Best Scentless Poems
I forgot myself today
as melancholic melodies
overwhelm each beat
of my wandering heart.
The sanctimonious sun deceives
as a bitter breeze breathes
against sullen silent surfaces.
Recycled emotions penetrate
with a repetition of deep sighs.
My spiritless soul strays, but is
happy to be lost in lyrical lament.
As the Nightingale chants its
continuous regretful resonance,
the tip of my tongue aches
to whisper your amorous name, but
holds back knowing you can't hear.
Without your enchanted vision,
neglected eyes perish.
Without your perfumed presence,
senses remain scentless.
Without your tender touch,
fragile petals won't blossom.
As a cascade of sandcastle emotions
infiltrate stubborn sierra barriers.
Violent tears erupt,
demolishing hardened walls.
What used to be bitter breaths and
spiteful sighs are now regretful cries.
Your silent goodbye still haunts
as the lips grieve for one last kiss.
I forgot myself today,
but have not forgotten your love.
The Silent One
Simple Musing
29 November 2017
(Fiction)
Categories:
scentless, absence, i miss you,
Form:
Prose
When tuscan tunes of twilight,
cascade as clementine confetti,
She searches for secret silhouettes,
swirling to the symphony
of sunflower serenades.
In the midst of faded fields,
marigold memories crawl back,
refraining yesterday’s
tangerine dreams.
Swans glide in
sullen grace,
illustrating a saffron
backdrop from
sweet sighs of
fauna’s concerto.
Harmony of melodies
is the idyllic essence
of dulcet beginnings.
A plethora of
prewritten words
soar as passionate notes,
harvested through
hypnotic crescendos,
emanating amber toned scales,
whilst she sways below
apricot streaked skylines,
adorned in champagne
hued consonants,
synchronizing dandelion
desires,
fluttering beyond
darkness that floats,
as lyrical lines vibrate,
and ascend to
euphonious heights,
where bronze keys of
her mellifluous heart,
evolve from a tapestry
of twinkling tenors.
Her muse mimics
scentless petals.
There’s no wrong interval,
when performing in a world,
where rays of
honeyed glow drift,
veiling the rhythm,
between bleeding
dusk and dawn.
Changing chords remain
oblivious,
to the pulsating pain,
as her perfectly
manicured fingers lift.
The hunter’s moon
too refuses to see,
how her heart no
longer is made of flowers,
but nostalgic ferns
and leafless forests,
that twist and turn—
wilting away to
songs of sorrow.
But there’s a maestro
with a pristine prologue.
He understands her mind
blisters when colors tumble.
How her fragility has
been sleeping on
weathered pansies.
He guides her to
softly press the
porcelain frame of
piano keys,
playing the prelude
to a classical sonata,
lost in the maple waves
of wind-blown whispers.
Her oak leaf twirls and
sows duets
of sanguine tomorrows,
pitching lines within
veins rhymed in vain.
Birds of paradise croon
to orchestrated
hope and love,
while a palette of sounds
piercingly rise to unravel
a synopsis for healing.
Categories:
scentless, earth, emotions, moon, muse,
Form:
Free verse
This global pandemic causes confusion from social isolation.
In a virtual world without human touch - there will be irritation.
When burdens of life, echo like chunks of tumbling rubble
mind is misplaced in intense injustice - inflicting trouble.
With no desire for fake and scentless artificial flowers,
the soul is soothed by buds which flourish in April showers.
To sit in smooth stillness of silence, admiring nature's grace,
a paradise of petals, guide emotions to that peaceful place.
Windmill palm spreads its charm among yellow, white, lilac roses,
darling dahlia in hues of pink and white gaze at fuchsia poses.
Lovable lobelia and bewitching begonia hang from baskets,
above a colony of bees living under a pen for rabbits.
Bees buzz among an abundance of blossoming nectar,
their aim to *bee their queen's favourite honey collector.
A poet's eyes will always admire vibrant butterfly wings,
a poet's ears will always listen to melodies a bird sings.
A flower garden is a silent sanctuary - inspiring one's muse,
like rain after a hot day, refreshing buds in twilight dews.
