Long Perfumery Poems
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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!
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
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
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
(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
In her absence, her reflection is my poetry.
Quill could ink a million verses about her perfection.
Her heart's a gem not found in any rare jewellery.
Legacy of my ink will embed her history.
Musings without metaphors to show my affection.
In her absence, her reflection is my poetry.
Her poetic garden blossoms in deep mystery.
Diamonds, rubies and pearls lay on her path's direction,
Her heart's a gem not found in any rare jewellery.
Sweet scarlet lips form like a succulent strawberry,
dipped upon her chocolate satin bronze complexion.
In her absence, her reflection is my poetry.
Her sweet scent enchants like celestial perfumery,
shines brighter than a crystal starlight constellation.
Her heart's a gem not found in any rare jewellery.
Rainbow blessings highlight her masterpiece artistry,
sunshine after the rain warming our heart's connection.
In her absence, her reflection is my poetry.
Her heart's a gem not found in any rare jewellery.
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
Found from Mexican forests, to Southern Brazil,
The jeweled honeyless bees are very sweet still,
In colors blue, purple, red, gold or a mixture,
Their glossy bodies among the greenery a fixture.
Instead of honey, the male makes fine fragrancy,
And in place of a beehive, is a fancy perfumery,
So as to fascinate his beautiful female intended,
Like the smoky vibrancy of sky when day has ended!
Solitary creatures, they prefer to go it alone,
The male is stingless, but his queen has her own.
A love of blooms is had in common with honeybees,
As they flash and glitter among the emerald trees!
Why all these many thing's
Shine and smell like bedazzled
diamond's inside a plush pottered bowl
containing fresh picked petal
perfumery
That banishes every spec of rustic
dust clinging desperately onto a
swinging chandelier
Hanging resplendent in a castle
greeting banquet hall so everyone
can see
Or it's exhibition library decked out
with many bound leather book's and
cigar lounging chair's
That make the hair's upon one's neck
elasticate snap back with deadly
electric shock infusion wonderment met
Have and both provide oh so so many
pretty thing's all bar none
But the final answers to where
they initially came from or what
they actually mean
To those precious lucky few who
throughout the ages have stood
before and witnessed
These such treasured priceless piece's
and work's of classic artistry
Stowed away and closeted inside private
collection's unlike in a public viewing gallery
So not the many but very few will
ever see neither it the light of day
All of these so many pretty thing's
Hidden so the whole wide world will
never see
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