Long Odor Poems
Long Odor Poems. Below are the most popular long Odor by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Odor poems by poem length and keyword.
Pound to the rhythm of my heart…my heart… (oooh…oooh…x3)
You pushed me to drink the love potion (for many years)
You let me go and I was rolling away in the death cart
Now, I’m hearing the echoes of commotion (in my ears)
Pound to the rhythm of my heart…my heart… (oooh…oooh…x3)
Pound to the rhythm of my heart…my heart… (oooh…oooh…x3)
Take a breath, look at me…don’t you see my misery?
The scent of death – I smell the odor seeping out of your mouth…
I cover my nose…I’m feeling down, sucking up my emotional debris
I am not a coward and I am not scared of you – you made me love you
I’m through with you…I gave up on you – you made me weep tears of rue
Pound to the rhythm of my heart…my heart… (oooh…oooh…x3)
I’d like to know why you do the things you do
I understand addiction – I’ve been through it too
I’d like to say before I depart from your arms
I will not…I will not…fall victim to your charms
Pound to the rhythm of my heart…my heart… (oooh…oooh…x3)
Pound to the rhythm of my heart…my heart…
Take a breath, look at me…don’t you see my misery?
You broke my young heart apart…take heart…
The scent of death – I smell the odor seeping out of your mouth…
I cover my nose…I’m feeling down, sucking up my emotional debris
Do you even see the tears rolling out of my eyes?
Pound to the rhythm of my heart…my heart… (oooh…oooh…x3)
You really think that I’m a weakling? Didn’t you see my triumphantly soar?
(I don’t feel sorry for you…you attention whore – why were you the one I
adore?)
I am not a coward and I am not scared of you – you made me love you
I know my heart is breaking bit by bit, but I’m stronger that I was before
(I’m not sore anymore – I don’t love you anymore…you hurt me to the core,
but I opened a new door)
I’m through with you…I gave up on you – you made me weep tears of rue
Pound to the rhythm of my heart…my heart… (oooh…oooh…x3)
Why am I so indecisive? I should’ve dropped you in the nearest trash bin
long ago
But I’ll forget and forgive the past and heal my brokenhearted soul – I’ll pull
out the bad tooth
WHY AM SO FOOLISHLY IN LOVE WITH YOU? I don’t even know where the
wicked wind do blow
But, I know for a fact that you’ll never meet me eye to eye and tell me the
truth
Pound to the rhythm of my heart…my heart… (oooh…oooh…x3)
He sits in solitude except for the incoherent yelling in the next room.
The yelling is accompanied by the high pitch shrill of breaking glass and china smashing the ground and the wall behind her.
She doesn’t know what day it is.
She feels like she has awakened into a nightmare. Her thoughts don’t finish themselves anymore. They are slower to even materialize. In the middle of her thought a noise is amplified in her mind to the point her ghost leaves her skin and startles her.
It makes her angry.
She has to start all over...what was she thinking about?
The people on the t.v. are talking about her in Japanese. She hears her name. The dog barks and she remembers she has a dog.
She is holding something.
She looks down and her hand is dripping something but she doesn’t know why.
She is squeezing a piece of broken glass, but she thinks it is her watch. She doesn't know what time it is. If you asked her what her name was, she would look through you, trying to see her name on the wall.
The wall, the dog, her name, the noise, is someone screaming? Some guy comes in the room. “ Mom, are you ok?”
She is bleeding everywhere.
She throws her watch at him. It shatters against the wall. “ Get out!” She screams. “ Help! Police! He’s killing the babies!”
She doesn’t know who he is. Nothing makes sense anymore.
She thinks he has hurt them.
She hasn’t seen the babies in weeks, maybe months. She remembers holding them but cannot see the faces. All the faces fade.She wonders if she has always been crazy. She thinks she might just be sick. She thinks she might be dreaming. Then she forgets what she was thinking about.
She has to start over.
Where is she?
She wants to go home, yet she has lived where she is for 16 years.
She thinks about the guy who….where is her watch? She remembers a dog….she was going to…..the paper said…the faces fade . where am??
Another year has gone by...she thinks it is 1984. The room has a pungent odor. She sits in a soiled diaper, the Japanese know she is dirty. Her hand is trembling and bleeding. " Ma let me help you." He wraps her hand. " You are a gambling Nazi." She says to him. Nazi? He sheds a tear as he looks to his phone for the nearest care facility. It has come. He has to make the call. After all, he was her son and he was raised Jewish.
