Best Colognes Poems
A Debutante’s Ball to Remember
In the autumn of my life, oft have I recalled that superb summer night,
when I finally experienced my long-awaited heart’s delight.
Family and close friends were all ready for my entry into society,
to celebrate it with a grand debutante’s ball filled with gaiety.
In a dreamlike state, I felt like a princess with a golden crown,
making my grand entrance wearing a champagne chiffon gown.
With matching gloves, and a pair of satin shoes on my tiny feet,
my auburn hair was adorned with butterflies and posies sweet.
The ballroom was magically transformed with gas lights all aglow,
and a glittering chandelier reflected on a highly polished mahogany floor.
As the orchestra played, my body and soul were enraptured and consumed
by its rendition of Ravel’s enthralling “La Valse” which pervaded the room.
Elegant ladies were all dressed to the nines in exquisite pastel gowns
of winter white, baby blue, powder pink, pale peach and beautiful browns.
In tacit competition to out-best each other, social charms were well-honed,
as they daintily fanned themselves and gossiped animatedly in hushed tones.
Refined gentlemen in their finely-tailored tails navigated the room to mingle,
keeping an eye out for eligible heiresses beautiful, graceful, and single.
Wafts of mild masculine colognes came from discretely dabbed faces and hair;
while the fresh feminine floral scent of French perfumes permeated the air.
Armed with a full dance card, I waltzed the night away with ardent admirers,
curtsying and coquettishly smiling, moving on to more exciting suitors.
My enchanting evening climaxed with Strauss’s “Vienna Waltz” filling the hall.
Oh, what a tale I will have to tell as my granddaughter prepares for her first ball!
11-21-2014
Contest: Your Favourite Old Poem (06-08-2015)
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Placement: 1st
Contest: Ballroom Delights (12-16-2014)
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst
Placement: 2nd
Autumn 10-2-23
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Autumn Pathetique
God winks with fall in blessedness
A pathetique from a soft breeze,
Silk sonatas, scarlet tresses,
Abundant blessings and jubilees.
Veiled in gold, summer’s parting kiss,
God winks with fall in blessedness,
As amber shadows reminisce
Songs of geese with tender finesse.
Rust tremolos of grace confess
Thankfulness in coral colognes
God winks with fall in blessedness,
Arpeggios in jewel tones.
Autumn’s grace notes in golden fields
Begs hearts to see sacred largess,
Anointed days of hallowed yields -
God winks with fall in blessedness.
Elegant intoxicating ballroom, with polished marble floor, archways lining the walls rising to the ceiling in mahogany trim. Candle holders with lit candles between each arch to match the elegant enormous Swarovski crystal chandeliers glittered brightly above them, to a brilliance of the evening ball. The fragrance of perfumes, colognes, and fine cuisine fill the air.
The ballroom is full of singles and couple, wearing their finest long gowns, and tails, their white ties and gloves, dancing to the music of the orchestra while others feast on desserts and champagne.
My Prince stands with the other gents waiting for me to make an entrance.
I’m anxious to show off my sleeveless flowing gown, made out of white silk chiffon, embellished with lace and scattered pearls. I feel like the belle of the ball.
My Prince comes up to me and ask, “May I have this dance.” He fills my dance card, reaches out for my hand, and leads me to the dance floor, while my heart is beating faster than the music. The orchestra starts playing a slow waltz, the intoxicating turning movements and the one, two, three, steps of the waltzing speed brings intimating pleasure of ecstasy that is hard to ignore.
The evening comes to an end and my Prince walks me to the door and kisses my hand Goodnight.
11/24/2014
PUBLIC TRANSPORT NATION
AH..the joys of public transportation
The “T”, the “El”, the “Tube”
short trips through hell
wading through the masses of humanity
clinging to the subways lack of sanity
sleeping men and women – homeless
sprawled upon the benches,
the less fortunate among us – “bums”
redefined as “monetarily deficient”.
“Elderly” – strap clutching hangers-on
ignored by the seated “texters and tweeters”
video game players, and “up-skirters”
inhaling the toxic cocktail of perfumes,
colognes, body lotions, hair sprays,
hair gels, and anti-body odor poisons -
choking on the inhaled culture of diversity
Focused on one spot lest eye contact occur
swaying to the music of too-loud ear buds,
strobe lighted rumble through darkness,
flashes of life, of history, never fully known.
John G. Lawless
8/29/2015
Bathing on the mild mid-afternoon sparks sun-charmed,
Reclined on a wave lounge, the pulse of the landscape warmed
My mellowed sighs mollified by colognes of fragranced jasmine,
The scenery enchanting slumbered, its pulsations pristine.
Pliably surfing through the air, with a rustling symphony
A swishing ensued, rocking the willows in tuneful synchrony,
Infusing the stroked atmosphere with its breeze contagious,
Like a sedative morphine, its flowing gust harmonious.
Birds stayed aloft, darting, weaving and swooping in flight,
Swimming in the calmed gale crests, relishing its raw might
Seamlessly suave as a reposing sea, the aura imbued
A chorus of trills recurrent echoed, while trees slued.
