Born in a barn raised on a farm
makin' hay come what may
won't do what I'm told
can't be bought or sold
with a mind of my own
don't need politicians
prophets or priests
deciding my decisions
drink from the bottle
drive full throttle
don't get me wrong
know where I belong
ain't got no social graces
know where my place is
do what nature taught me
down in the lower forty
where rattling the bars of their cage
'til the cattle come home
chickens from afar were induced
and returned to roost
while at day's end
the scarecrow he an' me
we be best of friends
It brought back old memories I thought I had buried,
Memories I believed had faded with yesterday,
But they came pouring back like rain.
The fragrance revived a sense of gloom,
Flooding me with moments we shared,
Her voice echoed in my mind,
And her smile returned to me again and again.
The scent was her favourite;
It surrounded her,
Bringing her sunshine,
It was her vitality elixir.
Now, the fragrance has become my torment,
Unearthing a painful loss.
Her absence is a hidden darkness within me;
Her depth was truly one of a kind.
I sit alone on the porch, remembering her wise words.
Though she has departed to the beyond,
Her light can still be found.
It’s a mystery that blossoms on a tranquil night.
September 22, 2025.
We were running on courtship.
Emotive urge to surge in opulence.
Days were passing in passionate mood
depending on one another
with love and mutual confidence.
One day you gifted a perfume bottle
telling ' This fragrance of jasmine is my favourite !'
I was eager to spray at that romantic moment.
You objected, 'No. not now !
I'm going tomorrow to meet my parents
to fix our wedding date.
For a week, just wait.
I'll open the bottle and spray on both. "
You left !
Weeks after weeks are passing by
I'm waiting with hope and patience.
The sealed perfume bottle
is reducling me.
[Contest : The Perfume Bottle : Craig Cornish
miniwebtool.com/line counter : 20 lines ]
21.9.25_____________
QUEEN Afareen designed a perfume bottle
she herself exuded a scent of untainted ambergris, orris wafted as her heavenly cue
lime with jasmine spritz her exuberant brew
a black swan neck curved crystal female form
this bottle crafted in alexandrite, mirroring her
pharaoh shaped silhouette, gold sun rays embedded facade, stopper of opal warm
ruby inlays rested languidly at bottle base
slivers of pearl and aquamarine laced
replica of Aphrodite she encased in Myanmar teak, sculpted with elk ivory, reclining bottle
in Muga silk before a river lilting lily wattle
then gifted herself her own bottle, liquid tomb
nimble fingers twisting opal top for perfume
her unique irreplaceable exuding essence
imperceptibly drifting reverent presence
drinking the last undistilled drops from
edenic perfume bottle, QUEEN Afareen
extinguished herself gracefully into muscled
arms of Adonis, as bottle drifted downstream
towards turquoise ocean emptied, beamed
a sorrowed counterploy buried, it screamed
____________
it …
was his favorite
a tiny, round, delicate bottle
its solid color such a dark blue that it
was almost opaque
but from where she sat on
the end of the bed,
the rising sun had peeked thru louvers
and focused one single ray upon it
morphing the deep navy blue to
a shimmering tanzanite
the little gold screw-cap now a tiny crown
and the whole thing like
a magic talisman -
“Je Reviens” the label reminded …
she reached out, grabbed it off the desk
and flung it hatefully at the wall
it broke with a glassy cry, spattering aroma …
she stood, smiled, and walked out of the apartment
their love shattered … with the bottle.
* For “The Perfume Bottle” Contest, Craig Cornish Judge & Sponsor. *
He told them, the ones who followed
risking it all, the shadows who call souls
He told them, the ones who saw her
offer Him a kindness beyond a heart’s words
He told them, as they criticized her giving
that this woman would be remembered
always and forever…
He told them, the ones who didn’t understand
the gentlest blessings often come
from hearts who bleed hope, souls who believe
in giving, without expectations
giving, with no thought of a blessing
He told them, she will be remembered eternally
always and forever, her gift went down in history
she’s living proof of God’s wisdom, God’s intimacy
the gentlest touch of light, unfading
proof that God, in all His glory, never forgets
when someone offers Him their finest treasure!
Matthew 26:13 King James Version (KJV)
Verily I say unto you, Wheresoever this gospel shall be preached in the whole world, there shall also this, that this woman hath done, be told for a memorial of her.
the pink heart shaped glass bottle
lets the morning light through
where it prisms on the ebony dressing table top
devoid of the faux perfume it contained
all those Christmases ago
in pride of place next to the atomizer
with its red tassel containing the perfume I favour
I suspected it was bought at the corner shop
dusted off with love and care
and wrapped with more Scotch tape than paper
protecting the unadorned surface of the glass bottle
its stopper thoughtfully encased in some plastic substance
now brittle with the passing of time
unstopping the bottle and with it
the imagined sillage lingers at memory’s edge
transporting me back
to the innocence of the formative years
the sky was the limit
the shifting prisms of victories and failures
the scent of Life
The lustrous perfume bottle
avec neck spritzer and bottom caudal
With hexing brio it holds her captive
Pure rapture is sexually attractive
A woman’s torso a glass statuette
dressed in a golden chic corset
An old hippy scarf suspends on the wall
Her ‘Eau De Joy’ is kitschy after all
Shimmies into mid-calf western boots
She rifles through sequined body suits
Last touches of an aromatic scent
she deems the fragrance extravagant
Lurid lemon zest smacks of old school
Blithely vivacious leads them a drool
Juicy sweet notes from cleavage to chin
A whirlwind of hazy mist he’s in
Wild at heart with beats that throttle
A burning desire from a perfume bottle
The Perfume Bottle Poetry Contest Entry
The Perfume Bottle
Lalique. Baccarat. Dior.
