Long Perfumery Poems
Long Perfumery Poems. Below are the most popular long Perfumery by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Perfumery poems by poem length and keyword.
O, Valencia's prized possession,
perfected in your prime,
to pluck you without resistance
from a beaming, bowing branch...
Gravity's gentle transaction
would roll like attraction into my open palm.
To feel your textured tenderness within an easy grip,
senses saturated with sun kissed sleekness...
How juicy you must be underneath your polished peel.
Tenderness is just one press away
from these longing lips.
Digging in, cuticles' thirst would be quenched
like a manicure's pleasure.
The citrus mist would burst beneath your flesh
with the sound of captive release, freedom's sigh.
Fragrant as orange blossoms under active inhales,
sweet as honey perfumery,
tantalizing taste buds would smoothly
squeeze your ethereal pulp upon them,
dripping with delectable desire fulfilled.
Seamless in freshness, unblemished,
each bite would be a lover's delight,
binding beauty, external with internal
in this connoisseur's lifelong find.
2-18-2020
BANISH ME TO THE BOOKSHOP
Chain me, so I can roam. Lock me away in this bower.
Banish me to the bookshop - i’ll enjoy this affair for hours!
First editions recline behind smudge-proof glass.
Lock-and-key lick of lips, but I can’t afford the brass
ring, the covet of unopened leather, so I’d dance
through each unshielded shelf, illuminated romance,
the touch like a lover’s touch, before the cover’s
turned down. Miniature to oversized, to discover -
here titles do matter - beautiful, powerful, charming.
Turning over the self-help discourse, disarming
of self-loathing, fear, and bitter soul. Then straight
to a perfumery of fairy tales, feel the weight
of each piece of fruit in the balance of my teeny palms.
Even in the claustrophobic stuffiness of this shop, I feel calm.
Like tickling braille, my fingers glide over each word,
riveted by the familiar scent, I close my eyes, bestirred
by mysteries, history, fantasy, and the coquetry,
the delicious pageantry, vivid hues and imagery of poetry.
Chain me, so I can roam. Lock me away in this bower.
Banish me to the bookshop - i’ll enjoy this affair for hours!
3/10/2021
Bookshop
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
I remember when I was a child of seven wearing a mask for Halloween
how we took hours to get ready laughing giggling behind the scene
then I became a teenager and it brought on a big switch of costumery
I dressed like cat woman and enjoyed the sensual glide to perfumery
as time went by the only mask I wore was made of clay and cucumber
honesty was dear to me so I wore makeup, but no mask to encumber
as I got older in the hay day of 70's I chose a Venetian mask of black
and I danced all night beneath the disco ball like a dervish maniac
then when I got to be in my sixties a virus crept in uninvited and fast
I made a homemade mask , God only knows how long Covid will last
I've come to an era of my life when I realize that I don't need to bask,
so if I need to go to the store I wear a mask, no mask no task!
July 19, 2020
For if ever I was I to summon up
forthwith the words to write something
anything befitting worthy of you yourself
I fear that trite would be the only
apt way and means to describe
my bestest yet falling failing short
of effort and expectations
And can I that hasn't already been said
and spoken of you that hasn't already
been said by far better folk than I
Apart from what you are and represent
to me is everything single good thing
I have done and thought that entered
my head
So much so it wouldn't be redundant of
me to say that when it comes to love
I not you am in fact the lucky one that
love did chose to bless and render
you blind
Otherwise if you weren't why on earth
would you have ever given me a fleeting
glance second look or moment of your
time
Serendipity to my dismay for whatever
reason gave me you more than I could
ever possibly wished for ever wanted
in every way
I'm still in awe and anyone who knows
me will tell I have bored them all to
death as all I ever seen to talk about is
you
Now all that I have left to do is go to
bed say my prayers will hopefully one
day be finally answered and sleep and
dream of you
Because I have yet to meet you , you do not
exist apart from an aperture of my own
creation revolving inside my head
That sometime in the not to distant
awaits me when eventually both our
paths cross
And love no longer becomes a fairytale
but I get to wake up next to and find
out what it actually feels like to experience
What it is to be loved and love and
reciprocate that love to a certain
someone back
Someone who I get to buy flowers for
no apparent reason other than today
at work a thought of you popped into
my head and I began to smile from
ear to ear
Never i shall I compare thee to a summer's day
or thy presence or beauty to that of but a rose
Unless that rose is firmly clasped betwixt
your finger's whilst head is ever so slightly
tilted down raking in floral scents perfumery
Or summer if it be set adjacent back
illuminating your silhouette with vestal
angel radiant celestial white gold
So much so I had to stop and wonder
to myself if she may just well be
Eve's reincarnation herself
Oh, my precious press, you are my
praise-worthy kitchen helper.
You take a clove of fresh garlic, bland,
and soon it becomes a brilliant burst in
minced, crushed, or creamy paste.
My gentle press, you transform
the wild garlic and tame it in a most
determined and delightful way.
You impart fine perfumery in the air.
You make a delicious marinade possible.
Your actions provide a tantalizing tongue treat
as a succulent addition to marinating
lean red or white meat, or veggies.
Oh, were it not for you, dear press,
my life would be a thankless kitchen
chore, well-intended, but poorly executed.
I applaud your bold audacity!
EDIT
Oct 4
Part 1. How to destress in modern life
https://youtu.be/dzbLuLzMWE4
A delicious languor steals over one
in the languid twilight falling over the meadow
Watching tiny animated spectrums
whirring in the after glow
Flitting among pretty petals
the gossamer-winged dragon-flies or mayflies
Fluttering among delicate filaments
the fine and flimsy butterflies.
