Long Aromatic Poems
Long Aromatic Poems. Below are the most popular long Aromatic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Aromatic poems by poem length and keyword.
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Would like to come face to face with Gordon Ramsey.
Being on his reality cooking show quite suits my fancy.
Would like to create poetry soup worthy of his exaltation,
One that would make my soup a meaningful sensation.
What ingredients do I use,
Ones that would favor my persnickety muse?
The answer is simple you’ll quickly see.
Follow my advice, and the ‘bees knees’ you’re sure to be.
Start with a base of words so sweet,
Carefully chosen to make your poem complete.
Stir in a medley of metaphors,
While snacking on some petit fours.
Add a dash of delightful imagery
As you drink some wine from the local distillery.
Throw in a pinch of personification.
Stir and simmer and wait for aromatic conflation.
Spoon in syntactic seasoning for extra zing.
Remember to double check your apron string.
Toss in just the right amount of thyme.
Mince up some cadence and rhyme.
Throw in just a smidgen of wit.
Too much can be a distraction, I must admit.
Slowly sauté a couple of similes.
Doing so creates entrancing epiphanies.
‘Tis easy cooking up poetry—it’s like flicking your wrist.
Let the ingredients simmer while waiting to submit.
When it's time to serve,
Pour out your poetry soup with verve.
A steaming bowl, a feast for the mind.
You’ll nourish souls, one poem at a time.
The air fills with familiar tunes eminating from a flaking dusky red piano, it's master's majestic touch of mitten clad fingers are a sight to behold as they dance sprightly upon ebony and ivory with vibrant tonality.
Strangers amass to witness a crescendo of notes rhythmically blended to produce an ear pleasing multitude of genre encompassing numbers, each one with it's own story to tell as smiles are raised by reminiscing onlookers.
A gracious nod acknowledging the sound of assembled coinage thrust into a warped aged saucepan placed alongside a chrome thermoflask filled with aromatic African flavour, applause aplenty greet the ending of the show as the lid closes on another days play.
Magic Meadow – 7-26-24
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Magic Meadow
Fantasy’s alchemy rises
In words
Like black velvet from loam rich earth
A bouquet -
Birthed
In ballads and barcarolles –
Grows
From stolen spells and visions
The Snowthorn
And
Golden Elanor
When myth weaves magic
Into fragrant crowns of phrases
Each petal, perfumed with inspiration,
Whispers
A rainbow drenched celestial serenade
In a
Mosaic made of legends forged by ivory stars
Leaving
Pure fire to play among purple
Then grow from aromatic seeds
Into
Chimeras of fiery amber
And
Bewitched onyx
Scattered from the figments of its footsteps
Into bonfires
Of buzzing artistry
That drip enchanted dews of golden milk
When minutes fade into metaphors
For herbs of morning’s meadow
Growing
From incantations of the moon.
The fragrance of magic rises,
From the fertile alabaster woodland
To bewitch
Newborn
Spellbound verses
With crystal balms
As the meadow dwindles
Into shadows
In waiting
For a nascent harvest
To wander again among fantastical
Star struck Magic.
a cooling, refreshing contrast
the others provided a richer smoker
taste
a subtle but effective aromatic depth
a floral a bright, a citrusy, accent
consistent and smooth
each compliments the other
blending the sweet ripe taste
of both cherry and strawberries
Bing Chelan and Sweet Kiss,
Mara des Bois stands out as favorites
Natchez throneless sweetness are to
in consideration as Darrow Ponce or Apache
The Triple Crown stands out front
to provide flavor to the full richness of a blend
A creation of a product to be marveled
the world abroad. The felt jacket
may not have been a great choice
as it collected everything
from pet fur and hair.
"Unfold the days of spring sunshine
and the awe of black and gold velvet wings of happiness." Quote by poet
The amber broad horizon runs over the countryside
While nascent painted pattern clouds open up wide.
A little girl beams in her pink dress, trimmed in white lace,
Black patent shoes, and her auburn hair across her face.
Runs across the countryside of wild red bee balm
As the abundant blooms unfold in silence of the calm.
Black and gold velvet butterflies flit in aromatic spring
Air enjoying the warmth of the sunlight it does bring.
