Long Crinkled Poems
Long Crinkled Poems. Below are the most popular long Crinkled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Crinkled poems by poem length and keyword.
Good Old Grandpa
My grandpa,
is as round shouldered as a question mark
and he is led about all day
by his wobbly walking stick,
with teeth that aren’t real,
hidden behind a moustache that is
while his memories simmer warmly
inside his crinkled paper bag of a face.
My grandpa,
old and worn on the outside
but sparky and fresh on the in.
For he often,
shakes my hand with fifty pence pieces,
makes sweets pop out from behind his ears
then smokes all like a train
and laughs like one as well.
My grandpa,
Plays jokes on my mother
to freshen her face with a smile
then tells me stories which electrify my brain.
But best of all,
when my dad loses his temper,
Gandpa just tells him
to sit down and behave himself.
Good old grandpa!
She climbed on the ledge two lotus legs in position
waiting for the moon to cast her magic spell
Soon she was bathed in light, feeling so very blessed
amongst the orphanage children. The babes lay on their side
watching her slip popcorn lovingly onto a string of gold
"Soon it will be Christmas" she said to them with a smile
while she sang that song of old that made the angels tremble
"Remember if you are good?" but the litany was lost on
those droopy eyes that wanted nothing more then sleep
they hugged their flimsy blankets and counted little sheep
Tango the hairy dog jumped onto the ledge and panted
someone was pouring out light from a vase of silver n' white
he saw a shimmer of wings and heard a high pitch... "ping* "
his ears perked and his eyes turned to festive black olives
"what is it Tango?" she asked as the dog turned to marble
Before she knew it the room was filled with precious gifts
and her heart was warmed by the rosy blush of an apple doll
Crinkled faced, blond and pretty, this apple doll was a given
from the angels of the dream world. She wished the doll
would come to life and she did . "I'm yours" it said sweetly,
"What shall you name me?" it said while cradling the ledge
"Is my mom in heaven? Tell me Rose, I need to know"
The End.
November 5, 2018
Lately, when I look in a mirror
I see what I swore I'd never see.
For there's the image of my father
shamelessly staring right back at me.
I see the fat belly, I hated
hanging profusely over my belt.
And those droopy bags under his eyes:
now sag under mine, as the years melt.
I see the scars, time etched on his face,
in every wart and worry wrinkle.
And I see his empty, hollow eyes,
that, over time, had lost their twinkle.
I see his gaunt face and balding head,
where old age pulled out most of his hair.
And with his crinkled cheeks and false teeth:
I swear it's him, not me, standing there.
Yet I've grown fond of my timeworn look,
I know how every blemish was earned.
And noting, I look like my father:
is the most humbling lesson I've learned.
Skatin' ...
On a sheet of ice
The girl she fell
And her heels clicked twice.
She crinkled her nose,
And her thoughts weren't nice.
She sat on her butt
On sheets of ice.
Frozen.In Time...
Thinkin'.
In.Rhyme.
Then from the air
The sun came shine'in
On her butt there
The girl started smilin'
As the sheet of ice...
Melted.
Her naughty thoughts pelted,
By a ray of sparkling sun.Shine.
Off came her skates
As the grass started growin'
Fresh came the wind
As the flowers started showin'
And warm was her heart
As the music started flowin'.
Hey look! A rainbow there!
Fresh air!
A stream started runnin'
And some bees came ahummin'
And Bear came strummin'...
That a Platypus was seen,
swimming... in the air.
This place is *****.
But the girl,
With the skates,
Who fell?
Decided she liked it
And decided to stay
And Play.
Write.
Hear.
Tonight we’ll sit around the table
While we’re reminiscing
Both about the Israelites
And those whom we are missing.
Every Seder takes me back
To those when I was young.
I can hear my Zadie’s voice,
The Hebrew that was sung.
I can taste my Nana’s sponge cake
And gefilte fish,
So much love invested into
Every single dish.
Horse radish my grandpa made
Was mirrored by his face –
Beet-red cheeks and crinkled eyes,
Such merriment in place.
The hard-boiled eggs were split in two;
My cousin got the white.
I consumed the yolk, of course,
In one comedic bite.
Second night my father’s folks
Played host and that was fun.
My grandpa hid the matzoh
To be found when we were done.
We all know where it was, though;
On a pillow he reclined,
The Afikomen tucked beneath
His trouser-clad behind.
He’d get up slightly, just to reach
A serving plate or wine;
Then all the cousins made a grab
To say, “This matzoh’s mine!”
My parents are no longer here,
My grandparents as well;
But if I close eyes,
On Seders past I like to dwell.
Tonight we’ll gather for the meal
But if I tell the truth,
It will be lovely, but no match
For Seders of my youth.
(A Seder is the special Passover meal; the Afikomen is a piece of matzoh (cracker) that's hidden to be found by one of the children for a reward; gefilte fish is a specially made fish concoction that's definitely an acquired taste; Zadie is a grandfather - he was my great-grandfather; Nana is a grandmother.)
