A morning sunrise...
multicolored flowers stretch
welcoming the light,
radiating redolence...
Summer's attar and essence.
A wider landscape I see beyond;
It beckons to me from afar.
The land has a kaleidoscope dawn
And many wonders that lay beyond.
Run your hands over its grasses blonde;
Catch a whiff of its sacred rose attar.
To a kinder landscape I go beyond;
Someday it will beckon no more.
The tang of the vital body
scents an inner sky
the fleshy funk
as it surfaces to be perceived.
Aromas; the perfumed stench
of the incarnate
so like a flowering orchid
its thick leafed presence
overwhelming, its delicate enticements
an allure chained to an image
that blooms into sex.
The pervading smell of memory
the attar of the rose,
the delicate fragrance of enticement
all a waft toward corruption
where death plants its roots
deep into the blossom.
It's a bloody mess,
murder most kind,
the kind that does not kill.
Desires clawed within rib cages
or delved into tender marrows.
You get used to it, want it,
it keeps you alive
the way some poisonous medicine will.
Some love poetry
becomes the aromatic attar
of a perfect rose,
while others end in greasy stains
over wilting ego’s,
from a thousand miles away
both are worth it.
It was a bloody mess,
murder,
the kind that does not kill
but stabs on and on.
You get used to it, want it,
it keeps you alive
the way some poisonous medicine will.
We slammed together, bruised,
pile-driving through explosive flames;
we were yoked to bridges
ones that lowered and arched.
Desires clawed ribcages,
delved into our secret marrow.
Some love poetry
becomes the aromatic attar
of a perfect rose,
while other’s ends in greasy stains
over wilting ego’s,
both are worth it.
April Ambassador
April, ambassador of spring, appears -
Mediator of the truce
Between dusky winter’s sighs
Of first snowfalls
And the incense of l’air du temp
Where mourning doves entwine with peaceful wings –
The scent of cashmere’s spring
Soft upon the meadow;
Envoy of hope’s wild spice in Resurrection,
Sweeping away the dead odor of winter’s tomb,
Consul coaxing breath into oxygen,
Spring’s letters of introduction,
In strawberry scented tresses,
Overflow with summer’s promise
Redolence of fresh seed
Overflowing from her diplomatic pouch
In deep furrows of earthy loam’s consecration
Curving round the hilltop
Envoy of soft rains tenderly opening a closed door
To negotiate between days mingling with warmth
And diamond edged dewy nights
Emissary ushering in the pungent potpourri
Agent of yearning for the seasonal zest
In the sweet cologne of truce for rose attar.
4-16-21
Contest: Spring
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
L’air du temp – Air of Spring – also the name of a perfume
Moneywise, I'm far...
from rich, but in life
and love, I sure am rich...
for that, I'm eternally grateful.
Today was not made
for some; their eyes never saw
dawn's sunrise; mine did,
for that, I'm eternally grateful.
Notwithstanding my share
of bleak, hard-to-get-through days,
I still cherish the attar of roses,
for that, I'm eternally grateful.
I've ridden the seesaw of life;
felt it's highs, lows and in-betweens,
yet still find it all worthwhile,
for that, I'm eternally grateful.
I've walked the razor's edge,
swam the tempestuous ocean of despair
and managed to make it to safe harbor,
for that, I'm eternally grateful.
I've been shoved and sucker-punched
by misfortunes time and time again,
but by the grace of God, I'm still standing...
for that, I'm eternally grateful.
R-ed, elegant and beautiful,
O-ne which perfumes the air;
S-mell or scent that carries
E-xcitement from the flower.
C-omplete and lasting redolence
H-as brought pure pleasure;
A-nother attar attracts one,
V-ery sweet, she lessens pressure.
E-cstasy of the flower in June is coupled with rapture;
Z-one of bleeding wounds will heal through the nature.
T-hird day of June morn,
A-roma makes one happy;
G-reat fragrance causes mirth,
L-ovely rose brings
E-cstasy.
