Best Patchouli 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!)
“dans le heure bleue"
My skin feels alive
when you are
next to me
blood pulsing
from the core
of me
Root Chakra Red
My throat exposed
the Wolf now
lies next to me
in my warm bed
savage and smiling
he is seen, he
smells of
fresh crushed green
pine leaves
lemon
basil
bergamot
a heart blooming
with jasmine
rose
carnation
coriander
patchouli
sandalwood
and iris root, then
I’m on my knees
genuflecting
he says,
“Come here,"
He kisses me
and tastes
like
Star Anise
"sauvage
je reviens
vers vous
Rouge
dans le
heure bleue..."
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
V.S.A.S.
"Scent of a Woman
rising from
the Oceans blue
necklace of pearls
on a clam shell
salt and air
silver cut grass
then earthed
terra australis
Red"
Magical crescent moon
Shining on the path below
Lighting the way for lovers
Together as they stroll
Exploring the enchantment
Of the animals and the trees
Finding their own Utopia
Beneath natures canopy
Together they may hear
A love birds sweet melody
As the crickets and a bullfrog
Seem to join in harmony
Sparkling stars and dewdrops
Fireflies dance about merrily
As winds song within the leaves
Plays a lovers symphony
The smell of jasmine in the air
Rose and chamomile so sweet
With just a soft hint of patchouli
A lovers perfume as they meet
The mystery and excitement
Passionate kisses, perfect date
These two lovers souls connect
In this mesmerizing place
See the scarlet thread running true
through our beings
unseen from that resplendent moment
our eyes set on each other.
A color portrait of our hearts forever aching
candle's glow dances touching your skin
in silent valley of eternal mist
where in moonlight, stars shine through.
I've no paradise nor rainbows in the night,
heartbeats felt without a sound
in a haze of loneliness,
when our love bled onto the ground
we felt the pain of our passion's spell,
Yet, your heart beats at the tandem of mine
as it's torn asunder for all times,
I walk across the room with candle's glow
scents of patchouli, musk and roses
permeating our closeness.
I know you'll pull me closer to fuse our flesh as one
passion will touch us at the break of night
and seduce our souls 'til the break of light.
Subterfuge of lust, rapid heart beats
yearning tastes of love in time and space;
Then we'll slip into nothingness in a vast universe
where our love collides with endless feelings
held inside.
Pain inside blows open
while passions' spells take over
explosive crescendo of more.
We can never rid ourselves of this
for the scarlet thread runs through
the cloth of our being
it burns in us, deep inside our souls.
...and the hematite pendulum sways side to side.
Unquotable quotes – II
Spare the rod and knife the wife.
Empty drums make the most deaf wise.
Penny wise Pound English.
The Polyester Stomper heals the vain woman’s heel.
Eat what you can but can what doctors ban.
Let the water tap run but drain rain.
The woman, the dog and the chestnut tree, the more
you beat them the harder the bark.
Let sleeping dogs neigh.
It never rains but indoors.
Honesty is the best example of idiocy.
Two’s company, three’s a broad.
Make hay while the son wines.
There’s no smoke without liars.
Don’t count plots before they are hatched.
Preach not what you can enjoy in peace.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a truth.
Parting makes much sweet sour.
A round peg in a square soul.
Rule Brittania, Britannia rules the knaves.
Able was I as I saw(ed) Abel.
It’s a Rolling Stone that makes a fuss.
Those who tighten belts don’t wear sarongs.
The high and mighty always suck with the flighty.
What’s good for Peter is good for the Church.
The haiku is the silly bugger of the tanka.
The baker’s dozen helps keep the poor cousin.
Cricketing jargon
The no ball is the cricket’s late call.
The boundary is the sixer’s mockery.
The wicket keeper bails batsmen out.
The googly makes batsmen squint through patchouli.
A leg bye makes the batsman somewhat shy.
The leg-before-wicket is when the batsman kicks-the-
bucket.
The dropped-catch can be the slip’s last match.
The leg glance is a missed forward drive.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
Painful
painted
paragraph
pages,
paisley
pale,
pulsating
paper
passing
passion,
passive
pastoral
patchwork
patchouli,
patina
pathos
pauses.
__________________________________
October 23, 2019
Poetry/Alliteration/Patina Pauses
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1190-761-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Tautogram
sponsor, Eve Roper
First Place
Peacefully I sleep
Dreaming…
Relaxing…
Experiencing…
I’m floating gently on a stream
Feeling the sun upon my face
Tasting the cool beads of clear water on my lips
Hearing the song of an eagle soaring above
Seeing the evergreens towering over me
Smelling patchouli from within the thicket
Changing…
Worrying…
Panicking…
The flow now rushing
Feeling the chill of death upon my skin
Tasting the bitterness of sadness within me
Hearing my own cries
Seeing my life flash before me
Smelling the fear of all that surrounds me
A sound…
A voice…
A whisper…
Awakened by the sweet words of my husband
It’s okay…
I am here…
I love you…
Living in warmth, comfort, and happiness
Copyright © 2009 Lena “Lolita” Townsend
Perusing the shelves of incense
laid out before me;
I felt the futility of making decisions,
clawing at my tired brain.
