Best Clove Poems
I smell something so beautiful!
Many different fragrances are drifting toward me.
So many sachets of poetry are prettily displayed.
Such visual delights!
I stoop to relish one - a citrus blend
with sweet anise and cinnamon.
Ah! How fun this poem is with its taste of licorice!
And here’s one that is rather sensuous.
Its aroma is the clove,
clary sage, bergamot, and rose.
How luscious! I linger at this one for a while. . .
Now I lean in toward the scent of chamomile.
This poem soothes the spirit
with its lavender and jasmine blooms in it.
Oh, here is one not only sweet but spicy!
Coriander wafts my way
with cinnamon and ginger. Such a treat to savor!
Next I view a bowl
filled with myrrh and frankincense.
And what else?
Why, it’s the earthy scent of sandalwood
with a touch of patchouli for good measure.
My, this is an epic poem to treasure.
Right next to it I spy a tiny one -
a packet of herbs and other little things,
But oh, how sweet its fragrance
of nutmeg, citrus and vanilla. Indeed, I’ve found a gem.
And here is one completely fresh - a most creative blend
of lemon, lavender and pine. It is divine!
Now a strong scent of sweetness comes to me,
This time from lavender laced
with small petals Of germaniums, and again,
the wondrous cinnamon
that takes my mind far back
to sentimental scenes of childhood.
Balsamic and earthy is the final poem that tempts me
with cedar wood, spruce and fir -
another one with thoughts of life and nature
to ponder as I linger one last time. . .
Then I must leave this sanctuary.
Day after day -
how I love to fill my senses
with poetry potpourri!
May 1, 2016 for Linda's Poetry _______ (fill in the blank) Poetry Contest
(hope I did it right this time!)
as a child,
I perceived
the wonderment
of Clouds.
and elders
likewise contemplated
the curious celebrity of them
the solemnity of shape-shifting skyships
their charity of rain:
encouraging fruit
greening hills
irrigating joys
keeping
watch
around the earth
in as enviable
a perch
as the risen sun
or mystic moon
that guides tides.
sun runs
apace
moon whisks
its baton away
but Clouds
stay high,
perpetual
imprints
covering Space and Time.
Could
Clouds
be God's eyes?
***
when I was
-abecedarian-
counting from one to three,
I licked my lips
at Clouds
reckoning
I'd catch them
like docile butterflies,
and discern the flavors of miracle floss:
must be rose-white sugar
some barley flour
lamb's fleece and goose feathers
the elders, lofty and wise,
disparaged my foolish games.
I tugged
on the edge of their mountainous faces:
wispy chins
transient strands
billowy beards
closest clouds
I'd seen
Proximal nimbi
and their dust trail
of ginger, onion, and clove
pulled pork, frizzled cod, light ashtray
lingered...
I caught
those crazy hairs
so hard
candy-coated
raindrops
fell!
My coffee, my house,
cinnamon and hint of clove
in a full bodied french roast...
acrid, bitter, pungent deliciousness
wafts thought the air
before even the eyes are open
the buzz of conversation over
the tinkling of spoons stirring
the clanking of cup on saucer
the shooshing of steamy cream
into cappuccino
a lush, rich aroma,
with the feeling of rightness
around the edges
like a cozy blanket of comfort
wrapping around your shoulders
Sipping in silence,
watching the sunrise,
simple serenity to start the day.
©6/18/12
Amidst reality of my life two single things remain
inflection of your voice and glow of your tender eyes
held safe by this memory we become transparent rain
wild as the tidal waves of Bristol souls of no disguise
fluid as the ocean we are open inlets, giving rise
sepia moments of a little cottage hidden in the cove
the scent of sweet cinnamon and the taste of your clove
the cackle sound of unseasoned wood against the brick
we sucked the flavors of our passion, and called it love,
holding on to each other, like flames on a candle wick
molten wax and liquid centers with all I hold so dear
when the moon comes into view the stars turn into glass
willful moments arching as tender reeds adhere
we spiral down the staircase, of God's Mandir
we find the miracle of us, and know that it will last
caught between two soft spots we are cloaked in silk
like two lovers in heaven or two lonesome sacred elks
amidst the reality of my life, two single things remain
the taste of a kiss and the place from whence we came
you my first love, were always right as rain.
