"crumple" poems
the glory is fallen out of
the sky the last immortal
leaf
is
dead and the gold
year
a formal spasm
in the
dust
this is the passing of all shining things
therefore we also
blandly
into receptive
earth,O let
us
descend
take
shimmering wind
these fragile splendors from
us crumple them hide
them in thy breath drive
them in nothingness
for we
would sleep
this is the passing of all shining things
no lingering no backward-
wondering be unto
us O
soul,but straight
glad feet fearruining
and glorygirded
faces
lead us
into the
serious
steep
darkness
16.5k
I know the toothless women
Who crumple on the streets
The rain bleeds through their cardboard,
The cold drips through their feet
I know the dying children
With anaesthetic arms
The angels crowd around them
With time that burns their palms
I've hugged the brainwashed gangsters
With money drenched in blood
I've heard their broken weeping
While digging up the mud
I've seen the starving faces
Of the tired girls at home
The broken, hectic psyches
That eat them to the bone
I know the burning poets
With a desperate thirst for life
The need for finding soulmates
That pierces like a knife
There's weary public servants
Who risk their lives for good
And prove compassion every day
Yet stay misunderstood
Human love is buried
Beneath the plastic weight
Of angry allegations
And a world that feeds off hate
These people may be messy,
But they're beautiful and real
With hidden dreams and secrets
And ability to feel
We have a place to run to
With lights of peach and gold
Where all the weight is lifted
And all our tales are told
We live in total freedom
So safe beneath the moon
And though it seems ambitious
Our dreams will save us soon
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 12:15 PM UTC
I've used them on my windows
To see the clear outside,
If I read the Op-eds,
I shudder, shuttered and hide.
I've spread them 'neath my plates and cups,
My shelves all neat and tidy;
But the headlines made it clear to me
My glass is more half empty.
They had a place in the litter box
For **** to scratch and squat;
I laid them round my garden plants,
They made fine insect traps.
Rolled and twirled they'd start a fire,
I could fold them into hats.
They cleaned the grease from BBQs,
And they're safe to pick up glass.
Crumple them for packaging,
They work as school book covers;
Add water and some flour,
To shape papier mache lovers.
Fold seeds in them to germinate,
Then use them for compost;
There's many ways to employ
Your Times and local Post.
But I won't subscribe to Dailies
For the felling of our trees;
And yet I miss my papers,
And the ways they worked for me.
But when enthroned,
You'll hear me grouse,
*There's no **** paper in this *********
My cell works well to scroll and swipe,
But it's only good for a virtual wipe.
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 12:49 PM UTC
I sleep on white bed sheets
with the windows open
so the breeze can brush my face
and the rain can fall on my lips.
I sleep in the gray half-light that
washes the color from my walls.
My skin is bare, fingers tangled in
the blankets, hair drying in the
same air that dries the dew
off of the leaves.
Get drunk on dreams
crumple the sheets
ice packs and underwear
poetry, bracelets, books.
I sleep with tearstained cheeks
swollen eyes and a runny nose
and bite marks in my mouth.
I sleep with a heavy heart
and fingertips on fire.
Dizzy, fuzzy eyesight
and fantastic scenarios
played out like film in my head.
I sleep in the warmest
and coldest room of my house.
I sleep under quilts and blankets
curled up against the cold,
and I sleep naked
with the air warm against my skin.
I always sleep with a book
at my bedside
and the drapes opened
so I can see the stars.
I sleep through sunsets and sunrises
and lightning that cracks open the sky.
I sleep through delicate snowstorms
and hazy summer smoke.
I sleep by myself
and I seize the quiet
as a moment of my own,
not shared
not secret.
I sleep for life and rebirth
and tranquility,
for peace and second chances.
I sleep for mornings.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 12:04 PM UTC
No ****** or dawdling just for fun
Gotta be the best gotta be #1
I scrutinize every detail
Until I am done
If I am not perfect I turn face and run
Its just a day in the life of a perfectionist
I could go on and on and make a long list, but I'm hopeful already that you all get the jist
I'd love to sit down and draw some cool art
But if every line wasn't perfect I'd crumple it up or tear it apart
However, I know that I'm talented and sharp as a dart
But my ideals are too critical and not very smart
However, this is my reality. So I hardly can start
Eh, Scratch all that - I guess I need to restart
Its all in a day of a perfectionist
I've reversed on my promise and made you a list
I'm second guessing myself that you're getting the jist
I'd love to sit down and write a poem or two
But it's impossible to write perfection though - we all know this to be true
That fact on its own is bringing me down and making me blue
Its making me sick like I'm getting the flu
How can I ever release this poem? What will I do?