Beneath a pearlescent slice of moon
Shining bright against the lonely eventide
Abided a laughing, loving tune – musical notes
Quite natural, so feral they sung
Of a sensuality softly bringing a craving
Breaking out in the shadows of starlight
Crimped and crinkled like a question mark
Asking questions peppered with mystic conceptions
On love, romance and passion
All the flavors of excitement bound up
Within a howling hope so alive it will thrum
With a tang, dancing and laughing
To the sound of raindrops falling down
Sprinkling thoughts so plumb
They make the heart desire the fire
That thrives when embers are stirred
On the inside of those who know love
Is much more than the first inklings of a plea
Flowing from lips who are pure and free
To kiss without ever telling
Touch without ever listening
And know that this feeling will eventually
Lead to more than a mere emotion
This affection will ultimately bring about
A devotion that can only be expressed
Through the time spent sharing the seasons
Through the good, the bad and the in between
Through everything that comes
Into the heart and the soul
Of those two who know
Love is a living thing – and it flows
With a river of kindness
Excitement, enlightenment
Through waters of pain and sorrow
Through silence and noise
It breathes in whispers of joy
Bringing forth a sense of adoration
That is beyond the wildest imagination!
Eight word Bardenesque challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
March 14, 2021
An infinitesimal slight speck tickled
nostril follicle – activated via an itty
bitty, nitty gritty dirt band noah bigger
than a mole luck yule set in motion a
chain reaction, whence mine sensitive
proboscis honker (wheeze - hilly little
bridged fine tuned pug nose aroma
sensor), got unexpectedly in gauged
(in holy matt trim mo’ knee) to achew,
and eschew pledging troth (in favor of
hanky-panky) found this chap feeling
phlegmatic because an endless string
of faux allergic emanations, which
upon subsiding left me throat rather
raspy and voice some octaves deeper
akin to a coterie of celebrated jumping
frogs from Calaveras County, California
took residence and refused leaving
stranglehold upon math rote upon
awakening from a hard day’s journey
into night across the outer limits
of thine twilight zone resurrected
during slumber, yet upon awakening
felt much refreshed and hungry enough
to eat a horse – nee – make that forced
whore – gulped down within a hoof
n hour and now recount how back in
the day when zooming thru the Lilies
of the Valley (whooshing mass elf tubby
an aeroplane) frequent bouts with uber
twittering snapchatting sinus attacks
besieged crinkled, doppelganger expeller
for germs hunting with his clean X
instantaneously for nasal passages
to enter surreptitiously the fecund
effluvia dripping, oozing, and seeping
clear liquid as wintry cold air looses
droplets from out a near frozen nose,
which bloke knows not why frigid blast
stimulates gallimaufry of sniffling
to spurt into a volume of one after
another gesundheit donning, snorting
trumpeting unwittingly confusing
Canadian geese, who misconstrue
the honking from midway centered
facial organ, which angry birds
in tandem with flock of Seagulls
quite perturbed to espy one curmudgeon
chap clapping hands over (what feels
like Smashing Pumpkins on face)
in an effort to stifle subsequent gummy
emissions, which residue expectorated
with heave hoe shove
schnoz el tov blowing into snot-rag.
fig tree stood sturdy in backyard
moon cried, sighed, shone nevertheless
lilies splendid we picked some sweet
breathing nature's savoury lore
rain showers continued soaking
we donned our brown velvet jackets
feet safe in crinkled leather boots
henceforth wrinkled folds golden holds ~
gold burnishes our folds henceforth
feet nails dissipate in ether
velvet frays to shreds in clouds bled
skin flakes in soft spring rain showers
breath continues octagonal
blooms tightly curled, first lily shy
moon fully undressed brings fresh corn
sighs ripple surface of fig drinks ~
Thumb crush caterpillar fuzz follicle woven wire bent
Pipe cleaner indetectibly clamps fluttery paper crepe
Tiny tear splinter injury etched on crinkled parchment
Puncture forms an institute to forthwith contemplate
Together classified as flower, louloudia beauty flaunt
Plumage lurid thrives beside finite petal flop contrast
Tactical iron hand velvet glove primes formal contort
Proclamations crafted after careful strategy prefaced
Ruffled rogue construct erects its garish occupation
Origami hegemony laughs at limp stemmed genuine
Traditional rotted rose heavy heads rely on hydration
Pointed silver skewer stamen expands phenomenon
Sixteenth February
- Pseudo Society -
At seventy-seven years-plus, my noggin is a barren landscape
that once sprouted a thick crop of chestnut brown hair.
And now, some scattered strands of grey
still sprout here and there, above a fussy hedge
edging my closely cropped terrain.
Proceed further down, and you'll find
a weathered forehead with long furrows
running in parallel horizontal worry lines.
And if you keep descending,
you will come across two bushy brows
resembling wiry bristles in disarray.
Below them, you'll find two, slightly out-of-focus eyes;
bright brown orbs, afloat in a sea of white.
Keep following the sloping curvature of my plump face,
and you'll come across a rugged,
slightly broken schnoz of a nose;
jutting out, in a hawkish sort of way.
Continue down, and you'll see a pair of crinkled lips,
wearing a smug, satisfied smile.
Lower down, you'll find a jutting chin,
dappled with stumps of yesterday's stubble.
Now, step back, and let my features sink in
as they take shape in your thoughts,
and your imagination crafts my image within your mind.