August 27, 2021
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Contest Name: Vagabond Dreams
Steak pies is my favourite to eat with vegetables for dinner
With succulent pastry which couldn't be thinner
Meat and gravy are cooked in unison
Making this pie a lip smacking tasty one
Dessert what more could I ask for, I love
a Bramley Apple pie cooked with a clove
The flavour is one to die for,
With lovely creamy custard, over it pour
Now it's nearly supper time what pie takes the lead
Nothing more than a Cornish pasty its a nearly pie indeed
Inside some tiny cubes of potatoes and swede mixed with onion and meat
Looks longingly at the clock, is it time yet for this treat
Goes to bed repleted, full of pasty and such
Dreams of pies and pasties, would think i've had enough.
With a slight glow of early morning sunlight
a single flower-bud unfolds bright
from its green protective wrap
to serrated knap
revealing
soft pink
appealing
velvet petals of
a carnation, Mother's Love
with a fresh spicy clove-like perfume
coursing through benignly and at last, consume
6/30/2019
Poetry Contest: Writing Challenge 2, June 2019- A Summer Flower
Sponsored by: Dear Heart
Into the inky darkened elegance
of moon’s hushed serenade
Within the clove of stately elms
her presence soon promenades;
The Lady of Whitelace Castle
dressed in a grand and stately manner
shimmers about through frosty limbs
causing many to flee in terror
She brings with her an afterglow
that blushes the unearthly scene
she remains, to some, a welcomed guest
to others an astonishing dream
This lady in ghost white apparel
drifts about from tree to tree
searching in vain for love unattained
perchance could she find it in thee?
© Debra Squyres 2013/12/30
NEWS FLASH
“Look out for vampires!
For sure they’re very charming
I’d say disarming
Don’t look into their eyes
Or you’re in for a surprise!
Don’t think they are sweet
They think you are something to eat
Their eyes are like fire
Burn with erotic desire
Look out for vampires!
Are there defenses?
They say wear a garlic clove
Garlic they don’t love
Or fire a silver bullet
Sorry that is full-of-it!
Carve a wooden stake
Drive it deep into the heart
The soul will depart
You have to catch them asleep
But don’t let your cell-phone beep
Vampires hate the sun
It melts their skin that aint no fun
They sleep in a dark box
Fully clothed plus shoes and sox
Let's all keep a vampire watch
This poem for Van Helsing's "Toothy" contest
clove cinnamon for simon&dunkin tuna for garfunkel.
wobbly looped spindles, hums tunes "holy mackerel".
silent whispers alluring hoarding ajar.
more candid topics, endorsed by chet choppock.
overtime blenders whip hot fudge tapioca.
from the larva, emerges paul harvey.
orator greetings predestines"good day, utopia.
good healing from dr. oz & charles ozgood,
understood.
bytes penetrating sequin hoods of vast neighborhoods.
well steaked positions, instills glorified bastions.
no wasteful questions, bout times were in.
unconsumed media leaves abundance to chance (t)hen.
signs of our times, perhaps, we should thank (T)hen.
Form:
There's a swing that is hung from a long oaken tree,
By a string where the young have a longing to be.
Where they fly to the sky, ever higher they go,
Till they cry, "Not so high! I shall die, don't you know?"
And they tread through the wold all around by the tree,
Where it's said ruins old can be found by a key.
How they thought many-a night how this fact could be true,
And they fought to set right while they wracked in a crew;
But they never could figure that blur in the tale,
So they clamber with vigor the fir by the trail.
