Best Attar Poems
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
Evening Hours
An azure sky is being defeated
by a shadow world where
a persistent half-moon is already
making its way up the silken expanses
of blackest night
A horse whinneys, spooked
by the rattle of an old
lawnmower on its way to the shed.
Mosquitoes, agitated, smell blood
in veins that evade their foray,
then try to find egress
through kitchen window screens
A limousine glides through
the dusk, empty, but proud
A raggedy convertible pulls up
The driver pets the fur of his
small dog
Both must stop at a traffic light
while an old man with one leg gone
is sweating to get his wheelchair
across the street before
the light changes
A silver haze from too much heat,
lasting too long, shivers over
shadows in the park, where a
street man has curled up on
a wooden bench.
The half-moon tips its crescent
toward a statue of a soldier
on horseback, saber raised,
hat on straight
A slip-slap of slippers sounds
on the still-warm concrete
as a young woman puts out
a letter to be gathered
by the mail man.
The evening smells of roses
attar burning the nose with musky beauty
Murky pools of gathering night
darken the corner the corner
where daisies grow
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...
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
Three lying deacons
swim in a handbag -
and a lone, celibate pastor
paces longingly bemused.
Michael, the Arc Angel,
poses silently,
in dusty Gabbana drag,
cursing the lipstick-painted laymen
writhing in rancid attar -
naked
and intentionally
unused.
Four wide-eyed boys
dance on a daydream –
kissing ripped posters
of a white collared rapist.
Saint Peter understands
the jovial jokesters -
the foolishness
when blackened specks darken the void;
the flurried flutter of his eyelids
casts a tainted shadow
upon a fractured sexual ballet.
They continue to kiss
below the waist.
Three lying deacons
and a pacing pastor resides –
five lip-smacking nurses
massaging your head.
Four wide-eyed boys
caress your knuckles
as the well-trimmed priest
pronounces
a poorly
scented infant:
"anally dead."
Seven cardinal sins
slip and divide
into 3 venial ratios.
"Hi, Sonny"...
Greed, lust and vanity
are mortal crimes;
Father Fragrantly Fresh...
quietly proclaims:
"snuggle a bit closer and
sniff a hint of Genesis."
Say I’m to blame
and cause-count the afflictions –
smaller undetected lumps
hump the jaded addictions
brain dead and haughty –
the zombies
circle and laugh!
I wasn't born in a dark discarded
Parisian tunnel but -
can you Roman Polanski me,
please?
Kill the poet...
and make him pay -
below the waist.
Crushed words embody
a forgotten loner’s
epitaph!
(force him to stutter stupidly)
and within a last breath -
and within a last breath -
and within a last breath -
GOD...
"the string-strangled
puppet
conventionally chokes -
and quietly succumbs
(to a textured landscape)
of a youthful
silenced dying...
...swaddled
and swallowed
in a heavenly -
haloed chosen
death..."
Will you burn the earth`s skin to glass?.
Yet, right there , in Harmony of `69
I bent in adoration
before the dusky pearl of your forehead
the soft slopes of your never-ending body
shifting under a sea of blankets
Oh! treasure of treasures !
sparkling
to life
love
in the inner-sanctum of the
tent-temple of my emerald heart,
filling it with that attar fragrance ,
that compassionate smile,
that yearning voice,
quieting my storm
urging me
to swim your sultry sea.
How could the world ever be the same again ?
Outside,
rooted like stark brood of the Black stone ,
rocks parried thuddingly the capricious charge of waves
and subdued the swell and swirl of a dark ,disturbed sea.
The summer night was short
and I
cleaved to you like a calf to its mother.
Your dark-eyed nipples breasted the blanket ,
occulting the coarseness of Harmony .
We rocked to cradle the peace in the galaxy,
with love milking the way
to the morning star .
Winking over the mount,
Venus caught us intertwined ,
drooling like babes,
sated
I, summer cloud paramour of
you Landie ,
altar of my sensuous sacrifice
sweet naos forever
Yolande
briefly
undraping your
compassionate cosmic essence
for a gallant stripling
starving for affirmation.
Awed,
i nested in mouths
harmonizing
now enchanting,
now strident symphonies,
keen enough to split
chaos
into mutual opposites
that grappled , grinded and finally clashed ,
giving birth to a higher union.
I tattoo your name , Landie, on the stretched skin of the earth.