Ugh! I've gotta scratch this again and come up with something that's new!
Don't you see? This is the life of a perfectionist
I've given examples and made a small list
But I'm confident now that you all get the jist
Of just what's its like being a perfectionist.
Hold up! There is one more thing I'd like to say
I beat myself up every night, every day
And although I fall short, I pray and I pray
That this wicked perfectionism will not stay
That one day I'll be content with myself and that it'll stay that way.
Now I'd like to wrap this all up - if I may
Well, I guess thats just the way it is
In a day of the life of a perfectionist
You've heard my reasoning and you've witnessed my list
So I can certainly say that you all get the jist
Of exactly what its like being a perfectionist
Oct 29, 2020
Oct 29, 2020 at 6:26 PM UTC
My toxic mind is my escape
These days,
I confuse pain for anger
Anger for pain
I invest, but never earn
I ask myself: will I learn?
I already know.
My hopes turn to dust,
When death whispers no.
I wish... I become optomistic...
I tell myself don't.
Sometimes I feel as though I want to live
I can not hold on,
When there is no rope.
I have fallen down the wishing well...
I have fallen in a hole.
Vitriolics follow me and I,
Can not see my life through a bigger scope.
I look at all the stars and know
I am the daughter of the sun itself
I am not the center just the product
Of perfect hell.
I ask myself: will I always be afraid?
I look through my clear tears
They burn my eyes
I forgot about the oil & salt.
Soap could clean it up.
Yet I wonder, who cleans the soap when it is filth?
I want the dirt to disappear
I want to swipe away the dust
I want to rid myself of disgust,
For whatever I broke inside, me.
How can I forgive when you're the reason I do not want to live?
I have been dying
I would give in
I would crumple
At this point I am not even sure how,
I wallow and swallow down my pain.
I drain myself of all mistakes.
I still drown.
Right when I am on the brink of peace
My mind reminds me:
There is nothing I can do to escape
I am still in myself, at the end of the day.
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 8:34 PM UTC
My mother's breath is tainted with alcohol
She's on my floor, sleeping away the dinner she refused to swallow
I try to forget she was never there, and remember how hollow
Her skinny love for me was, and I ate my way into her Hell
The first cigarette, the first drink, the first time I forgot to think
I was induced in her fairy tale, my morals wothout ink, to go on
I tried to slip away, grasp a hint of bliss
I did catch something, and that was a fish
Her name was Autumn
Her hands on my shoulders, mine on her hips
We were one glance away, and this time, it hit
An anchor she was, I left my dreaded life behind
I took her calloused hand, and she took mine
Our pasts weren't us, they were our luggage
We dropped it off far back, buried it, covered it
A pair of suicidal lovers, a kiss above the chin
I was pulled on a thread
Seven months of lies
She was a chameleon
No painful past of cries
She wasn't molested
Her mom wasn't at the end of the line
Her dad didn't abuse her
Now wasn't her time
She left me longing for another
Another Autumn, another lover
I didn't love her, I loved who I thought she was
I know I will see her again, when the leaves are dust
She is so sorry
Sorry I'm sad
She got to live the life
The life I never had
I yearn to forget the name of Autumn
Until the season leaves, fall from the pealing trees
I will lie in the lies of the baked brown leaves
Crumple them one by one, calming myself, forming ease
Chills form around my neck
The same spot my mother gripped my throat
It is so hard to love someone, who despises being loved
My mother, a liar, a man sitting above
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 4:23 AM UTC
Commitment is heavy
both on the heart
and on the shoulders.
Most forget and they crumple
under the weight of expectations
and romantic moments.
Commitment is like carrying you
through the sea but not
unloading you when things get rough.
Sometimes people get confused
about which valuables to keep
and which to abandon.
Commitment is like flying a plane
I get to lead and
direct us to the beautiful islands.