If fate and destiny depended upon the sowing of seeds,
how would you cultivate ideas to prevent the growth of weeds?
The Silent One
15 August 2020
*deliberately spelt as bee (not a spelling mistake)
Categories:
scentless, peace, senses, silence,
Form:
Couplet
i g n o r a n c e~
is a rhyme without soul
an art of f a d i n g into oblivion...
like crestfallen tulips
twirling through tethered rays
in the midst of seething sighs...
and I am more than the
blazing thorn
of a phoenix rose moon,
infused in scarlet elixirs
of a sorcerous twilight,
weaving l o v e
in golden glows
amidst double-flamed scales
burning my velvety h e a r t...
pondering, would you
be the galactic gardener
that waters
my weathered spirit
when I am but
a mere memento~
tangled in
vindictive vines of vanity,
for I have a voice
I sing in garnet grace...
if tomorrow
you feel my heartbeat
between vintage verses
of a scentless sonnet
long forgotten, and e r a s e d
remember,
I am the silk and sage
and the untamable
silhouette
of a balmy blossom
that refuses to breathe
in the ossuary
of perished petals,
and wrinkled dreams,
ostracized by
chauvinistic thistles
and unpolished ink
pricking the soft stems
facing cyclones of greed
c i r c l i n g
in sheer arrogance....
tonight I trace the hyacinth heat
of unwavering zest,
drawing sanguine
smoke of love
with winged gossamer
tied to the redolent roots
of unblemished skylines
while crocheting
petrichor promises
unto the backbone of
a nocturnal garden,
where handmade
wreaths of hope and faith
feel softer than lunar light~
as this heart resembles
a maternal bouquet
of burgundy b l i s s ...
a woman who heeds not
misogynistic mantras ...
Categories:
scentless, deep,
Form:
Free verse
As a misty autumn succumbs to winters harsh chilling grasp.
The sky turns bleak and hues of shrouding grey.
The ominous days unfold shorter and colder.
The remnants of vegetation lie pitifully withered and sparse,
as nature rests dead and in the throws of decay.
Early morning frost like sprinkled powder
smothers a barren land
and shards of ice hang from naked trees as fingers of a hand.
Dew drops appear like goose bumps,
along a parade of wrinkly naked trees.
Bare branches and rooftops seem lifeless,
as birds have no desire for frosty serenades.
Trampled iced leaves, decay in ashen damp air,
as snail-like sluggish humanity adorns its seasonal fleece.
Despite winter's scentless bitter breaths,
the soul ignites an internal bonfire -
radiating a vigilant glow to the surface.
Silent One collaboration with Peter Dome.
13 November 2020
Thank you Peter for this brilliant collaboration.
Peter is a very talented poet, please check out his poetry.
Categories:
scentless, analogy, hope, winter,
Form:
Free verse
Who bade your life to live as such
pervading hearts with perfumed nose?
As down thy petals tempt the touch
when all for passions sake you're chose.
With lifetimes taken to bloom no more
you flower to favor all those who mourn,
then dance to dirges at misfortunes shore
un-bowing in tribute exalting fates thorn.
When the last crimson fades and darkness unfurls
and from winters hoarfrost you wither and fall
who'll mourn at your bedside as scentless wind swirls
and answer grave's whispers when I make my call.
So dance in the sunlight as long as you will,
While a vestige of fortune desires you still.
07/29/2018
Not Just Any Old Rose Contest
Categories:
scentless, death, rose,
Form:
Sonnet
A clever sphere through midnight's shadow rolls,
its course through clouds, like ships through hidden shoals
and drifting hearts out searching for their souls.
A game of hide-and-seek - through forest members peek.
A wishful lost mystique - to kiss a lover's cheek.
Like promises, you glow then disappear,
then gone, until you glisten in a tear -
too late to dry a page where ink-stains smear.
So, even through the day - in sunlit visage stay,
the brightness can't allay - a scentless heart's bouquet.
Your crescent grin is burned upon my soul,
yet, I cannot pretend to be unique;
to find clandestine countenance appear,
and capture daydream's wishes where they play.