Amaryllis splendid beauty, Christmas bells of pride thrill us
Birds of Paradise in flight making its opera debut in its crane plumage crown
Calla Lilly’s endless white elegance bouquet, a peek-a-boo lavender funnel play
Daffodils, shoo-in to scoop arm loads, out of the cold, into the morning sunlight spills
Ephemeral, short-lived and quickly fading beauties, trilliums, and harbinger of spring
Freesia innocence captures your heart trust with its fragrances and sword beauty
Gaura, a wand burst of delicate stars as bee-blossoms sing delightful springtime
Hyacinths, sincerity of fragrant with folded leaves a play bouquet of stars
Impatiens, touch-me-not to bloom anew Bizzy-Lizzy in all its playful trim
Jack-in-the-pulpit Arisaema triphyllum striped showy pining lover male-female as one
Kangaroo Paws their long beautiful stalks attract birds to perch and sip its nectar
Lily of the Valley flowers of spring sweetly scented miasmatic wedding bells
Marigolds brightly shine in bur-pee garden spicing up a dish fresh, and new
Nightshade, adorable soothing little green elfish hat and long flowing pink skirt
Orchids a touch of elegance in its uniquely posture, delicate in its buoyant poetry
Peonies, shades of red to white or yellow fragrant strong and hardy the Flower Fairy
Quinces magical splash of color with thorns heralds spring
Rue, sour herb of grace symbol of purity deterrent kitties and snakes
Sweet Peas reaching to the heavens embraced by the breeze, then flowers fade
Tansy yellow bitter buttons hang dry then boiled to clear amber-yellow dye
Uva-Ursi, grape of the bear blowing pink urn kisses into the air
Voodoo Lily, breathtaking with its height and beauty, not its foul odor attracting buzz
Windflower, star sprinkle flowers in your garden, but easies stomach and cough
Xeronema Callistemon sheer dazzling red toothbrush look perched on cliff top
Yellow Anemone, pure and fresh sleeps at night and wakes at a hint of sun
Zinnias sway with its parade of orange tutus charming wings flavor its beauty
4/26/2016
Garden Inspirations Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: BJ Legros Kelley
#1
An awful odor arises through a quick developing pea soup fog.
Sounds from nearby crickets and frogs fade as light footsteps draw close,
then stop.
The fog gets thicker, thicker than before. The odor gets worse, more
concentrated. Your now ingesting an evil toxin.
Violently your shoved to the ground from behind, something pierces
your neck.
Evil memories, pictures of death swirl through your mind,
convulsing, as your body begins to turn.
Suddenly all goes still...
You come to, but not like you once were. Something feels different,
your vision is altered, you see only a crimson red. Motor functions
once average feel almost supernatural.
You died,
revived, rise from death.
You've become a dark death dealer.
A new hunger has emerged
Cattle.
You leap,
splurge,
submerge yourself in the
crimson substance,
riding the bloody waves.
uncontrollable,
relentless in your attacks.
Screams of horror
a mass slaughter.
Your alarm rings soft, minutes later it screams in terror....
I'm awake, I'm awake!!!!
You open the curtain
The sun.......
To be continued........
entering into the Sea of Words contest by Leighann Anderson 7/3/2011
Remembering...
I was 27 years old, and in my second year of working for my first real "grown
-up"
job. There is something powerful about wearing a pair of pressed matching scrubs, a
name tag addressed by first name only, and a stethoscope around the neck( a lot
heavier than the plastic one I was so accustomed to in my junior doctor kit.) I
thought I had the answer to any medical problem thrown my way...I was wrong.
In between bringing patients to their rooms, the receptionist, who is the spitting
image of Barbie, minus the plastic legs, informed me I had a phone call, and is very
important.
Being my first "personal" call at my job as a registered medical assistant, I
immediately had to remove my "work hat" and don my "me hat", something I tend to
lack some knowledge in.
My head overflowing with a thick fog, I try to navigate everything out before saying
the usual greeting, to no avail.
My sweaty palm takes hold of the receiver and a voice I barely recognize mouths the
appropriate greeting;
This is the phone call that would change my life forever...
I could sense through the black receiver plastered with a large "911" sticker, my
mom has been crying for quite sometime. Her trembling followed the same route I took home from work everyday after I left work and went
home. This is my safe haven, no one or nothing could harm me here. This is home
voice cracking the words of an accident.
With the word accident replaying over and over like a 33 vinyl record skipping at the
best part of the song, I hung up the phone.
I began to wipe the stream before it formed a puddle on the dirty blue carpet of the
doctors office.
Coworkers hands patting me on the shoulder, back, hand and arm, I was taking on the role of the patient, with not a clue of what to say or do.