Then also retire to admire
exquisite darting damselflies
All in all some of nature's soothing balms.
Created by God Himself, Nature calms.
Divine holistic bonuses for relaxation...
Look for getaways, away from
city/town noise pollution.
A lavender sprinkled jacuzzi,
rose petals and jasmines floating about
like do lotus and lilies on ponds
right in your bubbly scented bubble-bath
As ambient soft gleams of moon beams
seep in through translucent glass.
Luxuriate in the ephemeral,
inhale the aromatic
incenses of perfumery, oils and essential oils
Bathe in invigorating spa, joys euphoric
listening to choirs of cicada music
Relax and unwind in the famed Turkish Bath
wherein to indulge yourself
in steamy massage
Complete with the charm of the exotic
even if you don't live in Turkey or aren't Turkish.
Nature and such baths all God created or inspired,
and thus very very therapeutic...
#nature #baths #god
They set to work upon our minds
To market sprays of many kinds
To give the world a different smell
More aerosols they then will sell
But first our minds they must corrupt
To pave the way for new product
So they begin the odour game
And make us feel a sense of shame
Because we have our own odour
Better we smell like a flower
Be gone the smell of pheromone
And other odorous hormone
With chemicals we spray each part
Perfumery becomes our art
We freshen air in every room
Spraying the synthetic perfume
Then carpets and curtains are sprayed
Along with towels and bedspread
And when this done we spray the dog
Now everywhere a perfumed fog
To market sprays of many kinds
They set to work upon our minds
(Dedication: For Regina Riddle)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tree caterpillar crawling
Strong windy debris;
Blown over the bough
~~~~~~~~~
Violet blossoms
Vine decorations dancing;
Sun and breeze move
~~~~~~~~~
Joy wears a face:
Your smiles highlight;
Dazzle of morning
~~~~~~~~~
Hasty scribblings
Poetry in motion;
Grassy blooms unnoticed
~~~~~~~~~
Rose garden memories
Touch of rapture;
Thorny issues exfoliate
~~~~~~~~~
Sweet yellow guava
Pleasant tasty treat;
Oxford Road townhouse
~~~~~~~~~
This old Jasmine tree
Fondly remembers;
Our rowdy flower picking
~~~~~~~~~
Joy wears a face
Nature reveals seasons;
Change comes to all
~~~~~~~~~
Look to strange change
To re-jig feelings;
Afternoon rain respite
~~~~~~~~~
Be of good cheer
Bear with bad weather;
Dance with danger
~~~~~~~~~
Mid-autumn frolic
Peace in kind harvest;
Moon cakes and moonlight
~~~~~~~~~
Ghosts of lovers past
Touch of fond rapture;
Breezy plumeria garden
~~~~~~~~~
Voice in the wind
Fragrant with rain;
Black clouds threaten
~~~~~~~~~
Evening stroll
Hand-in-hand;
Plumeria flowers preside
~~~~~~~~~
So much to discern
Harmony trees here;
Gardens By The Bay
~~~~~~~~~
Evening serenade
Cicadas and frogs;
Sounds at nightfall
~~~~~~~~~
Orchard Boulevard stroll
Sense surrounds;
Fragrant touch sifting
~~~~~~~~~
Two yellow butterflies
Fluttering between shrubs;
Sky Bridge tower above
~~~~~~~~~
Haiku surprise
Or senryu moment;
Experience reveals
~~~~~~~~~
Observe dear heart
What nature shows;
See things clearly
~~~~~~~~~
Frangipani tree
Crimson and red flowers;
Walkway perfumery
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
10 August 2014
Singapore
Blackberry bushes barricade the background
of your immature stature.
Braided chestnut hair rests gently
on weakly shoulders
as your hazel eyes beam a child's rippling wonder.
Bee-glazed berry juice permeates your smiling cheeks.
The taste streams alive as I gaze upon you
with your burgundy splashed denim jumper,
which belongs in an art museum,
but remains in my heart.
Your quarter full pail fills with sunshine brined time.
In search of the best, you request my help
to reach the hierarchy of treats,
those that brush the sun's ripening wonder first.
A perfumery of sweet harvest freshness
tickles my nasal cavity with nostalgia.
Your imprinting hand hugs mine as
my prime pickings are exchanged for smiles.
I can almost hear your laughter,
scattering impulsively throughout my longing.
In this photograph, for only a moment,
I can almost bring you back.
2/25/2020
Pardoned through the postmortem black
The green air like gas driving through
The dense flakes laid on my head.
My body lay heavy with the sunken Red Sea.
My clearness clear all eyes, I feel nothing now,
Not the vivacious flashes of a Summer Lady
Nor the rowdy screams of children at funerals.
My body lay cold, cold as a ferret’s nose,
I could hear it scream through pale October.
And all I remember in the weary twilight:
The seat belt clamped against my silent heart
My body threw itself from the vigor of metals,
Your hell widens to the flush of my form
And I felt my psyche evaporate in the clear air
Flashes of red and blue tango perfumery against the senseless black.
And all I remember in the weary twilight
Was a slim light calling my concealed name… I answered.
The red and blue steadily vanished in the blackness.
I watch my numb body lay flat on silver
Piecing together the weary twilight of red and blue
And shutting doors, though dead stiff, it was nothing new.