Categories:
scentless, moon,
Form:
Sonnet
"We can't ever fathom,
when the ceasing flicker of hope
flutters away,
and
escapes to an
endless forest;
the only charm in this
spellbound life is,
to chase that
scarred saffron second
and hue it with our own
enchanting light..."
As the fiddling
crescent basks
in this reborn moonrise,
I slowly blanket
my soul with
shivering sighs
of frozen stars,
as they trickle
down my lungs
and echo a
scentless spring,
where oceans
yearn to feel
the kiss of
floral zephyrs,
tickling their
turquoise sirens.
Perhaps,
I was once a
lifeless snowdrop,
a stygian silhouette
of midnight which
wrapped those
neon skies,
as black ice
melted in cores,
when pain became
my melancholic
soulmate and no
philosopher's stone
could turn this
solemn melody,
into sapphire ruins
of remedy.
Since my spirit
has hibernated
in this crystal castle -
I've been waltzing
in a wondering,
did my eyes
loose their dazzle
and become mere
colourless dots
of an oil pastel
portrait, as
this quill turned
vengeful for
its own spirit?
Did I break
my own heart,
by watering the
macabre of miracles?
Fading in
marigold mangroves
that whisper to
my delicate muse,
I feel the breaths
of mirthful wingbeats,
ricocheting and
making me swoon
over a pedestal of
pure sunrays.
Have I always
been this alive,
where these pulses,
reverberating
in my chestnut skin,
could wake me up
from the crestfallen
slumber?
Now, as these
topaz horizons
unfold their
golden carpet,
embroidered with
velvet peonies
and silk carnations,
I slowly bloom,
with a princess-cloak
of fluffy feathered
petals, resting
upon the crown of
emerald leaves,
bathed in chic
chocolaty lakes, as,
~ an empyrean lotus.
So, reminisce me
evermore, as an
imperfect lyric
of a dusky
peach pixie,
leaving footprints
of faith in a
muddy reverie,
for, on the
bluebell crest
of lush earth,
reigns this
rosy Cleopatra,
rhyming with
jeweled perfumes
of tomorrow.
Categories:
scentless, deep, emotions, fantasy, flower,
Form:
Free verse
If sky is a sea of
fallen flowers
and dusty diamonds
glazed in red,
I’ll unfurl the
saffron sun within,
stretching sandalwood
arms of serenity,
upon gardens of
glistening grief,
with healing herbs
and soothing spices,
from greener grass
of life amidst sorrow.
For I can
move mountains
and secure trees,
to a therapeutic realm
where perfumed
petals never wilt.
While kindness I sow
shall sprout in hues
of warm honey and
raspberry dreams.
I am an
unshakable rose,
blooming from
roots of ruins,
facing fiery fangs of
the phasing tulip moon
above wildfires
of whirling woes.
This musky
spirit is timeless,
resembling the
flaming heart of
an untamable phoenix.
My silence soars
beyond mourning wolves;
ice blue eyes
of fleeting seasons.
And you, twin-star~
my sister I cannot
breathe without,
will forever be the reason,
I’ll wear this amethyst
sequined armor,
to sail through
ripples of rage,
like a floating candle
amidst eclipsed tides,
that shifts and sparkles,
while flickering eucalyptus elixir~
upon scentless tea lights.
So if tomorrow, clouds
above your
sleepless sanctuary
swing with poisoned rain,
to drizzle splinters upon
your bed of melancholy,
remember, I’ll find my way
to your unrhymed spheres,
steal perfectly metered
syllables of hope,
from the elysian above,
that sprinkles
champagne lunar-beams,
and I’ll weave
a curative poem
beneath the ink-less
canvas of acrylic dirt,
to calm your
midnight musings with
mellifluous metaphors.
Categories:
scentless, emotions,
Form:
Free verse
The moss clung tightly; making it unbearable to breathe,
and she sealed her lips tighter than a clam’s— not letting the pain take over
As the stars drift silently, like ships on a lost sea of darkness,
she whispers to Hope:
“Swim free and look for the horizon, then come back to me...”