4/15/2023
BEAK OF NIGHT
Following the glow in every star in my eyes
I lay here in the frenzy grass with swimming thoughts
Escapading~
Thunder hides in the still of the night
Doves fly high in an epic way
Swans glide in the mist of night
Everest tears, run down my cheeks
Speechless~
------- I left you-------------------
The wind carries the sorrow from a chime,
A touch with aromatic perfume, that turns out control
My shadows peeks around the warmth of a Phoenix mirage
My head is losing balance to a negative magnetic seal
Secretiveness ~
Sleepwalking with the tendency to crawl
My feelings stray as I lay on this frenzy grass of snow
Years that come and years that go
Things In life I will never know
I pass the morning till the night popsicles away
A blanket of snow to cover my dream
Wings taking flight near the river stream
Mockingbirds protecting their branch
In every scream!
Silence~
---------------- Far Away-------------
Leaves fall on me like an endless Odyssey Romance
I'm a lonely sparrow with an enigmatic look
A Gothic Dance, under the stars
Prancing under the devil's claw
I hold myself
Side to side
I lose myself to an ironic form.
Zero is what I can't perceive.
Muteness~
With and without a beak
The mystique of my lips
Is all billiard-up
My mouth sewn shut
Shut up~
--------------No Words, Indeed------
EPIC
By; p.d.
I'm perplexed! My breath chocks as Euterpe, Calliope,
Erato, Apollo, and modest Muses leading me
Through the refreshingly flooding streams of Antiope
To heavens, where I am, like an eagle, endlessly free
I can breathe here a frankincense-filled aromatic air.
In whose flow my atria-ventricular blocks open
Pranayama, whose parikrama in performance is rare
It overwhelms, as though the dam of feelings is broken.
When talons cannot grab prey, when feathers stick to the chest,
When, like an eagle, I meet the challenge of 'do' or 'die'
I go to the hills. I struggle the worst and pass my test.
In each effort, as though a mother in labour, I sigh.
In each poetic breath, I see the Brahman at the helm.
Does Brahman see my poems as I wish him to see them?
November brings a blissful happiness,
after excitement of fall mellows down,
trees bare, as if stretching their branches upward,
praying to our Creator in thankfulness,
dazzling colours of leaves have faded away, their
rustling music no longer tells an enchanting tale,
soothing breeze, Northern chilly wind hasn't arrived yet.
When the frosty wind starts blowing in November,
I don’t curse the wind, but soak the beauty of dewdrops at dawn,
glistening magnificently on the gleaming tips of grass,
lovingly admire the chirping of migratory birds, and
scurrying of frisky squirrels holding their treasures,
for the last time this year!
birds are not cruel, they are not abandoning me for ever,
they promise to return in summer,
embarking on a plight of thousands of miles,
For a rendezvous in sun!
I watch stoically the last batch of flowers wither,
pick a few last veggies in the corner,
rake yellow leaves scattered on the ground,
and smell the heavenly aromatic, pleasant, entrancing air!
In my garden, the calm and gentle Willow stands in silent prayer.
November 7, 2022
"November" Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Regina Mcintosh
A playful brant swam on the pollen-dabbed lake.
A dipper perched on a dog-wood tree so dazzling and aromatic,
he neither decided to stay nor go although his companions were gone;
he had a white head and gray wings feeling a bit too romantic...
seeking through green branches a lonely warbler hidden in a cosy place,
and there he hoped to confide his dreams while he turned artistic.
A restless bittens
searched the tall, sun-dried reeds
of a river not so calm...
did she find some food like bluegill,
not to make her stomach growl?
She kept on searching 'till dusk!
A tawhee snoozed on the smallest spruce...
waiting for the evening to fall.
Written by Andrew Crisci
for Constance La France's contest,
" For ( Four ) Beautiful Birds "
May 12, 2011
so slowly -
I have traveled this way before
crept along this route with deliberate intention
allowing myself the enjoyments that
each next measure brings
savoring the odyssey as if for the first time …
that mindset -
allowing me the discovery around each bend
of sensations, new and inspiring
each twist and turn offering a new reveal
a perspective or feeling or taste
that my previous numberless journeys lacked
how many roads -
do we travel in life?
some over-and-over, in haste
and those footsteps, retraced, so often taken for granted
the world bustling by our window
without notice or regard
yet -
each time I make THIS sojourn
it reveals something fresh and wondrous
a tremor, a flavor, an aromatic scent, heavenly
feelings, sights, thoughts, even sounds, anew
that my previous courses missed
but, oh my -
this adventure!
never again shall I take a centimeter of
this trek as a given
for it is the wandering that matters
oh, the destination holds wonders of its own
but -
this sublime adventure is never to be hurried
for it is made on a vista, divine
a landscape of unequaled beauty and breadth
that unfolds before me in amazement and portent
the sugary softness and voluptuous indulgence ...
inside - your thigh.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand Choice 12 Any Form Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.