My Skin Is Wrinkling
Might we all have an expiration date,
A notation reading “best if used by?”
Spoiled if not given proper handling
A critical concern now up for debate.
I’ve noticed lately my skin is wrinkling
My eyes are becoming rheumy, I fear,
I’m clearly not as good as I used to be
The milk in my refrigerator is blinking.
Past my prime, still I’m
...
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Categories:
wrinkling, age, humor,
Form: Light Verse
Of Allegorical Wrinkling
Once again we’re wedged in a wrinkle
of time in our lives; a wrinkle that can’t
be so easily ironed out and pressed away.
Yet the ironing board of solutions remain up
and challenging steam continues to gush out;
however, conflicting political sizing complicates
the strained ironing out process…stalling progress.
Those of us familiar with social distance look on
in curious awe at
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Categories:
wrinkling, allegory, analogy, endurance, extended
Form: Prose Poetry
Wrinkling the Sky
Undulating waves of color
cascade over ebony skies.
And greens and blues waltz with the stars,
rippling across the black of space.
As sacred spiritual sounds
resound, in abject solitude.
A hypnotic, haunting hum strums
in Aurora Borealis.
A collage of visual notes,
The Northern Lights pluck my heartstrings.
And mesmerized by their music,
I pause for quiet reflection.
They are as intangible as
the ethereal breath of
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Categories:
wrinkling, beautiful, how i feel,
Form: Blank verse
Wrinkling
Give me not your style today :
the visceral truth, liberated
from painkillers.
Spying singles out the flesh
after the resentment of torture
to do more wrong ;
going away in yesterday
puts the life in apocalyptic shade,
the orange condoles for dark
when I lie still on flames
of sandalwood, setting the sun
bleed in blue eyes
of lonely sea. I am again
sleepwalking on salt lake
...
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Categories:
wrinkling, art,
Form: ABC
Wrinkling
Give me not your style today :
the visceral truth, liberated
from painkillers.
Spying singles out the flesh
after the resentment of torture
to do more wrong ;
going away in yesterday
puts the life in apocalyptic shade,
the orange condoles for dark
when I lie still on flames
of sandalwood, setting the sun
bleed in blue eyes
of lonely sea. I am again
sleepwalking on salt lake
...
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Categories:
wrinkling, art
Form: I do not know?