Short Crinkling Poems
Short Crinkling Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Crinkling by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Crinkling by length and keyword.
two wrinkled faces
found a crinkled billet doux
smiled with crinkling eyes
I listened
It had started
A soft crinkling
Of dry leaves
Pirouetting
Across the field
Leaping into the wind
Spiraling sails
Adrift
On a sea of blue
I bid them
adieu
Crinkling hands, outstretching for last comfort
Rusty speckles, sentience all soaked up
Trunk limbs sapped veins on close up
Scented leaves bow before court
Autumn curtain falls, a seasonal sport
The leaves dancing on the trees. The crinkling steps, the gusts, the natural silence. The unimposing mountains. Laze. Existence that validates itself. Ephemeral, cyclical, beautiful. An old distant friend that you may never truly know.
I love you because what else would I do
Birds are gone to sleep
Lulled by the silence of trees
Frigid with frost
Snow carpet landscape
Cushions the noise of speeding cars
Frightening lizards
Sunset falls seaward
To come over the mountain
In crimson clothes still
The sea has old face
Crinkling change in folds of skin
The wind cannot pass
In a faraway corner
my boredom
plays tricks with sanity
I hear every noise
see every shadow
the walls are like paper
crinkling
I watch the dust
slowly fall from the fan
in a circular motion
into extinction
I can hear my heart beat
the quietness overcomes me
with nothing to do
I snuggle into a fetal ball
and close my eyes
The kitchen radio rumbles heavy drumbeat,
outside, rain pecks out its staccato
on the porch.
Stirring fragrant coffee,
I ponder doing dishes, starting laundry,
pause to glance at him.
Across from me,
his eye-crinkling smile
liquefies all my resolve.
Oh, listen
to that insistent rain
ans heartbeats drumming.
Form:
I know a little girl with eyes so blue,
She's very lovely too.
She melts my heart when she looks
at me.
She's got the cutest little way of crinkling
her nose,
Her little cricket smile makes me smile
too.
One of the happiest baby girls I've ever
known,
And that alone makes me know I'm doing this
parenting thing right.
The best part of all, is I get to call her
mine.
The pages crease and cry when I turn them
and read the words written there, and
I wonder of the person who wrote them
as I admire the fancy scroll within
the faded blue ink of the fountain pen.
There is no binding,
no staples,
nothing to hold the sheets together,
for this is only a draft,
a yellowed pile of memories
gathering dust,
moaning and crinkling
before they fragment
and disappear back into the past.
Cooking with garlic and oil
Chopping peppers and chives
Crinkling aluminum foil
Running water over dirtied knives
Cutting boards strawberry stained
Slicing apples and poaching pears
Steamy facials from pasta drained
Sizzling pops like lightning flares
Piping a French buttercream rosette
Cracking eggs with no loose shell
Waiting for lime jello to set
But nothing beats the most delicious smell
The scent of vanilla
it's quiet on the lake right now
sun sliding down from it's perch
as I watch with mixed feelings
from a pew in nature's church
enjoying the paint splashed sky
reflected across water's mirror
content smile crinkling my face
for a moment thoughts clearer
before memories drop blinders
overtop my respite briefly won
causing me to bitterly inquire
of what interest
is a sunset
for one?
It Was Only a Dream
The days of rush and running;
The airport, the hugs the drive.
Our special gourmet lunch place.
It was only a dream.
The twinkling lights, pajama nights,
Planning presents, paper crinkling.
Lingering laughter, long goodbyes.
It was only a dream.
Breakfast out and you’re gone.
Time is rolling along.
I know it was only a dream
Of sun spent days, but…
Your forgotten present lies on the couch.
Form:
Your life is poetry—
whether words make it
on a page, a screen, an ear,
whether messages
or moments
meet the light of dawn,
parturition processed
sourced from the dusk
of fears and hopes.
You are ebbs
you are flows—
you are metaphors
blooming till they grow feeble
crinkling into fallen flowers,
meeting millipedes
meeting mess—
to grow again
anew—stalks sturdy—
hope an approaching fire
Flower,
Locus,
Living.
Almost Halloween
The candy is back
Crinkling paper
Lots in a sack
Intended for children
Who come by in droves
The candy must stay
But it tweaks my nose
Every year we go through this conundrum
What should I do
What will I eat
The thought of candy
Tugging my tongue
Melting chocolate
Maybe just one
Then five pieces later
Stomachs a roar
Still looking forward to just one more
The wave breaks soft yellow tinged
Slow rising on the hoar frost night
Thickened sap retreats in weakened sun
And yet the leaves rejoice in nature’s call
Party hats and favors drape them all
In windblown timpani they fall
Lay their warming truth upon tree roots
Join their crinkling souls in vibrant quilt
Last refuge of the mole and shiv’ring slugs
The wave will break, in raving red display
As squirrels bid adieu and idly play
Fall’s tide will ebb and take the leaves away