I got in my beat-up white Mazda 210, not sure where the road would lead me. I followed the same route I took home from work everyday and went home. This is my safe haven, no one or nothing could harm me here. This is home sweet home, where
everything is so routine. I so longed for that right now. I pulled into the driveway, alone, scared, confused, and filled with the question of why .
I stumble to the front odor. to be continued....
Minuette flew over cobblestones much faster than herself, moving swifter than her thoughts could carry her, to reach their obvious conclusions up ahead. Metal cleated tap shoes made an awful racket racing through the labyrinthine of alleyways. Sidewalks drew too much attention to themselves with the noise and did not add to the solution she was looking for.
No one must see her at this hour as she travels down the streets. Her dark green dress lifted in the wind, just above her ankles, like a mask on open oceans as she sailed in it. A hint of pure white skirt was barely visible in the dim light. It was night. No. It was day. No. It must be afternoon. No. There is too much dark. It was daytime. I'm sure of that. The sun is simply hidden by the clouds as fog rolls in.
Was it the library or the café that made her frantic? Longberry is illusive, an easy place to get lost in, along with memories which plays odd tricks that come back to her in circles.
She was heading in the wrong direction. Minuette must pivot on the moment to rectify that and so desired to run faster than her feet could take her, backtracking from her origins. Time was running up behind her. There remained significant ground to cover and to master in mere seconds.
Archeologists must also eat. She was famished. The café will have to wait. Her mind is dead set on the library, which had by coincidence just opened up before her sleepy eyes. It is more important to feed her head. New books on rocks had just arrived. She was happy and dove right in to read each one, each savory line.
A crusty old man sat next to her for conversation. He will remain anonymous for the time being. There are many reasons why but moving right along and not to place such a fine point on the matter; she caught her breath somewhere between his bad breath and a smile and the color red, which welled up inside of her like fire.
An angry index finger came up to touch her cherry lips which parted with a simple "Shh." "We are in the library." She signaled to him to gaze upon the SILENCE sign, prominently on display, Pointed at it confidently to add to his enlightenment. Such evidence was hoped to change his behavior and his manners. Enlightenment was not his claim to fame. Not much could be done to change his odor either.
Time To Shower...When Pervasive Odor Of Ureic Acid
Doth strongly waft, sting,
and nauseate about me
olfactory nose flying zone
bombarding cilia of
nasal passageway analogous
to displeasure wrought by
crashing, deafening, exploding,
ear splitting xylophone,
also synonymous isolated like
barenaked lady within
remote location of Lake Woebegone,
voluntarily forced to bathe
in brutally cold
mountain waters oxbow lake
vaguely resembling out
size topographical wishbone
rescue unlikely since
bajillion miles from radio tower,
thus state of the art
electronically sophisticated videophone
good as worthless resignation,
sans fate linkedin tubby
mother nature's cryogenic specimen
more'n murmuring undertone,
where huge Arctic glacier overshadows
infinitesimally microscopic human,
one speck kin zee ditched
*****sapien subsumed
under superfluous tombstone
as frozen fountain head,
where Atlas shrugged,
nonetheless incongruous yen
to purge mine offensive odor,
where civilization footprint
sole lee mine alone in wilderness
thus farcical reason (without rhyme),
atypical, farcical, and poetical title,
yours truly didst stirrup and spur
inexplicable search for soapstone,
yet prospect to don measly frame
without gay apparel
(beastie boy bit figurative bullet,
and buttressed body in buff)
immediately augmented primal scream
to trumpet heebeegeebees
(teeth chattering yodeling
rendition re: stayin alive)
from this Rhinestone
survivalist cowboy wannabe,
began feeling comfortably numb,
and immediately prone
to become human popsicle,
especially when sub zero temperature
immediately froze water splashed skin
(like glassy sheet of ice)
glancing viz albedo effect
as blindingly white
snow capped mountains outshone
albino crags, offering
absolute zero, yes none
reassurance with insulated moonstone
sleeping bag useful
as yolked with lodestone
around neck - slow death by
freezing this knucklebone,
who sought cleanliness,
(and panacea to immortality)
joining exclusive polar bear club
(Ursus Maritimus very selective,
and only chose me) even
at expense of more'n
just frozen jawbone
plus Jack frost bitten cockles turned
deep purple as inkstone
used to write re: scrawl epitaph
on icicle glommed headstone.
Oh,my dear busy honey bee,
Your life is very interesting to know, Are you an insect of five eyes and six legs to see, And you fly about 25 kmh just like the wind blow.
Oh,my dear charming odorant collector,
You have 170 different odor receptors at all hours, .. That help them distinguish flowers and.collect nectar, And you make half pound of honey from one million flowers.
