Short Rumpled Poems
Short Rumpled Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Rumpled by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Rumpled by length and keyword.
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tree death
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madness
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Once there was a man called Rumpelstiltskin
Whose diet was slim so he was quite thin
Then one sad day
His legs gave way
He lost his stilts and became rumpled skin.
Does it seem strange?
Men will sell their souls,
for votes.
Twisting their beliefs
into a rumpled heap.
Lubricated lies,
when they are greased,
slither and slide,
like a snake.
He would eat puddings and pies galore
And kept swelling and swelling some more
So when his stitches popped
That's when his britches dropped
Rumpled and crumpled up on the floor
Cletus O'Toole asked the lady, perchance
If she would like to join him for a dance
He trampled her toes
And rumpled her clothes
When asked again she said, "Nope! Not a chance!"
Rumpled lap where your purring body once slept....replaced by a crumpled heart.
Sandra M. Haight
~2nd Place~
Contest: Sad One-Liner
Sponsor: Silent One
Judged: 10/12/2016
My days are like the fragments of a dream you left behind
I see the things you left for me all rumpled and torn.
Broken and strewn about.
The bits and pieces of dreams and fleeting memories.
Then momentarily you appear.
Only to disappear leaving more fragments behind.
Who's that skinny old guy in the rumpled brown suit with a frown on his face
standing over your right shoulder watching your every move like a hawk?
I'm not sure, but every time I even think of doing something immoral or illegal
there's this uncanny flow of concern streaming through me that's nearly lethal
Old Times(quadruple Senryu)
I drift into past
I remember the old times
That`s hard to forget.
We walk on beaches
Hand in hand and Side by side
Smiles filled with passion.
Feel warm in bath tubs
Rolling on rumpled bed sheets
full of life and joy.
Can`t we have this back?
Old times of good memories
Which is unshaken.
in a rumpled,
black city
homes are sliced in half
the equality demands
the rights of people
sometimes you love a
tormentor
he will be able to wed, albeit
shyly, with the physical
cleaning the love’s deficit
how far the waiting will go
skirting the mist
it was there
in you
in me
a rapist
a serial killer
Satish Verma
When I travelled to London Town
I never expected this to go down
Artful Dodger came out of the dark
Smiled at me, as if I was a lark
He was rumpled and crumpled, this tallish boy
I did not know what to say, so I said “ahoy”.
He put one finger in front of his mouth and faded away.
I was glad I had come to London Town on this day.
He is just off the plane and looked grumpy for sure.
Irritated that the landing had put him into a bit of manure.
By his clothes and his look he was slightly rumpled a bit.
We knew from experience he might throw a big fit.
We tried to act glad to see Cousin Lee Chick-chick again.
It was a stretch in the chicken yard, he had not been a good friend.
Hills pull their blankets out
and leave bare their naked spines
permitting Junes and me
to Summer there
Streams must appear to Him
as traveling caravans
The painted leaves like prisms do
with hues of rumpled Persian rugs
All seems Persia has pulled it's banners out
and march off to the sea
Turbaned poplars and lakes like tents
Is it jocosity?
Form:
spinning yarn rumpled upon the rickety stilts pricked by the stitch
Jaded
Created
Written
Faded
Lost
Found
Wrapped
Laden
Wanted
Given
Taken
Spent
Destroyed
Rebuilt
Understood
Confused
Simple
Complex
Rumpled
Crumbled
Unnecessary
Began
Finished
Burnt
Belittled
Uprooted
Unknown
Undecided
Unborn
Dead
Lost
Forgiven
Unlearned
Questionable
Forgotten
Mother
Father
Teacher
Friend
God
Time
Pain
Written
In my head.
Form:
Never did a fire so fierce
Blow across the land
That same land
His heart did grow
Nourished by his sweat and toil
No more
The morning mist
Will hear his weathered voice
Call his horse
Com'orn
His mark
Has been scorched from its soil
And how that land
Greens, grays
And blacked haze
With gusts of wind
And rumpled hills
The fathering face
Of this dead man
Hidden beneath
One day I appear in the supermarket
in sweatpants and T.
Stained nocturnal, I drive my son to a concert,
then sleep in that T, eat breakfast in that T,
wear that T all day,
shamble into the night.
I have entered the middle,
the shambling center
that is the patched heart
of aging.
Days are thrown together,
nights hang on the backs of a chairs,
rumpled mornings enter the evening
unchanged.
One day I appear in the supermarket
in sweatpants and T.
Stained nocturnal, I drive to a fast-food restaurant
then sleep in that T, eat breakfast in that T,
wear that T all day,
then slapdash my way into the night.
I have entered the shambling center
that is the patched-up heart of aging,
where night hangs on the backs of chairs,
and rumpled mornings enter the evening
ever willing to un-change.
Slim elegance, pencil-sharp,
dark business skirt,
pure contrasts
where the black cuts
a clear white neckline.
Stretchy pants,
wide at the beam,
rumpled fore and rear,
a clear predilection
for sweats.
The two women
enter by the same door,
both will leave
by the same door,
never noting each other.
The fuzzy store-greeter,
stacks baskets,
none of which
will have a self-image
until filled.
For every shown interest,
The withdrawn is impressed:
The guy badly suppressed,
His once high feelings repressed...
Your smiles are tears addressed
And spotted frowns redressed:
Unseen wounds cleaned and dressed,
Rumpled face stretched and pressed.
For every shown interest,
Many restive youths rest;
As many soon their best;
You'd one ask "Be my guest!"
In men you show interest,
In them you block protest...
From the depths of love you came
Bearing gifts that's not the same
Putting my.heart in a whirl
Without much effort am your girl
Love holds no boundaries
No seas no countries
Distance an imaginary gown
Covering flames being worn
Many miles we'll be crossing
Sheets rumpled from tossing
Hearts racing lips yearning
A solid ache thoughts intertwining
You pledge to take me to the moon
Waiting eagerly please come soon
Listen to poem:
The bedraggled beget bedfellows with
Tangled hair, tattered sleeves, a sea churn chaotic.
Comfort is found in a rumpled, ruffled unkempt state,
Shared by a weary soul and a heartless sea sat beside.
For sorrow will draw in where sorrow has been.
Churn will discern a likeness for agitation,
Beyond the calm that demands order, prim, proper, neat.
For it's disorder that makes a ruffled mind
Seek solace in a ragged heart, torn, and well worn.
Slim elegance, pencil-sharp,
dark business skirt,
clean contrasts
where the black cuts
a clear white neckline.
Stretchy pants,
wide at the beam,
rumpled fore and rear,
a clear predilection
for sweats.
The two women
enter by the same door,
both will leave
by the same door,
never noting each other.
The fuzzy store-greeter,
stacks baskets,
none of which are different
until filled with choices -
samplings that speak
of each self-image.
Can napkins not esteem or honour
a history of being placed gently on laps
to catch, take hold of,
what is carelessly spilled or dropped,
used then to pat lips
before being rumpled tenderly, after eating,
and placed carefully at one's side?
At a table in a bar,
a paper napkin on my lap,
I look at friends:
they have their napkins
sitting at the sides of their plates,
on that table, folded, ignored, untouched.
Is there something wrong with me?
(11 Dec 2023)
The evening
is soigné in outfits of rumpled elegance
at the tables and on the bar stools,
resplendent with a necklace
of glistening notes from the piano
in the corner,
rouged by the blushes imprisoned
in our wine glasses.
Let's stay for a while then,
until the blushes have flown to our cheeks,
the patrons are back on the streets
or between the sheets,
the pianist has played the last song,
and the night is done,
or waiting to begin,
its shyness shed.