The surging wind ambled the aerated skin of nature,
Wandering like a regal gipsy, clad in mistless moisture…
Immensity of efficacy lies within veils of intricate purpose,
Like the invisible textureless wind, moseys to self-repose.
© Maverick Nyambu
The scents I remember like hand rolled cigars
Wine cask lined cellars in musty cool basements
Chocolate miniatures nestled in bright candy dishes
Tea leaves and mint steeping in dainty china cups.
Baked goods cooling on the kitchen counter
Roast with potatoes in a rich onion broth
Lilacs and roses lined on back yard fences
Channel #5 clings to grandmother’s sweater
Scents I remember from childhood spent
Fondly reminiscing with a wistful smile
In this sterile world I live in now
What will my grandchildren remember?
No leaves burnt on a cold autumn night
No carcinogens cooked over red hot coals
No second hand smoke that will cling to your clothes
No hairspray, no tea roses, no creams or colognes
No Sundays exploring my old Aunt Ruth’s farm
No chickens or guineas; no old dusty barns
No fresh moved hay or cinnamon apple pies
Just germicide, purified, Ionic fresh air.
" Nuances of Romances ... "
( Prov. 30: 19 / Eccl. 11: 9 / Ca. 1: 1, 2 )
The Nuances of Love's Romances
As Physical Attraction Advances:
' The Come Hither-Look; The Coyish Smile
That Moment When Together - Both Realize ... '
The Thrill of Mutual Satisfaction
In Body & Brains' Chemical-Reactions:
' That Rush of Blood; That Blush So Shy
That Quickened Pulse - At Saying 'Hi !' ...
' That Breathless Space; and Brave-Nerves-Mix
The Triumph ... When You Are Their Pick !
Sharing Favorite Songs and Souls and Such
That Caring-Thought; That Need To Touch ...
... In Holding Hands; and Kisses On Cheeks
That Look / When Lips - Don't Need To Speak
The Tender Embraces; Those Mating-Dances ! '
In Nuances of Love's Great Romances ...
... Motions, Moving Towards - More Than Friends
From Girlish-Giggle - - To A Woman's Skin;
From Boyish-Grins - - To Passions of Men;
Makes Temptation So Strong - Sex Strays To Sin !
(and may end as quick as it begins) ...
... Under Shooting Stars & Nights' Full-Moons
In Love-Notes; Candy; Colognes; Perfumes
Sweet Seduction 'Scent' - To Tease Noses
In Innocent Days of Wine and Roses ** ...
' The Birds and Bees; And Hearts That Sing
To The Hope Chests; and Engagement Rings
... Looks Like Spring Is In The Air !
In Nuances of Romances' Flirty-Flares ... '
... O' The Nuances of Love's Romances
As Physical Attraction's Path Advances
In Nuances That Come So Natural ...
Romance - Shouldn't Be Approached ... So Casual
Written & Copyrighted © : 5/19/2014
by: MoonBee Canady
This morning, my yard was hopping
with squirrels and rabbits busily shopping
for pine needles, berries, and cones,
perfumes, oils, and sweet colognes,
to entice partners for this evening's bebopping.
The fox said to the wolf in a huff.
"We're making this problem way too tough.
You take that goat, Sandie,
and I'll take that lamb, Randy.
And we'll split Porks, if that ain't enough."
There was some tumultuous to do
in the pouch of mommy kangaroo.
The twins were jumping and springing,
doing summersaults and singing,
making mommy kangaroo ~ so blue.
Tiny birds scooting across the street,
hopping on their three-toed, little feet.
A car misses them by inches ~
they'd be dead if they were finches!
Tiny birds! Get off the street! Tout sweet!
I chanced on a cat as big as a bear
who was all covered in grizzly, brown hair.
He was cornered by a mouse
as big as a house!
And guess who there was trembling in fear.
"You look like a million bucks
in your elegant white tux,"
said the ravenous wolf to a lamb.
"But though you look pretty in it,
don't think for a minute
I'm not gonna eat you, cuz I am."
Two smart crows peck at a road-kill cat,
plucking bits of liver, lungs, and fat.
Crow one inquires of crow two:
"How's this feline tasting to you?"
"Much finer than last week's sewer rat."
A third of the ducklings is three,
waddling behind Mama Shérie.
If a duck is a bird,
and three is a third,
how many birds do you see?
Life in this big old fishbowl
was never quite completely whole,
till Wally the walrus
came to dwell among us,
and gave this fishbowl some soul.
Oh, kiddies, please be alert!
