Long Fragrance Poems
Long Fragrance Poems. Below are the most popular long Fragrance by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fragrance poems by poem length and keyword.
Smooth, effervescent glowing skin
Free of blemish and blighting toxin
Undulating curves of glossy satin
Red cloak shrouds comely Saracen
At the core a being of fibrous substance
From stem to sternum burgeoning affluence
Delicately woven fabric with scintillating elegance
At close quarters emanating a sweet fragrance.
A free-flowing stem signaled detachment
A stalky divide prevented rapprochement
Intricate, inner designs forestalled advancement
Coarse, deepening chasm threatened determent.
Forthwith, I loves tender began to preen
Steadily peeling through the stealthy sheen
Cutting to heart's core, affections to glean
Loves' seed from ensconcing barriers did ween.
Form:
Sweetened fragrance flowing by the window
Night jasmine jogging, out of loving heart
Pond making sudden sounds of fish splashing
Nutmeg billing its charming fumes thru winds
Pens silence walking in the poet's lands
Midnight moon blowing rainy jewel clone
Mustard flowers calling the calm dawn sun
Your smiling on that field greeting poems
Flying there very near the cloudy breeze
Gold bangles rhyming with the buzzing bees
Dreamless heaven where the lutestring singing
For the earthly fairy coming down words
To recite life and death have enough penned
But nothing is enough till hugging love
26.06.2020 Chattogram
Black Friday's here, there, everywhere!
Between November through December,
companies will make it or break it
Will they make it?
Yes, they will!
People are shopping like crazy!
Sales here and sales there.
They'll shop til they drop.
Buy that toy;
No matter the cost;
No matter the pain.
Sit out in the cold and rain.
That wide screen's a must.
Spend! Light up the economy!
Stores are open late;
just come through the gates.
Brick and mortar shoppers;
Cyber shoppers too.
So many memories to make.
So many cakes to bake.
There are plenty of nuts
and homemade apple pies.
Keeping warm by the fires.
It's snowing!
Snowflakes on my nose.
Let it snow.
My feet are so cold.
Let it snow.
I 've got gifts to buy.
I Can't afford to miss anyone.
Lights on the roof.
Lights on the doors.
Lights on the bushes.
Lights on the trees.
Special memorable ornaments.
Boxes of gifts on the floor,
scattered beneath the tree.
Bakery fragrance and
the great aroma of ham.
A cup of tea
or a glass of cider;
Coffee too if you like.
Oh, I'm running out of time.
So much like last year.
Oh no, this line's too long!
What do I get my wife?
Does she want jewelry?
Or does she want perfume?
I want a tiny artificial tree.
She wants a large real tree.
11272017 PS Contest, Blitzing Christmas
What’s left behind is the fragrance of the lilac
Crushed between forlorn fingers
Petals held in contorted hands
Once lust rendered dust the terrain shall cover
Fierceness is abandoned forgiveness is given
To whom does this come, whom shall it deem
As father time allots and consumes
Pro tem I am, pro tem I am
an irrepressibly creative force
Manifesting myself
by channeling a myriad of diverse
and inexplicably bold personas
struggling to leave resonance in my wake
to whom does this come
this legacy that lives on~
is what I shall be
First blush of Spring-Summer time,
A world awakening to warmth sublime,
Meadows burst with life anew,
Chasing away the winter's blue.
Morning sunshine, on dewy blades,
Nature's canvas, in shades of jade,
Clouds part to let the light shine,
And dispel darkness with a rhyme.
Blossoms stare up at the sun,
Celebrating life that has just begun,
Clear pools of water glimmer bright,
Reflecting nature's pure delight.
Birds chirp and sing with all their might,
Summoned by the sun's warm light,
Trees sway to the beat of the breeze,
Saluting Mother Nature's appease.
A sea of Pansies in full bloom,
Their colors raise spirits from gloom,
Window-boxes adorn every street,
Ushering in a beauty hard to beat.
As morning fades, silence descends,
Butterflies flutter as their journey ends,
Their delicate wings a sight to behold,
As they weave stories yet untold.
Tumbling on the verdant grass,
The fragrance of life is all that she has,
Fresh and clean, like a new day's stream,
Nature's beauty, a sight to dream.
The forest beckons with roses and jasmine,
Surrounding her with a sweet embrace akin,
The sun's glimmers amidst the trees,
Whispering secrets carried on a gentle breeze.
As she meanders through time and space,
Her heart filled with memories of a certain place,
Childhood joys, tastes, sounds, and smells,
Echoes of a bygone time, like a magic spell.
First blush of Spring-Summer time,
A world awakening to warmth sublime,
Nature's embrace, a sight to see,
Forever etched in memory, oh so heavenly.
When time is still, I'll think fondly of you
Quiet renders of love's probable cause
This love now colored in a vibrant hue
A lingering fragrance that brings this pause
To think of you in a long cotton dress
Walking in fields where eyes invite desire
and hand held laughter skips across its cress,
to challange the world with a passion's fire
As our love sustains our illusion to dream
We'll fill each tender moment we find right
and watch shadows dance in candled theme
To create new memories we'll hold tight
I'll share no reason for these thoughts passing,
or make sense of love being everlasting
contest I Think of You
2/15/15
Sense true story in micro tale,
Set sights surely on profound sale.
