Long Aroma Poems
Long Aroma Poems. Below are the most popular long Aroma by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Aroma poems by poem length and keyword.
I walk along the shores of dead daffodils and daisies,
tangled in cursed roses and beach bones, in your absence~
reminiscing redolent sparks of skeletal silence,
while my heart aches to be within the arms of your midnight phrases.
But our love has stolen the moonbeams from the air,
only to be cast amongst the demons that fare,
fragmented fangs ready to inflict unearthly pain,
dancing in ritualistic reveries under the suffocating rain.
I still weave sequins of serenity into the tortured twilight,
to illuminate blazing bruises between blushing starlight.
For in this island of desolated shores,
I dream of spider veins,
screaming for a release from the tides of toxic refrains,
mirroring the voodoo iris~
within the somber soul of Medusa.
So let crimson remnants of our romance
carpet seething shells grieving~
in the bioluminescent haven of fallen angels,
where whispers of woes and abandoned ink,
translate the aroma of decomposing pleasures.
Remember I am thunder, singing the songs of the storm,
dressed in skin of sea and sorrow.
I wear the ocean like armor;
maybe one day, from the eerie sandcastles,
left along the corpse corals and plankton,
you’ll find my bleeding pendulum ~
buried in ivory stillness.
Love is a kiss
A prelude to the dreams we hum
A postlude of what has become
Love is a wine
Intoxicating heart and soul
Over the mind it gains control
Love is a song
A melody to remember
Forever a burning ember
Love is a light
Dispelling darkness in the night
Keeping hope of morning in sight
Love is an ointment
Soothing discomfort through the years
Healing our wounds, calming our fears
Love is a nourishment
A meal giving comfort and strength
Encouragement for the day’s length
Love is a refreshment
An oasis along the way
A cool drink at the end of day
Love is a Faith
Bearing hope in the worst of times
Always waiting to hear the chimes
Love is a Jewell
A dangling necklace of fine gold
Staying the same as it gets old
Love is a perfume
A fragrance seeking our favor
An aroma we can savor
Love is a curtain
Protecting our secrets and pride
A shadow where we can confide
Love is a banquet
An emotion to celebrate
A good reason to Decorate
Love is a banner
Appreciating our worth
Expressing our value on earth
Love is a flower
A lily growing from the pond
Beauty that expresses our bond
Love is a voice
A call to the places we roam
An invitation to come home
Love is a guardian
Protecting us from things that spoil
Watching over the fruits of our toil
Love is a rock
In whose cleft we obtain refuge
Granting us strength for battles huge
Love is a covering
A quilt hand pieced with perfection
Stitched with peace, hope, and affection
Love is a garden
A soil where our lives can take root
A fertile place producing fruit
Love is a spice
Amending the ordinary
Bringing taste to the contrary
Love is a tree
A gentle breeze providing shade
A place for the stories we’ve made
Love is a seal
A room that captures and confines
A lock that holds us and refines
Love is a comfort
A shelter from the wind and cold
A blanket when sick and old
The pungence of heartbreak swelters
in the tangled dreadlocks of love-lies-bleeding
Take me somewhere exotic
to breathe not the foul aroma
of disappointment and despair
Show me fields laced with frangipani and orchids
in colors sweet and light as daydreams
Find me seafoam fields poppied
with pomegranate and honey
opium of jasmine lilting on a leeward drowse
delicious sift of sand drifting
warm and soft between my toes
as coral breezes court flamingo scapes
with pina colada suns
and I drift in and out of hibiscus euphoria
Let a mist of cockatoos flutter
in lapis skies puffed with fat feather clouds
parrots and toucans preening
like a rainbow shimmer
Tingle my pineapple senses
through the afterglow of mango afternoons
Create visions of paradise
in the cerulean of hyacinth
and never bring me back
In my remote village a long time ago
From town came a man of twenty or so
Set up a smart machine called gristmill
Times have changed but it’s there still.
Every weekend I had to go there to share
A duty that for me became a routine affair
Take a bagful of fresh wheat grain to grind
In the mill that produced flour so refined.
The sound of the crusher was harsh incessant
The attitude of the man was equally indecent
For he made me wait a long while for my turn
The unseemly reason I could never discern.
Despite this touch of forced discomfort
My weekly tryst with the gristmill was of worth
For the floating aroma of freshly ground wheat
Dipped me in cool scent of corn field in summer heat.
When I’m crumbled now under the time’s wheel
I see me standing before the village gristmill
In the midst of cacophony and grinding strife
I can still smell the scent of the crushed life.