R-ed rose spreads her aroma
O-r her most sweetest scent;
S-melled by attracted snoots
A-t the most exciting event.
L-et red rose spread her aroma
I-n the spacious open air;
N-oses that sniff at the flower
A-re enjoying the huge affair.
G-reen grasses are dancing
A-t the beautiful meadow;
L-eaves are swaying too,
L-eaving behind the sorrow.
A-t the colorful garden
R-ed rose reels off the cheer,
D-elight, fun and rapture
O-bliterate the stench of tear.
E-xciting perfume fills the place,
S-eptember eighth sunny day;
T-hrilling odor greets the morn,
A-fter the haze fades away.
N-ew dawn that has broken
I-s bringing alluring aura;
L-et's wait for attar and beauty,
L-et red rose spread her
A-roma.
The
Ardent
Dilection
Oozes from the
Bloody heart chamber
With rose petals attar
True love stories quintessence
With plethora innervation
As an invisible arrow darts
Two souls with a feverish sentiment
4-11-2016
Drinking a bloody mary, he stands aloof.
Not a snob but superior to his trade,
He is a poet of today.
Just look at his attar.
His facial expression tells of his dramatic aura.
Maybe, he is in dramatic internal dialogue.
His attire is appropriate.
He poses as a guru.
A skilled poet devises his next move.
|_____________________________|
Penned on December 04, 2014!
New Form (by the Author): Symmetry
This new form is to produce symmetry in
reading conceptually, which means harmony or balance,
such as a poet with a sense of dimension...
Her man was woven into love spell
By another woman, not of her smell.
Bewitchery, she will not tolerate
To the perfumery she’ll calculate.
Apothecary had the perfect answer
An exotic earthy whiff from vetiver!
Happy she was her man found her erotic -
But, alas, it was only episodic!
She spritzed the air with essence of rose petal -
Then a reminiscence of the betrayal!
Love and romance the attar generated
Very soon enough it evaporated.
Memorable scent of basil she wore next,
Pleasurable things her man not to forget,
In vain, it was she who cannot forget -
In her mind fresh the err her man had make,
Scent of her rival made her green with envy,
Scent of betrayal made her very angry,
Desperate but hopeful, she went to a lone edifice;
Temperate and humble, the scent of water brought her peace.
7/14/14
Many are the sweet things in life
most though do come with a sting
sugar cane so sweet and lovely
yet it will slice you wide open
The bitter sweetness of young love
that often breaks some hearts
Birth of your first child so sweet
yet their cuts and scraps hurt you
The sweetest attar of roses
a tear shred from its thorns
that wickedly draws blood
as you pluck it from the bush
It seems that for all sweet
for each you must pay a price
a reminder that sweet things sting
in ways you do not expect
Oh, how beautiful you are
waving on your stem
a perfect picture
to behold
Your attar floods my senses
so sweet and fragrant
deep musky scents
that beguile me
Your hips full and plump
rose water or tea I make
or rose scones to eat
a chocolate I savour
Standing in stately splendour
full blooms reaching skyward
I pluck one so that its
perfume I can extract
How can I not admire thee
as you climb up a wall
or smother a fence
with wonderful blooms
You creep alone the ground
or soar high into the sky
stand upright in beauty
you have it all to show
So many colours
all different hues
Rose, I worship thee
as my soul you delight
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
written 06/01/2013
contest Roses, Roses, Roses
Like a flower you are
Mixed Beauty with generous attar
Flowers progression from year to year
Phenomenal that should be revealed
Some will be picked from the fields
That loved ones would be pleased
Some would be crushed by feet
As lovers wonder the fields
Some would dry out from the heat
Plummeting seeds into deep beauty sleep
Yet again to rouse every next coming spring
Spectacular art work that can’t be real
Where minds and hearts could meet
Admiring that's of nature novel gown
So my words to you would be brief
Wake up my dear from your deep sleep
For Spring is not far from reach
Let nothing defeat your beat
For like this flower you will be
Beauteous, generous lady indeed
Prevailing with each coming spring
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