The night; collected on the leaves,
drops fell like Mermaid’s milk onto an already moist floor
Striking the shimmering tearful medium,
it gives birth to a shower of graceful pearls as the dawn awaits
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I hear your voice drift upon a cool ocean breeze;
gilded words of adoration
I glide towards it, praying that it guides me,
strengthens me,
nurtures me
like Mermaid’s milk
Touch as I might, my senses are in-different to please, my voice mute!
Be my Siren’s song and sing for me, serenade my senses back to life...
With an inquisitive tongue, I taste an almost scentless flower
It is but a wisp, a whisper, a flick of a ray of sunshine, but it was There.
So much is lost.
The rivulets of time, hear me, see me, like a ghostly apparition...
Capture me in that moment by lovingly painting me.
Sing me a song while you do,
and let the Mermaid’s milk flow again.
*****
Thank you David, for waiting ever so patiently for my long overdue part--
it was a very nice challenge for me to write this :)
Thank you very much for the inspiring lines...
Categories:
scentless, hope, mystery, me, song,
Form:
Free verse
In blackness,
I hear forked tongues
whisper wicked witchery,
hope within arthritic
ink slowly f a d e s
as darkness descends
upon snow-speckled heart,
and a murder of
crows can be heard~
cawing amidst flamingo fogs
carrying thoughtless art,
over the rolling hills
enveloped with
murky memories…
there I stretch these
breathless fingers~
gingerly reaching
for cashmere curtains,
reflecting
on jaded surfaces
adorned with lost
dreary dreams drenched
in scentless deceit.
But as liquified light of the
milky quartz moon stream,
I ponder, could I be
the one you think of
when stars shimmer
above lunar-kissed lakes~
while cauliflower clouds
drift amidst musical mists?
For I hear my name
in your plum poetry,
serenading love
in magnetic marigold metaphors…
Perhaps, there is no
right rhyme to reminisce~
when every forsaken rhythm,
and broken ballad
is spoken
through unbending
sangria silence.
Yet, tonight I gaze
beyond trembling skies,
hoping that maybe one day,
waning constellations
can see the
crystalline colors
of my tainted truth,
how the glow within
me has been f r o z e n~
left hanging in
swollen syllables of sorrow,
while I await
glorious gifts
of glistening rain to pour…
whimsical wind and
pulverizing waves can feel,
how my soul
thinks in ironic idioms
mourning misplaced musings~
with fickle verses
that phased
this eclipsed canvas
with restless phrases,
fragranced with
forgiving refrains.
I wonder is this
another
dreadful beginning,
or might this be
a blissful ending,
of a thunderstruck
tale that strikes,
from the honey-glazed abyss
of unknown gloaming…
Tomorrow, when twilight twinkles~
orchestrating
ethereal anthems,
in charismatic cadence,
find the silken silhouette of
tear-stained tulips
from my garden of grief~
there they sprout in
cerulean seclusion,
between fleeting feathered lines
of daisy dusk and
daffodil dawn.
Categories:
scentless, angst,
Form:
Free verse
As a misty autumn succumbs to winters harsh chilling grasp.
The sky turns bleak and hues of shrouding grey.
The ominous days unfold shorter and colder.
The remnants of vegetation lie pitifully withered and sparse,
as nature rests dead and in the throes of decay.
Early morning frost like sprinkled powder
smothers a barren land
and shards of ice hang from naked trees as fingers of a hand.
Dewdrops appear like goosebumps,
along a parade of wrinkly naked trees.
Bare branches and rooftops seem lifeless,
as birds have no desire for frosty serenades.
Trampled iced leaves, decay in ashen damp air,
as snail-like sluggish humanity adorns its seasonal fleece.
Despite winter's scentless bitter breaths,
the soul ignites an internal bonfire -
radiating a vigilant glow to the surface.
Silent One collaboration with Peter Dome.
13 November 2020
Categories:
scentless, autumn, winter,
Form:
Free verse
Written: July 06, 2023
______________________________________________________________
In midnight darkness, a smart spherical roll
Its treks into clouds as ships over hidden shoals.
Wandering hearts strive for their final day.
Hide-and-seek with woodland dwellers play.
