Long Crinkling Poems
Long Crinkling Poems. Below are the most popular long Crinkling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Crinkling poems by poem length and keyword.
Unfoldings
for Vicki
Time unfolds ...
Your lips were roses.
... petals open, shyly clustering ...
I had dreams
of other seasons.
... ten thousand colors quiver, blossoming.
Night and day ...
Dreams burned within me.
... flowers part themselves, and then they close ...
You were lovely;
I was lonely.
... a virgin yields herself, but no one knows.
Now time goes on ...
I have not seen you.
... within ringed whorls, secrets are exchanged ...
A fire rages;
no one sees it.
... a blossom spreads its flutes to catch the rain.
Seasons flow ...
A dream is dying.
... within parched clusters, life is taking form ...
You were honest;
I was angry.
... petals fling themselves before the storm.
Time is slowing ...
I am older.
... blossoms wither, closing one last time ...
I'd love to see you
and to touch you.
... a flower crumbles, crinkling, worn and dry.
Time contracts ...
I cannot touch you.
... a solitary flower cries for warmth ...
Life goes on as
dreams lose meaning.
... the seeds are scattered, lost within a storm.
Keywords/Tags: spring, love, youth, pain, teen, flowers, rose, roses, petals, unfolding, virgin, virginity, dreams, lips, date, time, seasons, storms, summer, drought
flames into flames
flesh sizzling flesh
cores consuming cores
pips crinkling into load-shedding
emotions into grains of salt
light across spacetime
heat melting
h e a t
street strength simmering
sweating scalding
sensation has no
crystal drops
rooibos tea faraway
nothing to drink except
our own fluid feuding
hot waves raging roaring
consummating
burning consumables
dissipating veins with
our own veins
burnishing flesh...black dust
past
present
f u t u r e
waves upon waves of
electric light electronic wires
our Light liquidates
iron steel
from infinity
rumbling inferno
black charcoal transmutes
into blackberries
to suck
like nipples nurturing
eradicating fleeing
fumbles
fleecing fear fast
red organs rise
in spirals of voiceless
words fathoming
wrath is
over
or perhaps to come
last few steps of
licking flames orange purple
all is feedback
flammable
surrounded by raven rain
red reducing
red oil
blood blessing blood
in a BloodMoon of vanities
smelling of
vanilla and poppies
waving in war winds
containing OverSouls
overall is overall
forms
fathering
dripping salt
in an unsung faith
unknown spaces seen as Beloved
A prince becomes a king
as his mother heard her final ting
His brother part of a ring
A.i begins to sign
Here’s the thing
In the din
that plays out all my sin
with parties withe in
credibly hukled(that A.I again)
A dent that should be present
A dick who likes his taters to much
Everyone is dying
but no one seems to not ice
Ice Baby
hit me anytime
Late to every test
Never gave my best
Watch you snuggling down
Like birds in their
Nestle your face in my
Breath not breathe
If you are impotent
Who would de-seed
Bing Google Instant grams
the hand written shaking Bat man words
Is fling just a through desguise
If a a maze is better than good
Zing like thing crinkling
Fantastically floored
Break ing ever ing
Ting
Moment
Light
Bulge like Kal
In Marvelous movie
Did you
C wot I did
The heir was there with his pet hare
Hair
So you agree
This is definitely…..
Have you ever wondered what poets hide in their minds,
where universes of words and unspoken dreams lie?
Look closely, but carefully, lest you become the beast
that slowly, slowly splits their skull of fallen stars.
Poets are not made of salt, but of the dust of fallen stars,
easy to break, impossible to fully decipher,
and now, open their minds and you will see it's not neurons,
but crimson ink that pulses, not blood, but something more grave.
Does it unsettle you? It should frighten you, but you haven't seen everything yet,
look closer, the ink takes shape, thin and hollow,
yet it manages to awaken your own dormant neurons,
now put down the scissors, take this rusty blade, I'm not mad.
Cut slowly on the left side, listen to the crinkling of the skin,
fragile like paper, yet I still hand you a blade, you wonder why?
Because the cut must be perfect, so you can see their heart,
be gentle, remove it carefully without damaging the surrounding tissues.
You stop, you look at the veins, some gray, swirling like nebulae,
others transparent, drawn with a white crayon on the dark sky,
but the heart, do you see how it glows with a rhythm that sings a melody,
not of life, but of something lost in the mists of time and desires.
And the mist that rises is not just steam, but oxygen turned to vapor,
pouring from this fragile organ, to feel less,
to hurt less, so much sorrow crushed into such a small space.
Do you want to feel the warmth? Then touch it, but ah, it's cold as ice.
Don't worry, they are still alive, just don't ask where their soul is,
you will never find it, for we are poets,
keepers of silences and lost dreams,
in a world that rarely understands what we truly hide.
