Colognes Poems | Examples

Jasmine

Sweet scented, star shaped, 

Summer sedative, silky spike 

Shines with its short stature  

Sign of sensuality and suppleness 

Supports spirits, slashes stress

Scents and colognes made from it

Small, lovely, luminous jasmine, the

Special choice of beloved-hearts



Place : Honourable Mention

Autumn Pathetique

Autumn  10-2-23
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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.

Musk

A distinctive fragrance that attracts,
captivates with animalistic woody smell.
An intoxicating scent so hard to miss,
mask, the secretion of male deer gland.

A staple base for engaging men’s colognes,
a scent masked by masculine elements,
stimulates the sensual and amorous drive,
many women choose for their men to wear.

An aroma base for the profound perfumes,
smells like the sweating skin, but better,
lasting for oddly long period of longing time,
inflames the craving in intimate hours.
  
________________

January 21, 2023
Contest : Musk
Sponsored by : Anthony Biaanco

The Scent of Christmas

The scent of Christmas is the fresh cut pine
dragging through the falling snow kissing your lips.
It makes you feel like some things don’t change
and at one point you are pricked by those needles.

The scent of Christmas is fresh baked cookies
rising from the opening and closing of an oven door.
Do red sparkles taste different from green sparkles?
The very thought of all the food makes you feel fat.

The scent of Christmas is colognes and perfumes,
gifts that hiss and spray out odors for the body.
How delicately these vials and bottles are handled
as their precious chem invigorates and transforms.

The scent of Christmas is the smell of newness,
gifts that beep, pop, buzz, and beep some more.
The hands must learn to operate many new things
and we feel the thrill of newness all over.

12/12/19


Smell sound taste touch repeat sense. Poetry Contest/HM
Sponsored by: Sheri Fresonke Harper

Public Transport Nation - Rant

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

Blowing Wind

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

Corporate Whores and Company Men

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.

Owned

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.

Forward

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 Love 2k11

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.

Hams of August Smother

Hams of August Smother


The folks are angry, really. 
They can’t explain the diaper, 
yet they would explain poor Jack.
It’s a plot, you see, to show
poor Jack’s been had.

Folks can’t see why
no matter what Jack does,
even if he scrubs
in water warm enough
to soften turnips, 

sheathes himself
in eaus, colognes, 
dons, perhaps, a silk of talc,
folks can’t see why the night
still squats on Jack,

jiggling its hams
of August smother.
Or why the cleric in the courtyard 
chants, ”Elements of Jack 
will always reek.”

It’s a plot, you see, to show
poor Jack’s been had. That’s why 
the folks are angry, really;
they can’t explain the diaper, 
yet they would explain poor Jack.


Donal Mahoney

Oh Purple

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.

I Smell a Memory Coming On

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.

Brand New- Hes Not You

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

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