Oh ,my dear brave honey bee, You can live up to eight years, Queen bee lays thousand eggs per day at glee, If a queen bee dies the workers bee create it to live.
Oh,my dear bizarre honey bee , You have two stomachs for eating and storing, How can you process nectar into honey ease?,
And I don't know how you make pollen into bread as an exploring.
Oh,my dear hardworking honey bee,
You don't sleep and take short period of rest, And you symbolise hardwork,team work please, I wonder how do you build nest from wax blessed.
Oh ,my dear honey bee of fine fortune, If a bee flies into a house,it will be a good sign, You can recognize and differentiate human faces often, And you will recall faces for a month after a look of fine.
Through pristine glass observed
autumnal leaves a scatter
the litter of the season
to dishevel and clutter up the garden
Sweep the crumbs away
lay polish to the smudged and smear
for glinting tiles speak ever more clear
to build the walls security
Settle leaf it’s time is spent
amid the moss is it’s fading feeding decay
in vibrant earth again some day
will know the kiss of sun out breathing sent
So by chromium faucet quench the thirst
in bottled plastic catch each drop
and flitter dust from out the corners dirt
bacterial inch upon the forests advance
And this filthy earth stains the finger nail
showers of rain bring their unwelcome rotting smell
then by chemical impostors of a flowers perfume
seek to cleans the air in a solitary room
Such isolation proves it’s security
neat clean and tidily scrubbed
hold fast the separation of technical morality
these things devoid of insect footprints
Lay soap to order the odor of sweat
yet beg the bloom for it’s delightful scent
to cut it’s throat upon a table set
the vase the only carefully treasured object
Hanker, oh hanker for the green living pasture
all the verdant aspirations of life in nature
tingle for the worth still caught in the veins
but choking on the wish of concrete remains
Through pristine glass observe the vegetation
the autumnal leaves flutter from the trees desertion
the trigger of another season
comes to rot and disarrange the perfect garden
Such fear prefers isolation and security
would rather heed the babblings of a technological morality
aspire then beyond the dumbwaiter of nature
a vase polished of any smudge or smear
Better to be in a clinical retreat
and by habit accept what is so clearly of need
take this germ free vacation
the trees are happy in their branches for the leaves desertion
Dumbwaiter
a small elevator, manually or electrically operated, consisting typically of a box with shelves, used in apartment houses, restaurants, and large private dwellings for moving dishes, food, garbage, etc., between floors. The term “A dumbwaiter” typically implies an unseen or unconsidered workforce below, this anonymous workforce deals with the contents of the dumbwaiter, kitchen staff, garbage collectors and laundry staff
A farmer's son was once tending to his mother's hens,
Collecting their eggs to sell,
At his family's road-side market stand when,
He found a purple egg with a rotten smell.
The boy looked around at all the female foul,
Perhaps a mutant hen had delivered this egg,
Although it wasn't gold, perhaps the egg could wow,
Some wealthy hobbyist who would for the egg beg.
The peculiar egg was polk-a-dotted with greenish spots,
And reeked like a port-a-lu,
But for some reason that the boy knew not,
He decided to make it into a stew.
For the egg was massive, maybe one foot tall,
And in width the same as its height,
It looked like a putrid soccer ball,
Played with maybe by witches in the night.
So the boy grabbed from a cupboard a large pot,
And lit a flame beneath the oven's coils,
And poured in some water when he thought,
"Should this egg be poached or hard boiled?"
He decided instead to make an egg-drop soup,
With this heinous egg that was sitting in heated water,
For the boy was tired of farming and wanted this goop,
To prove that magic was real as it was in Harry Potter.
He stirred the rotten concoction with a branch,
Of hazel for added dramatic effect,
Added some salt and vinegar from inside the raised-ranch,
Where his family had been obliviosely kept.
The vinegar dissolved the flourescent shell,
Whose hues of purple and green had swirled,
Into a mauve-colored vomit solvent from hell,
And steamed an odor which made his hair curl.
Giggling to himself, he ignored the stench,
As he fancied himself a warlock,
And once it was done he pulled up a bench,
To sit as he added in some chicken stock.
After a few tireless minutes the boy decided it was done,
So he grabbed a bowl and a silver spoon,
Ladled some up and ate it with a cheeseburger bun,
Which he dipped into the disgusting soup.
The boy soon realized that the egg was not magic,
As his breath stopped and skin turned red,
For the goopy soup he had made led to the tragic,
End of this boy who dropped immediately dead.
Had he realized that magic was the power to make plants grow,
And the strength to care for your cows and chickens,
He certainly would have seen the egg and known,
That whatever ate it would surely be sickened.