So many scents to choose from;
why did I come into this store?
Oh yeah, sandalwood and cedar sticks
for my meditation altar.
Jasmine and patchouli, gardenia and rose;
all scents that I love.
Cherry and chocolate, caramel and clove;
The celestial scent sends me briefly,
Into la-la land.
It’s funny how the nostrils get confused,
when trying to pick out a good incense.
Some days, I just want a simple choice;
today it eludes me.
Fifteen minutes of confused,
but scented bliss and all I could decide on,
was a couple of straw hats,
to wear when I’m gardening…
I’m still out of incense.
I have written for numerous
Tolkienesque publications
But I am a Jew!
Why do I keep doing this?
Well Keats wrote about truth and beauty
I find beautiful scenes in LOTR
I guess I am an aging hippie
I even use "Aging Hippie Bath Oil" with
patchouli
The "craze" has died down
The 60's are long over
Remember the song "It's Good to Be Alive"?
Well, it is!
I. The Virgin
Dimpled white dove of a girl,
tell me where did you go
when I opened the little door
to your cage--
did you flutter, supple and blushing
into the half-moon's glimmer?
Floating on the breeze of girlhood,
did you caress the cheeks of new lovers
as you whispered by?
Did you sing the songs they yearned to hear,
those secret virgin songs of canaries
and the pinkest of May's blossoms?
Tell me, virgin, where did you go?
II. The Whore
And you, young tigress with
patchouli-scented heart, how did you endure
when men exchanged secrets of your naked
body while you slept?
In dreams they whispered,
"Jezebel," and you clung to the sound of it
tell me, how did you feed your sweet
milky light to moth-men, even as
your soul's moon waned and drained you,
your body devoid of light?
Who guarded your nymph's soul from harm--
tell me, whore, who nourished you?
III. The Mother
Mother of mushroom, mother of sprite
tell me how you gave birth to an angel
by the light of the full moon,
squatting on your forest bed of moss and memories
tell me how you became only a flood of nourishment.
A cloud of light. A safe buoy of love
in the vast, startling sea of the world
and nothing more. Not for your Self.
When your angels have flown from you,
will you mourn an empty nest?
Will you be broken, or will you be free?
Goddess mother, tell me...
Who will you be?
Raindrops on roses weren’t her thing.
They were okay.
But patchouli and pine
Curry and cloves
Burnt orange dusks fading to midnight blue slumber
Alto strings and reeds weaving symphonic tapestries in minor keys
Woolen ponchos and leather boots and prairie skirts sewn from bandanas line
dried for the hundredth time to soft perfection
These were a few of her favorite things.
Depths of tone and texture
Vast in richness
Intriguing in complexity
The labyrinth of wonder
The land of the Prince.
He sought her out early in the season
Just as the crocus bloomed
In the exuberance that precedes
Any need for discretion.
Innocent, she held his hand
Gladly following as he led her
Spellbound though the sights and scents
And sounds of sadistic nothings sweetly
Whispered in her ear.
So softly did he speak
She didn’t notice when
His voice replaced hers.
So slowly did he dim the lights
She didn’t notice when
The oranges turned umber
The blues went slate.
So slightly did he turn the dials
She didn’t notice when
The harmony of the strings and reeds
Changed to dull, discordant static.
So subtly did he administer his anesthesia
She didn’t notice when
The wool began to scratch, the leather tug
The skirt tatter.
His seduction near completion
Her will half a heartbeat from extinction
With her next breath
Her soul would be his.
I saw a place in dreams, when life ends I would go.
a place where the reaping, comes from that which you sow.
The people were shining, with a gleam in their eye,
when I asked where I was, they just smiled with a sigh.
A hint of patchouli, rising up in the air,
an angel walking by, with flowers in her hair.
Each breath I would take, easier than before.
to underscore my joy, as my spirit would soar.
The beauty of this place, with it's colors so bright,
a land where goodness reigns, and banishes the night.
A joy overwhelmed me, no longer would I roam,
when I then realized, I was finally home.
Then there was a rising, a sun with shining rays,
a light that was brighter, than the brightest of days.
My memory returned, like Noah's famous dove,
born a child of god, by the power of love!
11/11/2018-sponsor-BRIAN STRAND
Smell of Autumn in the evening dusk
Decaying leaves slowly becoming dust,
Scent of that Sixties patchouli musk
Smell of Autumn in the evening dusk.
Breezes becoming somewhat brusque
Leaves still green but tinging with rust,
Smell of Autumn in the evening dusk
Decaying leaves slowly becoming dust.
written August 1, 2021
patchouli incense
opens nostrils --
fragrant dreams
patchouli incense
smolders ethereal --
phantom dreams
patchouli incense
burns as fingers --
massaging dreams
Knee ‘Asia claimed she was Bohemian, but we called her hippie.
That was my folks, she told us. They were rather loose and dippy.
We saw her dwelling and changed our minds in no way whatsoever.
She lived in a communal tent in every kind of California weather.
Her clothes were loose and flowing with ruffles on her sleeve.
Patchouli was her perfume, every Christmas and New Year’s Eve.
She let any stranger linger, some stayed for months or years at a time.
Knee ‘Asia got by the best she could, and most of us agreed she was fine.