"uncreased" poems
by Danny Smith
The old man rises from his chair
gently cursing the ache that crept into his bones
when he wasn't looking
His slippered feet scuff the carpet
making a journey they know without him
to the window
He watches down on the cars
as they flash through the rain on an urgent journey
somewhere
Leaning forward to rest his forehead
on the cool damp pane that shields him from it all
his prison wall
The cars seem to softly merge
as fragments like a broken mirror
tease and torment
A lifetime of dreams and tomorrows
that somehow became painful yesterdays
much too fast
Squeezing his eyes tightly closed
he remembers her face and the soft scar on her cheek
a perfect imperfection
The laughter and cries of children
running to him with chocolate smeared mouths
grown now, gone now
All of them to different worlds
ones where he was afraid to travel to
out there
Plenty of time to make it through
but the nights seem to skip the sunshine days
sentenced
he shuffles back to the chair
lowering himself with limbs that can't be his
removes his slippers
Reaches for the polished shoes
years old but hardly worn and still uncreased
laces them
Moves slowly through the house
turning of lights, collecting a wallet
a pack of cigarettes, a photograph
pocketing them
The old man stands at the open door
just a fragment of someone elses memory, as he walks
into the rain
©Danny Smith
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 2:01 PM UTC
At sunrise the dew melts into nothing
and the field loses its silver glow
while retaining a tranquility
unbecoming of most minefields.
Brushing his face against
heavy denim material
the curious son hears his father's words,
*Soon you will walk across
this field. I will educate you
to step here and step there,
to avoid the hidden dangers
beneath the grassy slopes
and native flowers.*
Trust flows from innocent eyes,
uncreased by worry
or the wear of fear,
as the son requests,
*Why are there mines among
the lavender and milkweed?
Because the fox must be hunted,
and the deer harvested
as food for our hungry ambitions.
These mines are triggered
by those who justify their sport
as signs of bravery and courage.
At times crazed men ignite the mines
as a show of their rage. They ****
others among us, even children.
What if there were no mines?
We must keep our freedom,
freedom to walk anywhere,
to say anything
and to plant mines in the field
despite their dangers.
The eye of the eagle
will guide you each
step amid the lavender
and coneflowers until
you are safely to the other side.*
Glancing upward, gazing ahead
the boy shares his wonder,
*Will I continue to plant mines in the fields
for my children to walk?*
A heavy masculine voice
cracks the north wind
*If I train you well, . . .
If I train you well.*
(*with Eddie Eagle)
* http://eddieeagle.nra.org/
(information about the Eddie Eagle GunSafe Program of the National Rifle Association,
Eddie Eagle is a registered trademark of the NRA
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 3:33 PM UTC
*we are not the
nicholas sparks novel
read wrapped in comfort
of store-bought quilts
on rainy days
or an ed sheeran song
in long-haul flights
flying us
into one another's
longing embrace
once in
a blue moon
how long will
the movie screens
and best-selling novels
continue to
romanticise a
love like
ours
all of its
torturous;
troubling;
tragic glory
even with dreams
of your laugh
and the most short-lived
imageries of your crescent eyes
the sheets on your side
of the bed remain
perfectly
uncreased
i cannot stop
my heavy lids
and tired bones
from gravitating into
both Arcadia
and Erebus:
another
sweet,
wicked
dream
of
you.*
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 8:06 AM UTC
Stop whining life's ironing you flat,
we're all getting pressed and
all getting that
it's what life tends to do to you,
ironing
flattening,fattening you up for the **** and
there's no flipping thrills to be found in that.
Ironing
ironing
ironing you flat.
but
creased, I could be unleashed to become so much than more,
something with life to show, like some thing I wore with patches and scratches and marks,
Marks I adore.
Creased,
the teasing and pleasing,the
easing into the wrinkles.
'Twinkle, twinkle little star' ironed flat I'm far away from life and life can't get into my day.
Say what?
the iron's hot and bound to burn, each ironing spends a little more of uncreased out minutes and so I turn again,creased,thrown to the floor among the garbage,out the door where people stop and stare at me, the unclean,
unironed,
anomaly.
No lines,
no lines it's times like this I want to kiss the day and say,
look at me
look at me, creased to buggery and I don't care
I don't want to wear a life that's ironed flat,
don't care that you think that it's wrong,
I will wear my creases and be strong ,while you're all folded up and folded always last so long.
I'll be free and you'll be in a drawer with socks and skirts and shirts and ladies underthings,
which upon a second thought brings me to the thought that,
that might not be so bad.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 5:23 AM UTC
Bend me over and take me from behind.
My palms on the window sill, and yours against my body until,
our breath steams up every surface in the room as the night stands still.
Take your time.
Moving like a lazy ocean's wave teasing the shore, leaving me gasping for more,
one hand pulling my hair back and the other holding me tight, do not let go.
Blow my mind.
Let the beat of your heart make me grind, real fine, touch me in places no one else can find,
as beads of sweat fall from my forehead onto the face leaving me momentarily blind.