Word signage cites how feelings move,
Draft in fond write strides sensuous grooves.
Thought winging here tells many things,
Deep fine thinking mellows warm fling.
Stop, start and grind and polish change,
Wear frame of mind with ample range.
Words come alive with clear meaning,
Sift as you strife to reap feeling.
Moments now moot that fragrance fine,
Word sculptures root as message lines.
The story sparks an inner boost,
A tale now marks a concrete roost.
Words now breathe life to journey quest,
To dare arrive stray echoes fest.
Jazzy feel floats upon these shores,
Poise of voice gloats to channel more.
Each rise and fall of vested words
Spill sweet and gall of poise and berth.
Tell in words brief of poignant fest,
Stitch joy and grief with precious quest.
Leon Enriquez
06 February 2017
Singapore
I wonder who I am sometimes, what seems to be a universal phenomenon. As everyone remains looking to be someone other than themselves, because those who are themselves are persecuted and dreams hung on the cross by society.
But as I wonder the colorful atmosphere of those around me tend to judgingly remind me exactly who I am and what I’m capable of accomplishing.
Because they assume before they even get the chance to know me, my story, why I act, talk, or dress different, why I smell another fragrance, perceive, taste, and feel the world inversely.
Under my skin they shoot before they ask, a trigger finger itching as the deadly explosion blast piercing the body of another innocent soul. Slavery is illegal now but we still hang.
Hang pictures up of loved ones taken through an unjust act, if you listen closely you can still hear the sound of invisible shackles as I walk and fall to my death…click clack, clic clac, click…a heart beating but dead now the heart no longer beats…
Under my skin if I put my hoodie up I might as well wear a mask, to hide the sinister agenda people assume I carry. Sometimes I just want some shade to block out all the negative rain on a summer day.
And when I succeed they assume I’m cheating, because my plateau has no high point or high ground. I’m a flat line, dead to success, and they put me here.
It’s a little misleading when all your hard work just falls off the deep end, because they look at you as if you have a red hand or you’re the bandit.
And if I bought it I could never own it because under my skin without acting I’ve already sinned.
How can you win when you can’t control the end?
All I can say is never stop praying and keep grinding until the end, because God controls the future. So never let someone else control you through “You cant’s or you’ll Nevers.”
P.S. I am black lives, THIS IS JUST A POST SCRIPT.
I awake to beautiful music,
As birds sing sweetly outside my window.
I rise and dress unhurriedly,
And go into the kitchen to prepare my morning tea,
The first of many for it sits easily on my stomach,
And energizes me for the day ahead.
Sweet
Cup in hand I emerge into the garden.
It is early morning and the dew is heavy on the grass and shrubs.
The air is perfumed with the fragrance of flowers.
Bess hum busily among them as the birds continue to serenade me.
I am soothed as my senses awaken,
To the sights and sounds about me.
Sweet
My garden, my sanctum sanctorum,
Where I commune with my God.
I praise Him for His goodness, His mercy and His tender care.
I thank Him for His providence,
And as I pray my spirit surges with new hope and reassurance.
Sweet
I rise and return to the kitchen and place my cup in the sink.
I am soothed, energized, reassured.
I feel stronger, more confident, reborn.
I know that whatever this day may bring,
There is nothing I cannot face,
Nothing I cannot conquer,
As long as I remain standing beside my God.
Sweet
WRITE TO ME
Write to me...
If thoughts of me still linger, write.
We have drifted far apart
along the line of our shared days.
Write to me
of the umbrella we once held beneath the rain,
of the damp fragrance of the storm,
of our feet soaked by the wandering streets.
Tell me—
do your eyes still gather shy silences
behind every glance?
And that apple tree—
the one we planted together
in the little garden...
do you remember?
Do you remember
the very first bite you took
from its fruit,
and the joy that filled your face?
Go back to that garden.
Taste the tartness of the apple
for the sorrow I left behind.
Ask my tree how I have been,
and whatever it tells you—
write it to me.
Our distance is only a dream.
Whenever you write,
I find myself
a little closer
to your tears.
And tell me—
do your tears still travel
through the sleep of a child?
Or, when you remember me,
do your hands become an umbrella
above that child,
so that my memory
will not drift away from his dream?
Write to me.
Write of the child not yet grown,
and of the maturity of your longing.
Far away, there was a mountain.
Turn back and look at it.
Is its gaze still cold?
I remember one day
you laughed into the depth of its silence.
Tell me—
why, after that laughter,
did you tremble in the embrace of my imagination?
And night came,
and I fell asleep.
I dreamed of a window
opening onto a pond,
filled with my loneliness.
I looked,
and there you were
standing in the middle of the water,
sorrowful.
The moonlight laid you bare.
Above the apple tree,
it remained beside you,
and then, a moment later,
it lost itself
in the depth of the mountain’s gaze.
I remember the pond.
I remember how you moved away.
Write to me.
Tell me—
why were you afraid that night?
Was it the window
I opened toward you?
Or the moonlight
that disappeared behind the mountain?
Tell me truly:
were you afraid that night?
And truly—
did you sleep that night?
Write to me.