In her eighties, she still groomed – clipping nails
Her hands, soft and warm to the touch, tender as the rose
Petals weeping as they melt the summer dew who trails
Along the glistening lights, softly playing as grace flows
In her final years, she still loved – heartfelt and true
Her eyes glittering with azure lights, healing hearts, twinkling
With such misty beauty, so alive – soft and clear blue
Stirring the warmth in her soul, skin old and crinkling
In her life, she still believed – in giving even when she grieved
Her days were filled with precious dreams, uplifting others
Ripping through the darkest storms with a tenderness who relieved
Restoring feelings, lives, impressing spirits, the best of mothers
In her smile, she told of a peace – joy so amazing
Her kindness cured so many ills, blessing others with love
Love so pure, so gentle and giving – always praising
Pouring out faith in prayers sent to God above
In her eighties, she still glowed like a heart who knows
Beyond the trees, beyond the hills, lives a spirit so free
Because He sent His Son to this earth, and the love flows
Blessing each tear, each moment, each breathe – He is the key…
In her I can see the most precious parts of grace
The beautiful that is living in the story of love’s praise
The wonder of a life healed by God’s Son’s embrace,
The music that softly plays as that old hope will quietly amaze!
Another spring
Counting rings
No longer dark
Dog days wait, for their bark
Signaling life has been in bloom
And soon
A beautiful reality will arrive
You do not really die
Glorious sunshine
Photosynthesis dines
Fed well
From nature's magic spell
Can't you tell?
Arbor figure matures
Always sure
About wilderness’ door
No one ignores
Relaxed, whistling tunes
Branches dance and swoon
Turning everything green
Shade is an escape dream
Then things turn
Brown and burn
Chilling breeze sighs
Giving a ride
To the foliage who occupy
Twigs ready to say goodbye
Fall scheduled to begin
Giving the end
A win
Low temperatures chattering bite
Haunting the cool night
Crumbled leafs descend
Crinkling no bend
Completing their beauty rein
Realizing it's just a plants game
Meeting with the rake
Realizing the bag is ready to take
Them to the disposable bin
No need to call a next of kin
Since they will be shred
Rip and dead
Until spring
And another ring
Appears
Exclaiming the tree is here
Giving a reason
To celebrate each season
Letting the seeds
Do their deed
And grow more trees
I stroll through autumn, by a pumpkin patch
While sun shines on saffron leaves like fire
I look at the amber field and thoughts hatch
The warmth of hot apple cider desire
Apple pie with cinnamon, does transpire
In my mind, when cool air touches me
As my heart leaps in joy with what I see
All shades of ginger found in leaves falling
Mixed with bright crimson, shining on the ground
I can hear the distant birds are calling
Beneath my footsteps, a light crinkling sound
I feel what I have lost, I have now found
As with the seasons, changing new allure
Snow falls upon the umber leaves, so pure
Heidi Sands
9/11/17
In her cold, snowy breasts
They lay me down to rest
The pattering of earth
The gravel and the dirt
It doesn't hurt
I don't even feel it;
I hear it as it hits
The top of the casket
I hear my darlings crying
And throwing tearful fits
By far, the worst part of dying:
The grieving I feel
From family and friends
If only they knew,
Though death is real,
Life never ends
And we’re always with you
Even if you’re too sad to see
The wilted rose beside you
Is me
The clouds and falling snow
Is a me, you’ll come to know
When you look out the window
And trace the blowing leaves
And imagine their dry crinkling
And somber familiarity we’d share
Both loving the crisp winter air
How everything seems golden
Yet bare
Your heart sees me
Sees me standing there
Next to the old tree
As a cat’s glare gathers in the gloom
Recollecting me
Love's Unfoldings
by Michael R. Burch
Time unfolds...
Your lips were roses.
... petals open, shyly clustering...
I had dreams
of other seasons.
... ten thousand colors quiver, blossoming.
Night and day...
Dreams burned within me.
... flowers part themselves, and then they close...
You were lovely;
I was lonely.
... a virgin yields herself, but no one knows.
Now time goes on...
I have not seen you.
... within ringed whorls, secrets are exchanged...
A fire rages;
no one sees it.
... a blossom spreads its flutes to catch the rain.
Seasons flow...
A dream is dying.
... within parched clusters, life is taking form...
You were honest;
I was angry.
... petals fling themselves before the storm.
Time is slowing...
I am older.
... blossoms wither, closing one last time...
I'd love to see you
and to touch you.
... a flower crumbles, crinkling, worn and dry.
Time contracts...
I cannot touch you.
... a solitary flower cries for warmth...
Life goes on as
dreams lose meaning.
... the seeds are scattered, lost within a storm.
Keywords/Tags: pain, teen, flowers, rose, roses, petals, unfolding, virgin, virginity, lips, date, time, storms, youth, love, crush, dream, seasons, spring, summer
it felt as if the air was too thin to breathe
the ceiling and walls moving separately from each other.
the blood rushing in my veins reached a decibel louder than a thousand engines
my skin a cursed mix of fire and ice
every noise, thought, emotion, and urge magnified tenfold
the sound of the package crinkling
the needle hitting the bottle and the pulling of the liquid
my watery sweet escape.
the sharp piercing of needle hitting skin,
the dull ache, and burning sensation,
then silence.
no more pain, no more worry,
no more hoping for death to reach out and take you to a world far far away.
the silence is blissful.
the numbness is heaven-sent.
for a few hours, the world falls away and I don't have to remember who I am
or what led me to this point.
once the high wears away, reality crashes back in with a deafening quake.
I guess I need a higher dose next time...