But it's never about me flying
it's about you landing and
never crashing you.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 10:52 PM UTC
for you, we bundle into the car,
the littlest
(half my brother and twice my nuisance)
and the middlest
(14 going on favorite)
the bitterest
(only girl and pen-in-hand)
and the biggestest
(20 years
of bombastic nonsense)
30 minutes and four cornfields later
he'll start.
"i have to ***
"there's a bottle up there, dad."
"dad, i have to ***
"dad."
"dad."
"dad."
and he's going to *** in that ******* bottle
which will inevitably stay in the car for the remaining 8 and a half hours,
sloshing and yellow
too dangerously close to the color of something
you would actually drink.
the two youngest
will get into some sort of argument
some sort of argument that i will intervene in.
"shut up!" he'll say.
"chill out!" i'll shout.
"you chill out!"
and my father and my stepmother
will eye from the front seat
until one of them turns around
("relax, madeline!" sharply).
and then the oldest
like clockwork
will act like he knows more than he does about something
(my father will just chuckle, but i'll begin, "bullsh-" i'll begin, but my stepmother will hiss,
"madeline!" as if i've killed somebody
even though the 8-year-old curses even worse than i do).
he'll make a face at me
and i'll make a face at him.
the littlest will
inevitably
stomp on my seatbelt about 30 times a second
which i will not be able to stand,
and we'll get into an argument which will turn into me
versus
the whole car
(afterwards, much stewing,
and resentfully cranking my ipod up as loud as it will go).
9 hours and 12 thousand cliff-faces later
we'll get there.
we'll make it.
we'll only be
a little worse for the wear.
we will be swept up by our twelve billion aunts
our nine billion uncles
and our three billion cousins,
like we always are.
someday something will be missing.
first it was your back,
and the postponement,
and eventual cancellation of our trip.
then it was your surgeries
(why weren't they working?)
and then it was a series of words i don't understand
stage
inoperable
3
cancerous mass
lung
malignant
radiation
therapy chemo
you may crumple in
on that blackness inside you,
that's eating you alive
one lung at a time,
pushing,
on your back,
until you can't even stand.
the fabric of our family
is plucked by this
disease.
this is my poem, my plea
for you
and for us,
that you not pull into the blackness,
and that you fight the tumors and the tests
and that you win.
Jul 31, 2012
Jul 31, 2012 at 10:42 AM UTC
You started drinking when you saw your dad drunk just so you could numb the pain
Now everytime you're drunk your kids do same
Its a viscous cycle and it will only continue
To break it had to come from with in you
Next time you see a bottle
Don't gulp it till empty
Or drink it because you're empty
Show SAB that you're stronger than that
Show the ones you love that you're no longer that man
Show them that when you're sober you can stand tall and not crumple like the twin towers
Show them that without the ***** you basically have superpowers
Show them that you can clean your system
Let's mark your kids off from the alcohol victims
When last did you see them
They don't love you the same
They know the old you
The man that drank his pain away
Thought that the bottle was his only healing
In life he was a zombie
He just had no meaning
You could stab him,but he wouldn't feel it
His nerve endings lost forever
But he is a changed man
To his kids , he'll be better
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 2:36 PM UTC
A swerve and crumple
the too-low Miata meeting
the steel of a
semi's rear.
top speed impatience
becomes
a mangled massacre
of twisted plastic and metal.
Bone just powder in
a pillow of pink
red-streaked
pulverized flesh.
my jaw agape as I pass too slow-
existential dread is the hand
contorted upward
a few fingers missing
or lost in the mass-
A horn brings me back.
People too late
to care.
I contemplate stopping
but I'm late too-
and there's nothing to salvage
for me here.
Oct 28, 2020
Oct 28, 2020 at 11:37 PM UTC
Usher in
a long taffeta skirt,
pearl earrings and delicate hands.
Horn-rimmed glasses
on the man you saw at the grocery store.
Children still in their winter boots,
a frozen sunset glowing on round cheeks.
Smile at them,
agree with them.
Yes it's a cold one out there.
The fire laughs behind you.
Tea and memories of home
warm your throat.
Is this where you thought you'd be?
Ask yourself.
Write the answer on a piece of paper,
crumple it in your fist
and throw it in the flames.
Fuel.
Thank everyone for coming.