Crystal. Glass. Or something more.
Objets d'art in any tongue,
Be they old or be they young.
The bottle is not all, not so,
What it holds sets hearts aglow,
And rouses passion in one’s breast
Does it matter how scent is dressed?
To be sure it does my friend,
Without the bottle how would it end?
Drained upon the parlor floor,
Never to enhance amour.
What a waste that would be,
I think on this we can agree,
With the bottle there is no alarm,
Plus, it lends its own true charm.
Luxurious design in practicality,
That’s the perfume bottle to me.
So celebrate perfume’s sweet scent,
But it’s only the bottle’s… content.
The Perfume Bottle
The perfume bottle, sparkling clear and bright,
Gifted to me by my bride, with delight,
Preciously preserved across sands of time,
As a memory of our love still shines;
Inside the bottle lies a soft and sweet
Scent of shared love, a wholesome shining treat
Of vernal flowers, blooming fresh and new,
Handpicked for their fragrance and lively hues;
With a gentle touch, a thin spray seeps out
To outlast its whiff through the day, no doubt,
A tiny drop on the skin is not vain,
It rushes love memories in its train;
It streams tenderness of first loving days,
Revives in my mind sweetness of old ways,
Rouses a warm feel of fond affection,
A cozy feeling, verging on passion;
More than a perfume bottle, it`s love sign
That across flight of time does not decline,
Memory of first love held in the hand
That like rock, many a strain does withstand.
Stark emptiness fills my perfume bottle,
The vacuum in my vacuity,
Negligence swills it beyond the dottle,
To leave my mind bare of acuity.
For many days its void of content speaks,
But its endurance keeps my freshness plump,
Compliments make its vast emptiness squeaks,
Yet it exhales resentment from its pump.
My shirts already miss its friendliness,
Noses beg to sniff its unique sweetness,
Stale air asks to reclaim lost cleanliness,
Its presence ensures far-reaching neatness.
Importance is etched upon your label,
How I so much miss your fresh aroma,
Your sweet tale cannot be told as fable,
The freshness you bring can't end in coma.
She kept her scent in the refrigerator
off and on upon the rack of Chenin Blanc,
or, in the door, with grey poupon and sour milk
where it, perforce, would topple upon the floor
when opened with any gentle, manly force.
At times, it would be lost among the yellow
golden citrus within the crisper drawer
or, it lurked, disguised behind an OJ carton
pretending to be a jar of marmalade:
so way, way beyond the ken of him to find.
And yet, with her, a flick of the door, a spritz
of Jasmine, gardenia, basil, orange, peach,
which pursued the flowing silken scarves she wore.
“Come, let’s go, we have a party to attend.”
She’d say, “What are you staring at, my sweetie?”
Just an empty perfume bottle, by the milk.
My empty perfume bottles
each one a brilliant masterpiece
Mouth blown and hand treated
Ornate colorful glass
or sparkling crystal
Exotic fairy tale beauties
luxurious and decorative objects
When the sun shines, spots of light
dance in the room with a wide range of red,
orange, yellow, green, blue and purple
Collecting perfume bottles
has become a fascinating hobby
Some date back to the ancient Egyptians,
Romans and Greeks
on 18th and 19th centuries
Always on the hunt for antique
perfume bottles
Sniffing the corks
Even though they are empty
they still have some scent
There’s something at the bottom of This bottle.
I know it.
Not quite sure what it is yet,
But there’s something down there;
There has to be.
Is it a solution?
God no.
Is it a sense of satisfaction?
Most definitely not.
But the process of finding
Whatever it is
Sometimes gives me
A temporary sense of peace.
Sometimes.
Most times though…
Let’s not focus on that.
Focus on the warm and fuzzy feeling
I get from my search.
If it feels this good now,
It has to feel that much better
When I find whatever’s down there.
I don’t know what’s down there,
But I’ll drown trying to find it.
The Perfume Bottle Sponsor – Craig Cornish – 9-11-25
In 1948 Nina Ricca released a new fragrance – L’Air du Temp. The first spicy floral fragrance. The bottle was designed by Lalique. It was the first perfume based on spice and floral scents. L’Air du Temps means present time.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Perfume Bottle
In the quiet of silenced cannons,
And odor of reviled salutes now impotent,
Midst plaster dust and stained souls
Of shattered windows
A flacon rises from worn torn ashes
Caressing the breath of a woman
In present time
As two doves intertwine
Above crystal swirls of sunshine
Reborn in signature scents of treaties.
Flawless guardian
For the newborn bouquet of hope,
Beneath wings of peace,
As a silhouette of scent
Overpowers the stench of gunpower
And ministers to children’s cries for bread
In a kiss from immortality
Accents of new notes for princess and pauper –
Spicy and floral –
Released like doves of peace.
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