Wrinkly Poems

Why? - Tune of our mortal coil

The tunes of my cries goes
Why the breathe, the life?
A question that has creapt its way in and taken root into my very soul
At times a wail but mostly a cry to be freed of it all

Why?

No recollection of a choice but here i breath
So fluid life goes yet i fight the reality of conciousness
A fight of seemingly boudless choices but non exists

Why?

I take consolidation in an inevitable end but when?

Not beyond a childlike wrinkly existence but hoping for less yet clinging on for more
The hypocrisy, the cowardice and double standard is a shame i carry

Why?

One day...could be now, a minute a head or more time than i hoped for, it shall all come to a conclusion 
Hopefully soon but not too soon

By Aaron Onen

seventy three

prickly and simply
wrinkly and pimply
old aged and one paged
ungauged and enraged
wildly carefree
honest living at seventy-three

What Are The Clouds Sitting On

What are the clouds sitting on?

Carved castles
Powerful shapes and delicate dollops
But clouds are flat on the bottom.
The clouds are flat on the bottom.
They are like my great, great, great wrinkly old aunt Mildred.

They must be sitting
On an invisible something.
A divide in atmospheric pressure?
A mile-high, sky-top of our own human smog?
Or the wall that the dragons fly above
(But we cannot see them through this blinding shield)

The clouds are sitting on top of 
Something invisible.

What a lucky something,
What a lucky us.
Thank you for holding up the clouds.

Nurses

NURSES

Tell me this question nurse
Describe how you ever see me
A wrinkly old fuss pot woman
At the grand old age of 93
You wash and you dress me
You feed each one of us
Its your job but i hear you moan
When one of us makes a fuss.

I'll tell you all about my life
Right where do you want me to start
Sit down now i'm ready to begin
It's all about me straight from the heart
Iwas born in them war days
My father he was killed there
My Mother worked as hard as she could
She fed us all and made us pray.

Married at a very young age
Yes at the age of twenty two
My mother was not very happy
I was pregnant what could i do
Seven children altogether
It was hard in them days
My kids had to go to work
To pay for their own ways

My husband sadly passed away
Seventy two when he died
I still hold our moments
Safely locked inside
Children lives of their own
Don't bother to see me no more
But not one minute passes
When i hope to see them at the door
That's all about me now
I'm feeling tired ready for bed
Please can you aid me nurse
To rest my weary head.

grandmothers hands

the back of my hands are spotted
with brownish red splotches and dashes
they are as wrinkly as a Chinese dog
blue veins are popping up in ugliness
so this is why old women wear gloves!
the same reason they wear scarves around their turkey necks
I was never prepared to get this old
did not realize it was a possibility
until I began wearing my grandmother’s hands

Digital World

Texting at 7:00 pm.
Is almost too late.
People are washing dishes.
They are tired with wrinkly hands.
If I texted anyway,
Maybe the shadows would leave.
Texting at 9:00 pm.
It’s never ok, it’s always too late.
If I had texted at 7:00…
Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad…
If I texted at 1:00 am.
They would hate me forever.
No one would ever text again, and I would die in a car accident alone, and no one would show up to the funeral.
So at 1:00 am, I write and scribble nonsense in a journal.
I cry into the journal.
Which is a little more satisfying than a crying emoji, anyway.
I keep the journal in a drawer.
That cannot be deleted.
Unlike most things in this digital world.

Daydreaming and Dishes

To write a song.

I have to be famous.

But first I have to start a band.

And learn to write music.

But I don’t have friends.

I don’t have anyone.

I don’t have anyone who would want to start a band with me.

I’m listening to my favorite song right now.

Daydreaming and it’s a horrible, sad daydream.

I’m doing the dishes.

But the soap bubbles are popping.

My hands are wrinkly from water or maybe age.

The water is cold.

My thoughts are cold.

I drain the water and refill the basin.

With no music. No favorite song.

In silence,

I can get everything done.

a beauty you could adore

He had been to steampunk conventions before
But had never seen a beauty that he could adore
This woman was a goddess with hair of spun gold
He stared from the corner, feeling wrinkly and old

Knowing Mamie

Mamie has a rather shabby coat, it is a mainstay
We all know it; green with tassels, a bit scraggly
It was her mother’s coat, she will never get rid of it
It still smells like her, she tells us.

Is she creepy? A newcomer asks me.
She has not met Mamie yet.
You need to meet her and make up your own mind.
She does, and she falls in love with her.

Like the rest of us have.
She might be wrinkly and old,
She might not have the best clothes
But she has the best heart.

Willie Worm

Wriggly, wriggly, Willie Worm,
you’re so cute when you squirm!
You move your body to and fro
and that propels you to up and go!

Squiggly, squiggly, Willie Worm,
you soften the earth when you turn
and channel rain for plants and fruits
to trickle down and water roots.

Wiggly, wiggly, Willie Worm,
do not wander away from home.
You must not let your skin get dry
for you might shrivel up and die!

Giggly, giggly you earn a grin
whenever I feel your wrinkly skin.
I dare to hold you but it’s best
if I don’t, you won’t be stressed.

Mama Right

One day
you will 
wake up
and look in
The mirror
and say hey,
I looking old
just like my
mama told.
She said your
turn coming
you will be old
like me.
You'll see!
I held up my
arms 
and took a look.
Wrinkly skin
just like
under my chin.
My hairs gray
by the way.
My face
Lots of brown spots
popping up.
I hav't to put on
lots of makeup.
I am even feeling it
Pain hits me here 
and there.
If I have to go potty
something breaks free
I have lots all control
Of my bowels 
you see.
Mama right
Again.
And so my
Elderly life 
Begins....

Any Qualms, Quaking Aspen

Any qualms, quaking aspen
In shading a graveyard?
"No; not when, worn and wrinkly
My own pride discard!"

Puppy Tweaks His Daddys Nose

Wrinkly puppy grabs his daddy’s nose
Gives it a honk, while standing on his toes.
Why is this allowed? Daddy asks the mama.
She laughs like a goose, a hyena and a llama.

You are the one who lets him get the best of you.
He does not know better, he is just a pup.
She says “Tell him not to do it if it bothers you.”
The big old daddy rolls his eyebrows up.

“It’s okay,” he says. “He is all boy, after all.
I want him to have a little bit of vim, vigor and gall.”
The mama puppy allows this to go on awhile.
Loving it in her heart, trying not to show her smile.

If You'Re On a Space Walk With a Helmet On You Can Drown In Your Own Sick

i was explaining this at the 
breakfast table

my wife pulled that electric chair face
but i consider
that it is better to 
be adventurous than 
cautious

my son takes another bite
of his jam on toast
and my wife
gives me those
ultraviolet light looks

she is our ozone layer 
preventing
us from ripping apart
our
delicate 
alveoli sacs

i am her wrinkly moon man

Tango With a Mango

To tango with a mango;
now that would be sublime;
much sweeter than the bitterness of lime.

With a sticky passion fruit 
I did try to make it merry;
and, once, the innocence of unpicked cherry.

A banana in Havana
I tried, but once beneath the skin
I found it just a little soft, and pale, and thin.

A passion for papaya
gave me all my daily C;
but too much of it did not agree with me.

To moon with a prune
I thought I'd give it a try;
but found that a little wrinkly and dry.

A dapple with an apple?
But taken once a day,
soon become a little tired and gray.

So, I tango with a mango,
I do it all the time;
I tried once with an orange but couldn't make it rhyme.



A Merger With Food Poetry Contest, placed 1st
Sponsored by: Natasha L Scragg 
Date wrote: 9th May 2022

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