Make me moan.
Turn me around, wrap my legs over your hips and lift me right off the ground,
and as my arms grasp your neck, kiss me, before I could make a sound.
Hear me groan.
As our tongues wrestle, let my ears feel the deep growls escaping your throat,
use your every skill to give me a thrill, unleash that ****** warrior within and let him gloat.
Explode!
While my nails scratch the path to heaven on your back, and we both lose track,
and my eyes look into yours watching me watching you come to a perfect ******
Oh, God!
Stay inside me as I shudder in ecstatic response, with my head buried in your shoulder,
caress and burn me with your macho warm embrace as the night keeps getting colder.
Smile.
A naive, genuine smile which speaks for all the feelings unsaid,
as you carry me over our discarded clothes onto the uncreased bed.
Dream.
As I watch you sleeping whilst running my fingers gently through your hair,
looking peaceful, content, mesmerizing, spellbinding, I can't help but stare.
Stay...
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 12:10 AM UTC
Folded, unfolded, folded….
I will never have the choice of coming undone
Crashing, burning, and this relentless yearning
I have the privilege of seeing it all from within
Never stopping, never slowing,
Never breathing, never showing
I will no longer pretend, I will no longer look away
I am here to show you that I am going to stay.
Creased, uncreased, creased….
I am scared, frightened, and alone
Weak, no direction, no place to run to
No place to call home
No red slippers to tap away with
No yellow bricks to follow
I have no map, no compass, and no sense
And I'll face the fact that I will be lost in shadow.
Bent, unbent, bent….
I will do the right thing, some how
Knowing this, as I do, helps in the end
Makes it all clear, makes me mend
Always raining, never calm
Always screaming, never sleeping
I am no longer human, no longer whole
Always weak, never strong
Always right, never wrong…
Jan 28, 2010
Jan 28, 2010 at 9:00 AM UTC
My body is a roadmap
Dotted with state lines and stretch marks and red arrows pointing to You Are Here.
There are scars like flags crossing my arms claiming gripping holding fast to this
Earth this life
Highways that lead nowhere
Train tracks that click clack against my ribcage
Cars that rumble in my brain.
Exhaust fumes fogging thoughts.
My body wears these hills on my chest like rugged territory unstaked unstated these weight plateaus like failure flatlining against the horizon.
My body is untraveled unfolded uncreased
These eyes like lakes see depth from new perspective dipping fresh into cool clear vision.
These legs like rivers cut through worlds rushing hard and fast
This head like boulder
steady and stoic even with anxiety
quaking through my core.
My body is a roadmap.
I seek only adventures within.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 4:46 AM UTC
the cat inhabits the kitchen chair
glibly being a warm and spread pat
as my seat is taken i am stood
weight shifting between pained legs
taking in my breakfast like medicine
chumming it down
addressing none of its flavours or ‘mouthfeel’
a man passes the window
uncreased in a deceased business suit
yet bunched into himself under a brolly
it's not raining
but it was most-likely forecast on his cellphone
strange human behaviour…
i note my own
and remove the somnolent cat
to take my seat at the table
Dec 14, 2023
Dec 14, 2023 at 10:17 AM UTC
Out of the very edging of my eyelashes;
the little wisps of my mind
flits this pinky-promised wish.
This
childish thing
mingling with these balmy summery notes.
I cannot wait for those white, uncreased sheets to be infused
with your
little smirks & laughter.
For these two tea cups to ****** its wonderfully ***** of a sound to lull those lazy days to awakeness.
Your shoes right behind my foot-steps,
c r i n k ling,
creasing
snaps of autumn itself.
A peck on the nose between the gaps of our once-shy feet.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 8:06 AM UTC
My lowest aches. Eyes
Bled from one rim to the
Other. I am so
Afraid. Did you know You
Made me bones little
Blooms the shiny twigs
We were
violet and tired and
Multi twigs warped my
Essence. Lines!
Did you know youlick
At me drips, I am
Still puffed stomach
Layered cotton
Green skirts I smells
A outdoor basketball court.
Ageless sweat.
You are
Haunting the caverns, I search
Milky purple diamonds like
The sea. Salty leaves of
Uncreased soles.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 5:21 PM UTC
For God hath not given us the
spirit of fear; but of power,
and of love, and of a
sound mind.
2 Timothy 1:7 KJV
"... fear is the little death..."
Frank Herbert, Dune
"Anxiety is fear in
sustained release"
SoulSurvivor
Come what may
I will not fear
though all the
powers of hell appear
I will not fear the
arrow by day
though I'm thrown
into the fray
I will not fear
or fret disease
I will not worry
my brow's uncreased
Ten thousands of people
shall pass near me
I'll have no anxiety
Though many perish
at my right hand
I'll not be moved
I'll make my stand
I don't think
this statement odd
For I have a friend in
GOD
SoulSurvivor
(C) 7/13/2015
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 10:47 AM UTC
Beauty, soft as morning light,
a golden glow, a breath so bright.
It lingers sweet on petals fair,
a whispered song that stirs the air.