Dec 16, 2017
Dec 16, 2017 at 1:24 AM UTC
Picture a late afternoon
iridescent honey-yellow:
The glance she knows is seen
her cool hand placed in yours
your stripped shirt she rips,
her mouthing, “You’re it!”, hiding,
revealing herself stripped,
her finger tipped shh,
the brush of *******
surrender and assent.
She'll rise with a rustle
of desiccated pines,
needles will fall from her back,
she'll crumple a cigarette pack,
humming a vacant lament,
fingers caressing a fossil flea
embalmed in a dangling pendant.
Copyright © 2003 Gary Brocks
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 6:45 PM UTC
You are my uniform
You give me confidence
You make me look sophisticated
Professional, and sovereign
I sport you with pride
At the end of the day
I crumple you into a ball
And toss you in the hamper
A new uniform awaits
Pressed in the closest
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 2:32 PM UTC
Time terminates all inner truths.
Years will pass, we are the hare,
And time is the tortoise.
We will wake, from this delightful dream, and find ourselves
Excluded from the final prize.
Down your pens now, poets, live, live, live!
Take risks, love freely, be daring, try sharing,
Be the hare, but be aware,
You’ll look around one day and there’ll be nothing there;
Up in front, a smiling beast in a shell
Will watch you crumple, overtaken,
Speed is futile,
It’s the journey that counts.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 7:38 AM UTC
Tears crumple to the ground
But so do the raindrops
And as you can't tell the difference
In which one is which
One soul gone
In a storm of millions
Would not ever seem amiss
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 2:01 AM UTC
I have a little secret
That's not ***** nor scandalous
It's just a little shadow
That follows me everywhere I go
I do not get afraid,
But I do have a fear.
It is like an annoying person...
That you want to hit in the face with a brick
I push it down and crumple it up
But it keeps coming back to me.
JUST GO AWAY, ALREADY!
GO YOU LITTLE PESTY FEAR!
Now, as you may have noticed,
I have not said one thing about what my fear is
But you have to remember
That it is my secret fear
And secret secrets are no fun
Unless you tell
Absolutely
No one.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 7:10 PM UTC
I hate looking at you.
You are so strikingly beautiful
And so viciously ugly
When I see you, you lock your eyes with mine and give me a devilish smile
You tilt your head forward
You’re trying too hard
I want to scream
**** you
Hurt you at the very least
Punch you right in your beautiful ugly face
I laugh to try to make you stop
But inside, I collapse.
Please, please stop looking at me.
You’re piercing right through my ugly, sexless body
Right into my nervous, teenage soul
You are so beyond me
I hate you for that.
I’ll always hate you for that
I know you feel superior to me
I know you use me
I know you take comfort in my cynical, society depreciating, feminist convictions
My mumbling garbage of sadness
I know you think I’m smart
but at the same time pathetic
I know that you want me
Because you think you can have everything
I know you need me
Like you need anyone
Because you can’t stand to be alone.
Yes, I know you can’t stand to be alone.
Your wretched body that you toss around like an object
All in a vain attempt to be wanted
But you still end up alone.
You aren’t what you think you are
What you want to be
So don’t you look down on me like that
With your practiced sultriness
I say all these things in my laugh
But you’re oblivious
You look away smiling
Like you’ve won something
I collapse inside
I want to crumple
I’m too tired for violence
Too sad
So I just sit on your couch
Perturbed by the silence
Even when I hate you most
I’m afraid of what you imagine of me in the silence.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 9:08 PM UTC
if i could scrub all the scars
off my heart and body,
i would in a heartbeat
remove the disease that plagues me.
when i was younger,
i didn't fit in right with the other kids.
i was always thinking about other things,
reading books, drawing, and writing about things
that were far too old for me.
i would daydream of a world that was different,
where magic lived and i could be an adventurer,
all i would have to do is crawl through a door
but there was never a door. magic isn't real.
maybe i've become bitter as i've aged,
my parents divorced the first time while i was in third grade
and i watched my mother date other men and
my father crumple in sadness.
a year later, they remarried each other
and i thought that true love existed and mommy and daddy
were going to be together forever
no matter what.
my brother seemed happy enough,
though i never saw him much because of our age gap
but he would play games with me sometimes and yell at me
and call me dumb other times so i assumed he was okay.