I pullulate the waves in your name
sackbutting the syllables
till tremolo breaks it breathlessly to foam
on the glistening beach of your belly
Wrinkles I didgeridoo into the dark blanket of our night,
stringing out your diadem of stars
I spiral you stately across my deep.
Breaking away
reluctantly
from the tug of your knees
i trolled our anchor through love`s flow
girding it close to my wound-up heart.
"Go now love….spare me a thought "
Your voice and a gentle seabreeze wafted me out.
Diving at dawn with a whale of love
between waking dunes
capped by sourfigs , bleary-eyed revellers,
the blue-blue sky warbled
“one and one and one is three
One thing you got know ,is you got to be free
Come together, right now , over me.”
.
The cool breeze sends ripples
upon water as smooth as glass
upon skin, cooled, radiant sun
they are all assembled at this pond
a few humans, mostly birds
Attar would be pleased to see this
Meeting
Delegation of birds
the ducks sit on the west stone wall
Most grooming, digging, for buried treasure
others, one foot, balanced, sleep still
heads safely tucked tight against feather
Beds
many swim and some float
the Swans dance in the center
a gang on long-necks, dominate kings
in this realm
a far cry from above
a return from the Pond
with that come new Swans to join in
the Feast, the Pool Party
they now stand divided, some on
the North end, some on the South
they were united at first, but no more
very much like humanity
except
they can still share the Pond
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
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
Are your eyes made from the surging debris from the scintillating stars?
Are your voice made from the tranquil tune from the guitars?
Are your fingers been forged and formed in the God's altar?
Are your sense of smell made from the aroma of the rose's attar?
Are your sweet lips made from a sugar-rich rare nectar?
Are your missile-like words made from the explosive mortars?
Are your ears' edges made from the lancinating scimitars?
Are your nose made from the Excalibur owned by King Arthur, the czar?
Are your hairs made in the Valles Marineris canyon in Mars?
Oh, and are you the shadow of God in the human avatar?
Oh my dearly beloved sister,
I'll come as the raindrops to sleep on your flowery heart
Nothing in this Universe possesses the power to set us apart
Compared to you and me, Monalisa is not the greatest art
When you are alone, I'll will be right with you as your breath
You are the equation for every single deliberation I do in math
My soul will still be with you even after I got racked up by death
Oh my dearly beloved sister,
When you become the night sky
I'll embellish you with dazzling technicolour stars
When you ever wanted to cry
I'll make you smile with the tunes of sitars
When your throats are going to dry
I'll cool them with the Sakura's fragrant attar
Whenever you say the word "bye"
I feel the excruciating pain of a thrusting scimitar
Oh my dearly beloved sister,
How could I ever live without your smile by my side
Oh, sincerely, without you, my heart would have dried
The aroma of your canorous words is my greatest pride
The light from your honey-splashing cheeks is my guide
In the paradise, the God had this relation forever tied...
This rose, these stains of rosy red bleed from it’s petals
it is said
the perfume lingers just as sweet
by other names laid at my feet,
now leaks the attar from its heart
into its mystery, pierced by this lover’s dart.
This rose, its colour now is gone,
its lovely form becomes undone,
this rose, this one of many things
ceases to be, and yet, it’s essence sings
of lovely days and nights of bliss
when I came running for her kiss.
sarah & wodjan
debates over the presence
of Sarah Attar &
Wodjan Ali Seraj Abdulrahim Shahrkhani
at the Olympics raves on,
concerning whether or not
they have been used as pawns
thrown from the pools of women’s
oppression in the middle east,
as if their time spent was somehow
negative?
those talking on behalf of human rights
go on about how the real issue is the
absence of women’s rights in countries
like Saudi Arabia, that was represented by
both Attar & Shahrkhani,
as if having these two women competing
was not an valid inspiration to women all
over the world.
even if Attar lives in the US and doesn’t
have to deal with a third of the bull*****that
Shahrkhani does, living in Saudi Arabia,
the outcome of the sound bites & images of
her running in the games should not be
discounted, for it all means progress in the
greater scheme.
though Shahrkhani has a greater challenge,
going home to horrible name calling
(dubbed an “Olympic Prostitute” by those
backwards assholes twattering
who see both these women’s participation
in the Olympics as a slap in the face of
muhammad) & slim to no Saudi media
coverage of what has to be one of the most
exciting and meaningful moments
(not to mention amazing & historically
significant!) of her young life,
the fact remains, her Judo fighting in the
international arena, for all the world to see,
means progress.
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.
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