Short Crinkly Poems

1.

Dry crinkly winter
Wrinkled parchment skin
Telling a thousand tales

2.

Chilled marrow of bones
Bright embers aglow
Winter crackles are such fun!...

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My words fall down and skitter around
  like leaves from an autumn tree,
    dry and crinkly.
                   Sapless.
                   Lifeless.
Vestiges of prouder times
  when language used to speak my mind....

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Saltiest of flats
Plainly addictive
Bag crinkles open
We eat them in two’s
Not a bit healthy

Tiny pieces
Casserole tops
Picnic staple
Bring a bag please

High salt taste
Greasy too
Teen delight

Crinkly
Salty

Chips...

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A Rose


Must I liken you to a rose
Smooth and delicate
Sweet to the nose 
A gentle etiquette 
A young, budding bloom
A slow , steady ,decline 
A  roomy potent  fume 
Aged is its wine
Dried crinkly petals
A unique find
An array of precious metals
A zesty orange rind 




Marckincia Jean
Rhyme 
06/21/19...

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Crumbling crinkly, cracker crumbs

into salty, seafood stew,

Mother made our midday meal.

Fast for favorite food we flew.



Gluttony Glenda gulped a glass

of Linda's lovely, lemon tea.

While Will wolfed down whole walnut meats,

carefully crunching kernels free.



"Savages", sister Susan said.

"Politeness, please," our papa pled.



7/4/14



For Dr. Mehta's contest...

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pearls dust
crinkly brown leaves
leaving them soft
and vulnerable
whispers ruffle their
existence
threatening to
tear them from their limbs
do not be afraid,
a kind whisper
enticing
in the heat
seductive
under their cool touch
one by one
they slide down
one snap,
another,
a flurry of oranges and browns and reds
and then nothing,
only naked trees shiver....

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Hairy Nora reads the Torah from daybreak until dusk.
She’s got four different colored legs, but not a single tusk.
There’s a birdie sitting on her back that moves and sways like Elvis,
Her ears are crinkly when they’re pressed and there’s a mirror on her pelvis.
Now I’ve been almost everywhere on my old rusty bike,
But an elephant like Nora, I have never seen the like....

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An old gaunt lady
With feeble steps 
Walked to the red telephone booth
On the roadside pavement
Every day she dialed a number
And spoke inaudibly into the receiver
As tears streamed down her crinkly face
This continued for an hour
Until she resigned for the day
Hoping for another heartfelt conversation
A baffling mystery unsettled us
Spectators to this daily drama.
...

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No blue hair or curls for me.
I’ll grow old naturally.
Hanging breasts and flattened bum,
crooked teeth and graying gum.
Sagging knees and chicken skin,
sunny spots and double chin.
Silver streaks through thinning hair,
dimming eyesight no repair.
Crinkly crow’s eyes and flat feet
singing as the Maker I meet.
I don’t care what you say,
I can’t hear you anyway....

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Autumn burnishes furry heads,
even we, who however scant our hair
flourish in this wind-blown leafy.
No room for stray gray wisps;
our locks turn golden brown,
crown our minds with crinkly laurels.
Mr. Groundhog looks pretty spiffy
in his cabbage leaf toupee,
even the bent old lady
who walks pell-mell
in the Fall, the strewn and gusty,
has sewn together a wig so big
that it covers her face with beauty....

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Reading feels like a chore, a heavy weight, 
But it sharpens the mind like a blade. 
Books cause boredom to take over 
But wisdom is a flower that grows. 
Pages flip, leaving me wishing I was doing something else. 
But my brain is developing more and more.  
Though each crinkly, dusty page is taking away my joy, 
I know that reading will make me grow old. 
Although my excitement is not present for reading, 
I know that I will benefit from each black, bold word on the page. 
...

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