It rests in laughter, light and free,
the way the waves embrace the sea.
In fleeting glimpses, lovers’ sighs,
the stars reflected in one’s eyes.
It lives in youth, in uncreased skin,
the way a tale of love begins.
It hums in silks, in mirrored glass,
a spell we chase but cannot grasp.
But beauty’s hands are laced with thread,
of woven myths and words unsaid.
The colors shift, the echoes fade,
and shadows creep where light once played.
They carve the lines upon our face,
remind us all: this is a race.
The painted lips, the powdered cheeks,
a mask we wear, afraid to speak.
The whispers turn to cries at night,
"Be softer, smaller, more polite."
"Be brighter, bolder, never old."
"Be worth the weight of all this gold."
The hunger grows, the mirror calls,
distorted truth in silver walls.
The scales, the numbers, counting sins,
a war where no one truly wins.
The rose is crushed beneath the hand
that once adored its beauty grand.
What once was soft turns sharp and cruel,
a hollow voice, a hollow rule.
And so the petals drift away,
the laughter lost in yesterday.
But beauty never learned to stay—
it flits, it fades, it slips away.
Yet in the ruin, something new,
beyond the glass, beyond the view—
a beauty raw, untouched by chains,
not drawn by hands, nor bound by names.
A beauty real, unshaped, unscorned,
not bought, nor sold, nor torn, nor worn.
Not weight, nor skin, nor youth, nor face—
but fire, wild, and full of grace.
Feb 17, 2025
Feb 17, 2025 at 3:54 PM UTC
Yochana seldom seems
to get flustered
never seems out of key
with what's going on
and as I wait
by the school
before getting
the school bus home
I wonder if she'll come
or if it was just a ruse
by her to get me
off her back lunchtime
kids pass me by
even Rolland goes by
see you Benny
see you mate
he says
and I feel like
a doughnut stuck
on a baker's shelf
at close of day
then she's there
cool eyed
prim and proper
in her uniform
her school tie
tied just so
her shoes shining
her skirt uncreased
didn't think
you'd show
I say
not sure
of your
attracting power now?
she says smiling
not that you have much
but I had to come
and see you off
she says
I look at her
then at the school bus
getting crowded
then back at her
standing there
neat
well groomed
black hair
she's too thin
too sweet
out of my league
but a kiss
just a lip to lip job
she eyes me
I could have
caressed her
a thousand times
(exaggeration)
lunch time
but no
here I wait
anxious
about the bus going
and she knowing
then she leans forward
and kisses me
just the once
and then turns
and my lips
seem hot
and my heart
burns.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 2:26 AM UTC
Nene
I wonder if you knew what a gem you are
Did you know thar you were going to bring a whole nation together?
You are beyond glorified
Your stark brown eyes,gentle smile and your uncreased milky skin
Bring your soul to life
We will forever want your side of the story
I wonder how you felt
When you realised it was all happening
When you screamed and hoped that someone would hear you
When the walls of that office caved in
Did you ask,"why me?"
You see Nene
You brought out
The truth
You remind us that all the beautiful girls of this country are not insignificant
You remind us that life is our birth right
Uyinene
Rest in peace Angel
Jul 29, 2020
Jul 29, 2020 at 5:02 AM UTC
This is your love letter
You fold it to divide it equally between whomever you deem a recipient
Love doesn’t divide, it multiplies
But also
You can
only fold
a piece
of paper
in half
seven
times
Sometimes I just want him to love me to the extent I can love him
But no one’s paper remains as uncreased as mine
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 3:05 AM UTC
Many of the days
are unerringly hot
beneath the gingham sky
of blue and white.
With cars that know
their way so well
that they are tranquil
for their
repetitive spell.
Under this dry
sun, with orange groves
around and now
with your fingertips
that rest on my arm.
If there had been
this undying sun
and endless wanderings,
that we were at
once, young.
In this foothill basin
uncreased by breeze.
These would be
sweet lives to lead.
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 1:39 PM UTC
i remember a more tranquil world,
of grassy hummocks and neat tamed lawns,
lazy clouds and flags unfurled,
upright backs 'midst hard-earned yawns
i remember a more tranquil beat
people cared how others fared
there was laughter in the street
there was joy as bread was shared
i remember a world relaxed
uncreased brows, a world untaxed,
tuppence bought a pint of beer
camaraderie and heart-felt cheer
in the bustle at the airports,
in the stations underground,
queuing, handing tickets, passports,
there were humans all around,
somehow feelings were more simple,
****** purer and untouched,
like the soft skin of a dimple
of the smile i miss so much.
yes, i remember a world serene
people cared how others fared,
there were smiles to be seen,
but now that scene has gone and been.
is my memory playing tricks
a child's impression of Lego bricks?
was the world a different place
or was it always a big rat-race?
or perhaps today there's still grace
behind the neons and plastic face,
scratch away the false surface
morals 'n manners will surface.
Nov 13, 2022
Nov 13, 2022 at 3:57 AM UTC