They'd retrace to the place where the moss covered tree
Like a face, beamed with grace as it tossed o'er the lea.
Such a hold that tree held on their glad little selves
As they trolled songs of eld with the bad little elves;
And the song that they sing is a song specked with tears,
Of a long oaken swing cast along through the years;
Left alone by the lane, overgrown, never seen,
Ever blown by the rain, with a groan deep and keen,
Till a small little girl stopped a while on her way,
And a tall oaken burl with a smile bade her stay.
How she clove in a dive through the grove, and the tree,
How it throve, came alive in the cove, in the lea.
{Comments and critique by those knowledgeable
about consonance vastly appreciated.}
Love Potion
Add chinchilla fur at the end
Two cups of cold water
Ice
A pound of sugar
A clove of garlic
Four cinnamon sticks
A package of Big Red gum
A teaspoon of curry powder
A bunch of fresh parsley
Five lb bag of white rice to throw all over room and bed
Add some cotton candy
Spring and the great reveal!
Winter is now in full retreat,
those darkest days of rain and sleet,
the clouds will part, as if cut by knife,
the sun warms the earth to beckon life
I throw back the curtains in every room,
to let in the rays and light the gloom,
but then as I blink and my eyes adjust,
I recoil with horror at all that dust!
Spring cleaning is a chore I hate,
but it must be done now, it can't be late,
I mop and dust and polish with wax,
I can't sit in the sun, no time to relax
Now to the kitchen, where I cater,
to remove the dust from the radiator,
down the side of the oven, a treasure trove,
a forgotten chip and a garlic clove
Every room is brought up to muster,
thanks to me and my big yellow duster,
my muscles ache, my energy's sapped,
my face is aglow, my hands are chapped
I think I've finished, but no, wait,
I glance outside beyond the garden gate,
a rusty barbecue, and a lawn full of weeds,
a fence that needs painting, and sprouting seeds
Forgive me if I don't welcome this season,
the work it brings is beyond all reason,
I prefer the winter, the storms and the ice,
curled up with a film and some chocolate that's nice!
Cheryl Darby 2015
The heron bowed to the kangaroo
With sparkling eyes he fell deeply in love
Her heart he tried with all his might to woo.
The devious crow offered her bamboo
She chewed it up and gave him a shove
The heron bowed to the kangaroo.
The hippo snorted saying howdy do
While the rain fell in torrents from above
Her heart he tried with all his might to woo.
A turtledove gave her a heartfelt coo
As he sat in a tree high above the cove
The heron bowed to the kangaroo.
The camel got his hump sprayed by chew
As the kangaroo spat out leaf of clove
Her heart he tried with all his might to woo.
The heron and kangaroo love may rue
Her lovers she did not treat with kid glove
The heron bowed to the kangaroo
Her heart he tried with all his might to woo
written 3/17/2016
Turmeric,cumin and clove
Pungent aroma
Taste buds awaken with style
Juicy chicken chunks
Buttered almond top
Silky rice
Spiced!
for "Eat Me" contest
sponsored by John Heck
Hand Grown In Thyme.
On Brummie Sea and Burnley oak,
In bearded wood and clove
I hidey in this Mutton cloth
That strangles like a choke.
Lampooned upon this Ferris wheel,
A chuckle for a hoot.
I swung with empty boxing glove
And knocked a joke aboot.
I thank you from my Uncles chin
And dear old Auntie Pat
Who did asunder to a sin
And dogged her pussycat!
They trundled stubborn as a toe
And caring not a care
Sent humphing parties to and fro
Though knew not who they were.
‘Bejees!’ I crippled all a goat
What finery I’ve found,
Four friends in foursome charging free-
A bargain at a pound.
‘Well fancy that,’ a woman sat,
And bending like a river
Weaved not a spell but nasty smell
And sent me all a quiver.
‘How come you like to gape alewd?’
I asked but half an inch.
To which the Lady took a fence
And hit me with a pinch.