Posted : June 3, 2018
June 18, 2020
Contest : Crushed
Sponsor : Anthony Biaanco
The sleepy begonias undulating slightly so undisturbed
leaned forward to encourage and wish me good fortune,
while the apricot trees spread around their strong aroma,
a dazzling daylight was rising from the majestic mount;
a soft voice rose from the next room, it was mamma
calling me: I sprung from my bed in disorder without
feeling grumpy, the alarm playing Mozart's sonata failed:
pants and sweater were neatly ironed to enhance my figure!
Saddened neighbors waited outside with teary and sad eyes,
hugs were exchanged, my goodbye was intensely bitter and bleak;
Lucy, the girl next door, came running and embraced me twice,
" When you arrive in America, write me. I nodded, unable to speak.
The Autmn's shadows persisted, fighting the invading light with clouds;
each face I stared at reflected the profound sadness that stirred inside!
I glanced at the calendar: September 11, 1966 the day of departure,
fate set that date with my approval embarking me on that journey
to far America: stripping me of childhood's joys with little reward.
I departed from the house of my ancestors: a sturdy medieval castle
built for a price who rode horses through forests with echoing sound:
his name was never revealed, its a story dramatized with mystery.
Lazing on the porch to trace a morning breeze
Splash the clouds with hues, I reach
For my coffee: kohl-like, brewed, grounded
Sifted from Robusta beans: its aroma tingling
With a different flavor—less bitter, more sweet
Carrying me to the rise of dawn
As the heated fog
Entices my throat to sip the cream stirred
By a riot of daffodils, grass---
The wet dew rolling on my bare feet .
And I relish the cool
Steam soothing a mild ceremony of rituals
Without a door banging,
a newspaper flapping by the table and mug…
I close my eyes
To hear the chirp of birdsong humming like
Whistles on the coffee pot: and a world
Passes by without me, absent from
The noise of a long city week, renewed…
Praising a god that makes Sunday misty.
Contest: Brian's Choice N
heart of
a beautiful flower
my eclipse
of love complete
red rose
in all your splendor
beats love
the most beautiful
heart
of hearts
you are
a crowning glory
passion flows
in each petal
light catching
you blush
cobwebs
of silver pearls
the morning
dew upon you
in fragrance
you smell heavenly
with all those petals
upon your crown
the sun
all but kisses you
smiling down
among'st the thorns
you are
a blushing
red beauty
scarlet in heart's love
the sun smiles
upon you
enchantingly beautiful
magical
in sweet fragrance
your aroma
upon the air
blushing red
you wear the crown
upon your heart
you are the fairest
mirror,mirror
upon the wall
you are the fairest
in all the land
soft my scarlet passion
in beauty
your heart bare
queen of passion
(it's like )
The sweet and scented waft of a delicate flower waltzing in thin air or like
Helium balloons at the fair. Often we equate it to cotton candy, or
Electricity. Why is it that we
Abandon ourselves to another, giving it all away like the tabloids ask of us. As
Renegades of loneliness we precipitate towards that rich garden enmeshed
Only with our senses. Lost in a cornucopia of glossy hearts and wet kisses.
Move over Devotion, move over Sacrifice, let us float on fumes of flattery
Ah but wait, what above true Love? what does is feel like? Perhaps its like
Oaring down the river with four paddles going the same direction (smile)
Frankly, its like gliding towards the greatest scent on earth when it is real.
Love is always patient and kind, and it makes heroes out of all of us.
Oath it with every fiber of your being, its essence is like
Velvet to the touch, as vital as the air we breathe, it vacillates and it is
Eternal. It takes us to the highest heaven then lights every star for us.
(that is what love does)
The table is decked for two.
only people eating, me and you.
The coffee aroma fills the room,
it wont be long its ready soon.
The eggs are on the go,
soft, not too hard I know.
The toast is browning nice and slow,
nice and crispy way to go.
Butter and marmalade too,
any thing else for you.
We sit and eat just us two,
and talk about all things new
whats happend in the last three weeks,
why we could not speak.
I will tell you things you want to know,
this and that and so and so,
You can tell me all about you,
any thing I will listen too.
I have waited long for this,
its some thing I would not miss.
“I go to nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in order.”
~John Burroughs
I stroll down the sun-dappled trail
under a tranquil canopy of trees
where the light uplifts my spirit
and the shadows soothe my soul,
The aroma of blossoming flowers
strives to set me free from
the restless nights and trying days
persuading my forlorn heart
to venture forth anew
on life’s long and wearisome ways;
Why then must I in anguish weep?
Why do I for heaven aspire?
~03/22/23
~Contest: Writing challenge 'N' words
~Sponsor: Constance La France