though sophomore year mommy left daddy again
because he was more of a best friend than a husband to her,
which i understand that feelings change and it's okay
and during the divorce both of them came to me in private
to talk about what was going on,
he did this, she did that, so upset.
i had a boyfriend that begun mistreating me at the time
but i was strong, i thought, i can handle this and help everyone
at the same time and everything will be okay
but mom left and dad got a girlfriend and i was nothing
and everything just died in my hands.
maybe i am bitter,
my heart is breaking constantly.
i remember how it felt the first time it broke,
and the all the other times,
what i was wearing and how my hair looked, where i was
how i clutched at my chest and wailed in misery
and now i just silently lie in bed
on the covers listening to music.
i feel defeated.
i wasn't meant for this life, it's too much for me to handle.
others can take moments like this in stride,
get better and move on but where do i move on to
what am i supposed to do
i don't have any answers and i've been around for twenty years.
i'm defeated.
and bitter.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 9:57 PM UTC
In the Fall is an addicted man;
a bronzed, beautiful, golden-crimson leaf
falling perhaps
as an impulse or a slight of hand,
as a half-thought will to escape the cold
but ultimately, an addiction
In the Fall
is a view from a distance and a height
with clear vision;
and a flirty nod
from your most tortuous insecurity
to your least confident self -
smoldering nostalgia,
that sullen, sable shade,
is the headless horse man
and you are lost at night
(as burnt leaves crumple
and are swept around,
as are you swept)
In the Fall is
Death's anniversary;
the dance that follows purity's last
attempt to hold his season fast
er than the horseman rides,
rise, beguile!
a swollen heart -
a lion!
a bronzed and rusted bleeding lion!
a shiver and a sunken sigh,
an unseen, unheard wave good-bye
May 21, 2012
May 21, 2012 at 8:07 PM UTC
tear out from inside all things sharp
tear out from inside all things that cut
tear out from inside all things that bruise
tear out from inside all things that hurt
tear out from inside all things cold
tear out from inside all things cruel
tear out from inside all things heavy
tear out from inside all things empty
tear out from inside all things buried
crumple it up
throw it down on the floor
walk away
don’t look back
escape
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 7:58 PM UTC
Her feet bring her up the stage
Buds burst, willows weep
Lumbar muscles contort the rest into a chair
Bloomingdales bags crumple
Wrists soar and whistle her up
Balloons fly,
And pop
Fingers hammer down like swans on black keys
Nails scratch staccato notes
And tears
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 10:00 PM UTC
Follow me down the rabbit hole,
We have a very long way to go
I know you want to turn around
Save her from the porcelain god
That she prays to
But it's too late and she is already gone
I've got things to show you
Things that I trust you to see
I'm taking you with me
So follow me down the rabbit hole,
Slip your hand in mine
I'm going to tug you along through
And there isn't any need to be scared
The monsters in here are only after me
We've passed the rabbit hole & now
I see you looking around
It's a wreck isn't it?
I've let it go to ruin.
Your hand slips out of mine &
You walk towards rows & rows of
Endless houses that are destroyed and sorrowful
I built those once, they were beautiful
They hurt your eyes to look at, don't they?
You stand solid and silent, your eyes drinking in
This landscape that I had made
Then you begin picking things up
Putting things where you think they should be placed.
What are you doing?!
You look at me & say,
'I'm building'
I tug on your shoulder,
Making you drop a piece of debris
Stop, I say
But you aren't listening to me
You smile at me and kiss my forehead,
Then you proceed
I scream and shout and you don't listen
Get out! Get out! Get out!
This isn't what I brought you here for
This is my rabbit hole
All I wanted you to do was see!
You aren't allowed to touch this stuff
THIS IS MINE
I destroyed this for a reason!
I grab you by the collar and tug you with all my force
Your eyes are wide with surprise
For someone so small, I moved you quite a bit
And we make eye contact
I crumple to the ground
And I look around
At all the houses that I built & destroyed
At this toxic wasteland
That is my rabbit hole
My eyes are stained black from tears
I didn't know still ran
I whisper
'Go back to her & her porcelain god.'
'I don't know why I brought you here.'
'Go.'
And you stand there, startled,
Slowly you turn around and leave
My face is buried in my knees
I'm in my rabbit hole
No one else should see.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 6:46 PM UTC