Jai Rho
Sep 13, 2013

After decades
of believing that adulthood
is the end of childhood
my skin is telling me
it's time to grow

Emma Arata
Emma Arata
Dec 10, 2010

When I was very young I had
a thought about thinking and feeling and
Thinking about feeling and
Feeling thought (or not)
And then I realized I was old.

He would try to iron the wrinkles
Ella Snyder
Ella Snyder
Jul 12, 2013

“You look so sullen today,” he would tease.
He would try to iron the wrinkles
on my forehead with the palm of his hand.
The worry lines that I have had from before I understood
trembling breaths and foggy thoughts,
the creases that are not so easily pressed away
with soft words and even softer touches.
Daddy, I have loved melancholy
since I broke my wrists the first time
and learned the name of every bone
in the human body
because I realized I liked the unknown,
but I liked knowing it better.

Wrinkles, wrinkles
Karen Wine
Karen Wine
Aug 12, 2013

Wrinkles, wrinkles
go away
Don't come again
another day


But if you do
I'll just stay
at the doctor's
until your peeled  away.

In your wrinkles lies the wisdom that I continuously see
Catherine
Jul 5, 2010

In your wrinkles lies the wisdom that I continuously seek

too eager to wait for my own, into my future I attempt to peek

but it is through rose-tinted glasses, shattered by visions of war

that I understand my world filled paradoxically with blood, love, and gore.

Letting the words pour forth, I forget what I am trying to say

all I can remember is the hope that I hold for some better days,

not just for me and mine but this entire global community

that stumbles over politic and collapses in economic unity.

When will the giant be humbled upon desolate shores?

Surely it won't take the deaths of too many more...

Soldiers of fortune?

No, Soldiers of Deceit -- victims of their leaders own bigoted conceit.

Bloated and forsaken are the children of opportunity,

praying for sustainability, locked in obscurity.

I know no truth which has never been known before...

but God, bless all the ageless that wear their wrinkles as a crown of thorns.

They look at their wrinkles.

For Naomi Lazard

Sometimes I can't wait until I look like Nadezhda Mandelstam.
-- Naomi Lazard

My friends are tired.
The ones who are married are tired
of being married.
The ones who are single are tired
of being single.

They look at their wrinkles.
The ones who are single attribute their wrinkles
to being single.
The ones who are married attribute their wrinkles
to being married.

They have very few wrinkles.
Even taken together,
they have very few wrinkles.
But I cannot persuade them
to look at their wrinkles
collectively.
& I cannot persuade them that being married
or being single
has nothing to do with wrinkles.

Each one sees a deep & bitter groove,
a San Andreas fault across her forehead.
"It is only a matter of time
before the earthquake."
They trade the names of plastic surgeons
like recipes.

My friends are tired.
The ones who have children are tired
of having children.
The ones who are childless are tired
of being childless.

They love their wrinkles.
If only their were deeper
they could hide.

Sometimes I think
(but do not dare to tell them)
that when the face is left alone to dig its grave,
the soul is grateful
& rolls in.

CharlesC
CharlesC
May 13, 2013

The time honored
brainstorming
collective planning
a filling blackboard
is now denounced..
storming is thought
thought on thought
wrinkle on wrinkle..
what goes begging
is quantum's leap
a leap waiting
for solitude and
an empty slate...

Adellebee
Adellebee
Nov 27, 2012

Flowers you have ruin my towers
My towers above chivalry and chauvinistic ideals
They push out the prohibitions of useless propaganda
For me, alcoholic toxins appeal to my lyrical woes
I think ambiguously when I feel numb and freed of obligations
And the curls of my toes,
Don’t wrinkle with the ties of man

With a wooden leg and a thousand wrinkles
I wish I could cry

There sits a man
With a wooden leg and a thousand wrinkles
Smoke around his blue sailors cap
Smoke shrouding all but his eyes in a mysterious sense of pain
The smoke fades from a gentle grey to a dark midnight black
Now there are only the eyes
The purple eyes sticking out of a shroud of black smoke as if they were the beacon to heaven
The eyes stare into the distance
Suddenly a part of the black smoke curls into itself and explodes in a rush of air and stale old smoke
Now there are two dots of lucios purple smoke
They float towards me and stay there
With a strange glint in them they look towards the black smoke
I say look for that is what they were doing
The blavk smoke starts moving inwards
As if there were a great source of power summoning theme
The speed increases and I feel extreme fear and power
I blink
And right there sits the man
With a wooden leg and a thousand wrinkles
With a blue sailors cap
But now his wrinkles are different
They are black
Like the smoke that moments ago was around him
That smoke was now in him
His skin was normal
Soft as a baby but his wrinkles were black
The two purples eyes that float before me seem to beckon towards the wrinkle in the mans brow
I walk forward and I look into the wrinkle
The eyes float behind my head now
Suddenly a force pushes me into the wrinkle
I fall in the vast abyss that is this wrinkle
And I feel it all
Pain
Fear
Love
Death
Hatred
Apprehension
Lust
Sadism
Masochism
But above all guilt
The horrible darkness pushes the guilt into my soul and crushes me
What did this man do that is hidden by his wrinkle did he....
There sits a man
With a wooden leg and a thousand wrinkles
And a blue sailors cap

Or that my wrinkles are cute,
Patrick Forrest
Patrick Forrest
Aug 31, 2013      Sep 1, 2013

I've always hated
How my face would crinkle and crease
Like old leather,
Whenever I could muster a smile.

It always seemed like such a contradiction in my mind,
That a feeling of such radiant youth
Should make me appear so
Mature.

But when you hold me close,
And say that you love me
Or that my wrinkles are cute,
I couldn't care about a goddamned thing
Outside the beautiful shyness in your voice,
Or that mischievous gleam in your eyes.

 
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