavens wonder
as we swagger
attuned to the oriental tunes
defiling moments that limit us
linking us to the backdoors
flashing retrospective yokes
of individual realities
Form:
A crash of thunder wakened me
as I slept cradled in a tree.
There was fierce growling on the ground.
Something wicked circled around.
I saw the eyes of a beastie.
Its howling was a gruesome sound
Had a dog escaped from a pound
or from quarantine by a vet?
Its canine fangs became a threat
for this creature was a hellhound!
I quaked in fear and broke a sweat.
Deep despair, I began to fret
when deftly he started to climb.
From his drool, it must be mealtime.
Peed on myself; pants soaking wet!
Too young to die; not in my prime,
A ticking clock began to chime.
Can I be saved or tis my fate
to quench its thirst, its hunger sate?
I'm quickly running out of time!
He stares at me as if I'm bait.
My heart races with each pulsate,
hoping this is just a nightmare.
Open my eyes? I do not dare!
His snarling sounds much too irate.
I whispered in fervent prayer,
and slowly, I became aware
of something clawing at the beast,
and on his carcass he would feast.
'Twas the stench of a grizzly bear!
The sun was rising in the East
My brows, deeply furrowed and creased,
pondering the thought that remained,
one I have not yet ascertained...
what should matter the most, not least.
No answer that can be explained,
and no sense of it have I gained
as to why I slept in an oak,
and why my lips have never spoke
of the tree trunk that was bloodstained.
June 15, 2022
Tall Tales 3: Quintilla Fantasy Fiction Contest
Sponsored by Jeff Kyser
I weep jinxed trinkets
clasped with obsidian oppression,
yet I am not weak ~
I am a beautiful wreckage
of weathered odysseys,
still ferrying the burden
of burnt promises
and bruised perceptions.
but they, the ignorant, remain oblivious ~
they do not know
where the ache of a heartbeat resides,
where the powerful pitch of a vibration
within a wistful violin,
soaked in soul’s rose water, illuminates…
so we question the lawless pages:
where do teardrops go?
where does the salt of sorrow settle,
crystallizing into the cadence of coldness
between the fingers of forsaken flesh,
or in sonnets never once allowed to rhyme,
within the formless art
of conventional conviction?
my tears are now studded stars ~
a cosmic current of scars,
creased with astral ash,
calling out the names of faces
as I drift toward the desire to be undone,
while sparks of moonlight
echo the throb
that trauma stole,
softly teasing
the vulnerable veins of twilight
as arteries of midnight
carry inner conflict
into a calming realm of warm release…
and when it drizzles wordless woe,
follow the train of thoughts,
taste this truth
~ the flavor of lament ~
as drifting despair rises as violet vapor,
returning in liquid constellations
condensed from collapsed dreams.
the sky forever homes
this silk of storm and hail ~
unclothed weather,
a panoramic vision
of suppressed tears made rain,
ebbing and flowing through
the deep oceanic swell of turbulent emotions…
Sepia photo hides a face
With creased lines that could not retrace;
The details of Grandma’s allure
As tints cover those outlines pure--
Blemished by wartime, its grim tales
Dark the image of life’s travails
Severing her forgotten youth:
Through my lamp's pearlescent brightness
Her keen eyes depict forthrightness
An aura mildly intense...soft
While her glances raise them aloft,
And in my thoughts, lips gold as moon
Seem to hum a brave woman's tune...
I clean this old token again
Savoring her warmth, her own pain,
For though dull Gram’s portrait may be
Rare this keepsake which speaks to me.
Contest 555 of Brian Strand
you make me better
i see a new image of myself
i feel like i am somebody
i actually wanna live now
i feel cleaner to the touch
the height of my depth has grown even more
my smile actually hurts my face....and it feels good
each sunrise feels new everyday
the feel of my every emotion is not so bad
my pride is now put in the proper perspective
my vibe is a perfectly creased three piece suit
warm happy faces have overtaken the stone cold facial expressions
i clock in each morning looking forward to clocking out
no longer do i drive in circles
no longer do i search for the strength to reenter the driveway of my life
the key to my heart is placed in a hook in the center of your heart
thank you....for helping to notice my dusty flaws
you are such a blessing to my maturation of my mind, body, heart, and soul
you continue to make me a Better Man....