Here live dangerous dragons that squirt
all manner of green ire
and orangy hell fire,
and if you get hit, you’ll be hurt.
corporate whores & company men
hollowed out somewhere along the line,
sitting on the shelf, waiting for the promised
glory,
every bit of style designed by others pushing
them like the most savage drug on the
“naïve public,”
every step on the ladder covered in bling
luring in the greediest of pigs,
lathered up in
the colognes & perfumes provided
that bear their names,
with manufactured voices &
manufactured gestures,
each step planned out by a committee,
each appearance set up by a group of others
who pull the strings but stand in the
shadows
(aimed to gain more than the puppets
however, never foolish enough to
take part in a photo op),
smiling for the pictures,
standing in the spotlight,
working 25 hours a day,
tying off & shooting dollar bills
straight
into
their
veins,
standing tall as the most appreciated role models
of the 21st century
american.
It love requires not colognes - nor perfumes,
It requires not make-up nor a shaven.
Luxuries nought - when hearts are light as plumes;
Most thrive most selflessly in love's haven.
Majesty, royalty
such dignity, a rarity
Oh Purple,
the color of
the sun, the moon, the stars
the fields, the granaries, the ponds,
the vast kitchen, the nanny, granola bars
[all under prune-tinted glasses of course]
Wine, oh how fine!
Denatured alcohol, I lie supine!
Yahoo messenger headings, nails, telephones
the inside of my ear, candy, colognes!
Oh Purple,
How I love you to death.
But how often do I revert to gloom,
for all these things, are beyond my credit debt
'tis the color of doom,
rich in meaning and hue.
the color of my room.
a brooding cross between red and blue.
there are “bands”
you know them well---
they play songs to make
women’s undergarments
fall
away---
melt & drip down their
legs like
hot
wax
& you also know that the music that they
churn out
is probably written by the same
round table of producers
who have been manufacturing the same
formula
which they know works
(working formula + new face = profit for the dying record companies)
for decades now---
the songs are written for them
the music is taught to them &
really,
the only thing that changes are the
stylists---
you know ya have to keep em’
hip
&
gorgeous for the
photo-ops.
i wonder what they feel like
inside
when they play & sing the same song
that holds for them personally
absolutely nothing
&
when they look in the mirror before the big show
there is no reflection left to look back
i wonder what it is like to be all
style
&
no substance---
to walk amongst the edge of the earth
not of flesh & bone
but instead of silicon, collagen, cosmetics,
perfumes, colognes, hair products, tanning products,
& name brand everything
until
the cows
come
moo-ing
home.
for some reason it makes me think of
courbet’s then-controversial
L’Origine du monde in 1866
with a 21st century metaphorical
update
where the human form laying splayed open
cannot be discerned
to be
male or female
for be it
anus or vagina
the panty melting rocker
doing it all for nothing but the
bank
lays splayed open in exactly the same way
a corporate whore
whose national idiocy
puts the pedal to the metal
& drives right on through
looking for something on the other side
a meaning to the
interchangeable
tunes
but alas,
there is
nothing.
found one that does what i wish you would do
but he's not you
he tell me all those things a good man is suppose to
and does a damn good job of keeping me satisfied and secure too
but you know what, hes not you
i cant compare him to you because its a vast contrast
but you know what why waste a graph hes not you
feels so good when hes inside me
but why lie to me, hes not you
dress like i want him to
and he makes me feel like the queen of his castle
cause he knows how to make me feel like a woman is suppose to
but it doesn't matter hes only brand new, he's not you
there's a certain depth of love that only gets deeper
more how you say, uniquer
the deepest sea could provide a tide that could penetrate the depths of the core in hell
this love got me hypnotized by your spell
and i cant even tell
got me caught up in your colognes smell
and if i could i still wouldn't want to break free
you have a definite hold on me
it doesn't matter how much he makes me feel brand new
hes not you
horny adults
sweating in a public room
publicly displaying
what they think they can
flaunt
(all the possible tricks in
their trick bags)
doused in perfumes/colognes
strutting their stuff
speaking with wit
speaking of their
accomplishments---with
sex on the mind & an animalistic
heart---
pumping blood in the veins
like a thousand wild horses
trampling & galloping
o’er the countryside
whilst the red sky at night
casts the hottest Summer
passions
down
down
down
below---
and so,
the humans come
aggressively at each other
(more so than they might
at any other given time during
the week),
to mix & mingle
to rub up against one another
“accidentally”
(like a cat gliding against the
wall, but with sensual intent),
to make each one of these
minutes of the witching hours
count,
for this is the time
at which we are most aware
that so little actually
distances us
from the true beasts
within &
no one wants to wake up
tomorrow morning,
unless they are covered in
the juices &
nectars of
another.
it’s the smartphone that makes the
deal, it’s the laptop that writes the
script, it’s the game system that weaves
the web, it’s the social network that
demands the time, it’s the apt., the house,
the car, the furniture, the toys of all
the big girls & boys that kill kill kill
the wonderfully abstract ideals &
aspirations once had in youth, it’s the
signs of wealth one wears on the sleeve
to impress those one’s looking to
screw, it’s the job one uses to flaunt
such expertise to unleash that final
wooing of the passionate prey, it’s the
clothes that make the wo/man, it’s the
colognes, the perfumes, the watches on
everyone’s wrists instructing them when
& where to be at such & such a time in
order to run on the wheel, do what they
are told & die when it is time to
die.