Long before he donned the garb of terror
in his twisted mind, ‘no error’
He lay in swaddling clothes in his loving mother’s arms
a purveyor of charm ~ tender ~ incapable of harm
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Scissors whisper through crisp paper,
a tongue of tape curls at the edge.
Fingers fold corners crisp as December air,
hiding secrets under brilliant surfaces.
Like a child's missed heartbeat, the ribbons loops,
each knot a promise ready to break
The bow swells, plump with excitement~
this is where excitement hides, not in the giving,
but in the quiet rebellion of shape:
how paper pretends it was never flat.
When it comes to wrapping presents,
I am really not that good.
The edges aren’t neat and don’t
Lie flat the way they should.
The paper that I use, though,
Is quite festive, to distract
From all the perfect extras
That my presentation lacked.
And if I have a lot to wrap,
My efforts just get worse,
Though fortunately, the receivers
Cannot hear me curse.
It really makes no difference, since
To get at what’s inside,
The wrapping gets ripped off
No matter how it’s sealed or tied.
And once that paper’s in a heap
Or crumpled on the floor,
Nobody can remember how
That present looked before.
Lisa and I wrap and rap for Christmas.
Can you imagine the two of us doing that?
We’ve got Christmas playlists going
Christmas scented candles glowing,
and milky hot-chocolate flowing.
“Stir the marshmallows with the candy canes,”
Lisa says, like that’s something she has to explain.
We’re humming, singing and laughing,
and dancing because we’re happy.
We’re dashing to finish our wrapping,
we can’t have our suitemates catching
us executing the plans we’re hatching
to surprise them with gifts, enchanting.
The paper’s exotic, delicate and glittery
bought at Boyars Gifts, in New York City.
Why do the scissors keep getting lost?
Getting low on scotch-tape - we’ve used a lot.
We’ll be putting them, sneakily, under the tree
where they’ll add glamor and tease to our festivities.
I love the lights of the season - I love giving gifts.
For me, playing Santa is as good as it gets.
.
.
Inscribed still stone unholds, supine spirit enfolds
bemoaned psyche enwrapped, entranced soul strings unsnapped.
A foot large package mailed
From a dear friend to me
For my birthday on October.
I observe and deal with:
Why this freaky gift-wrapped
In the local newspaper?
The small card inside:
“Happy Birthday!”
And a well-known signature.
Wow! I’m totally screw up.
Misinterpreted!
Misconceived!
The outside of an object,
The beauty of packaging,
The clothing of people.
Why shouldn’t I focus
On the true value
Hidden in people’s heart?
This was Elise’s first wrapping job.
She did not want to hurry.
This was for her grandma.
One of her favorite people.
Daddy asked, “are we almost finished here?”
“She’s doing a great job,” Mommy said.
Daddy sat down to watch, enthralled.
He had never wrapped a Christmas present.
Maybe one day you can teach me, he said.
His daughter thought that he was kidding.
He could not have been more serious.
We wrap up September,
All tied with a chill,
And wait for October,
With baskets to fill
Of apples and pumpkins
And bright orange leaves,
Plus all those aromas
Each person perceives.
The calendar waits
For the page to get turned
As we welcome the weather,
From summer, we’ve earned.
Saint Monica's Mission
Tots rushing and jostling, reaching for gifts
Three hundred and two presents we did carry
We drove to the shore, used pallet jack lifts
Children gathered about cheerful and merry
Everywhere bows, ribbons, bright wrapping paper!
Sandcastles decked with candy cane ornaments
Boys and girls enjoying this wild zany caper
Eggnog, carols, and the smell of peppermints
A dapper Santa in his swimsuit chuckling, ho, ho, ho
Grab your boogie boards he bellows, time for a swim
We all shout out, hey Saint Nick, go man go!
Some of the crew followed Santa and joined him
Goodwill and cheer were now within reach
With broad grins, ringing bells, kids thanked us guys
These unfortunates grew joyful this day at the beach
As did Saint Monica's who brought Christmas in July!
I want to say I’m sorry - your present looks like that.
It wasn’t kicked by UPS or pummeled with a bat
The master wrappers I prefer, simply aren’t around
A slow economy got them or the covid cut them down.
My boys at Neiman Marcus, I miss those guys so much
and the girls Bergdorf Goodman had such a subtle touch
the lacy Le Bon Marché ribbons, are what set their work apart
no matter where you placed those gifts, they always looked like art
I miss those tasteful craftsmen, but instead of being depressed
I watched some Youtube lessons - and I tried my very best
but the present came out so miserably, I thought I should confess
With a prayer, you came first
Leading into the promise
Like a poem of proud insights
Powerful and pure
And, as in grape, in the middle
Of something alive
Dancing like poetry and prose
Two of you who know
Past, present and the potential
To elope, in the center
Prompted by a pop at both ends
Where rap left you lastly
Feeling like you were strapped
To two people who knew
You are praising God
When you give your peace
To the hope that lives within
Thank you, P, for the power
To be polite, poised and pure
Pleased to know your prominence
The piety that you wrap it up with
To wrap Christmas gifts
Is not so easy to do
When the dog is near
As soon it is wrapped
It is pawed openedhe
She is told to stop
Barking is heard loudly
She does this to open gifts
The more gifts wrapped-
She will paw open
Whether it is her's or not
The dog does this every year
facing the final chapter of our mortality
AP: 3rd place 2025
My husband doesn’t get the point
Of wrapping up a gift.
His reasons aren’t mainly ones
That have to do with thrift.
He thinks it’s just a bother.
First, the paper must be bought;
Then measured, cut and folded if
A winning outcome’s sought.
It’s time consuming and, of course,
It doesn’t last too long,
For daintily removing wrapping paper
Just seems wrong.
Yet the wrapping on a present
Gives the heart a little lift
And the fun of ripping paper off
Is equal to the gift.
soda sparks
and lemon juice
on every lip
and candle wick
explosion
of the champagne kind
to bubble brains
and swirl the minds
when summer limps
upon two heels
we break our vows
and kneel to feel
the rhythm of the losing heat
when soda sparks
in weak appeal
as sidewalks bend
their thoughts to me
while overactive melodies
complete themselves
in summer nights
I barely fall without a fight
and candles dim
and lights grow white
I know the drill, tonight's the night
I lick the summer off my chin
and grab September, and head on in...
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.