To embrace a lover's chin, a lack of mystery
You sparkle and vanish as promises blistery.
Then depart until your eyes tear up.
Ink-splattered sheets won't dry in the cup.
So, any time of the day, retain a sunny face.
A scentless heart's scent is spared by grace.
Your curved grin is burned into my soul.
I cannot claim uniqueness or be whole.
So as to achieve discover a covert bearing.
And seize the place of daydreaming.
Whisperings of the moonlight dance
Reverberate over the vast, dark glance.
In the depths of night, secrets unfold.
As the clever sphere of silver and gold
Through midnight shadow, it rolls and glides.
Guided by unseen hands, it silently abides.
Such ships through hidden shoals, navigates,
Through the vast unknown, it patiently waits.
They crave a love that is pure and true.
A link that will bestow spirits to renew.
In a game of hide-and-seek, the moon does play,
As forest members peek in the moonlight sway.
They watch as it dances, casting its spell.
Enchanting all who dare to dwell.
A wishful lost mystique, in the moon's embrace,
Longing for a touch, a lover's grace.
But the moon is elusive, a fleeting dream.
Such as promises that vanish, it seems.
It glows and then disappears from sight.
Leaving behind a tear, glistening in the night.
Too late to dry a page where ink stains smear,
The moon's presence lingers, a memory so dear.
Even in the daylight, its beauty remains.
A reminder of the love that forever sustains
But the brightness of the sun cannot allay
The ache in a heart that's scentless in decay
Categories:
scentless, analogy, appreciation, beautiful, crush,
Form:
Rhyme
Mountain laurel perfume wafted in the soft breeze.
Myriads of flittering birds sang in the trees.
At peace on our cabin porch with feet on the rail
Until a trumpet blast called me to hit the trail.
When at last would come my soldier’s release
To return to our laurels, birds, and peace?
With the martial trumpet silent once more,
All survivors returned to their home shore.
Would I limp stiff legged down the last mile,
To laurels, and birds, and your peaceful smile?
Alas, but a dream that came not to pass.
My future lay beneath the clover grass.
Wrapped in red, white, and blue came my release,
To scentless laurels, silent birds and wailing peace.
Categories:
scentless, bird, death, peace, smile,
Form:
Rhyme
" Tortured metaphors
spilling from tequila lips,
t i p t o e on my pulse ~
breaking in an arced smile
of the featherless eclipse,
where I waltz as a secluded steel-shine,
sobered s o f t l y
by the taste of satanic stars..."
I'm the loss of a leaf
from gold-dew aspens,
rippling upon
turquoise typewriters,
where drunk fingertips dance.
Turning to ashes,
my heart m e l t s
as a metallic grenade,
and no philosopher's stone
ever reverberating
in its silver-winged silence.
Seeking shelter from smoldering seas,
I curl up in the womb of a guardian willow ~
she's a weeping angel of n e v e r l a n d,
with an ornamented garland
of guns and roses,
enveloping me in the corpse of sunset.
Plunging from diamond cobwebs
into isles of champagne,
like a dynamite dove bloodthirsty for sun,
I l u r k along reefs
studded with rhinestones, unfurling –
lotus manuscripts
as poetic pearls s l i p and t w i r l,
snorkeling in an obsidian oasis.
I miss being
a purple-whisper prophecy,
threaded in fractured letters,
for now, my ink b l e e d s
in the marrow of moon,
where an alchemy is lost and found...
In the chronicles of carnelian clemency
and supernova sorcery,
I've seen arctic assonances
hibernating
in the throats of those,
holding lethal jewels
as a nightingale's neon noose.
So, if my soul is an opal widow
of your thistle-light affection,
a verse romanticised
will be my crystal coffin,
and in the caricatures
of kohl and karma,
our silent soliloquy
shall delicately be shifted.
Surfing in the splitting s i n s
of a salty saviour,
this whiskey damsel
shall evermore remain
a scentless phrase,
scrapped by pencilled brush-strokes,
i n v i s i b l e
in our paper-cut destiny...
Categories:
scentless, dark, deep, emotions, gothic,
Form:
Free verse