Long Scents Poems
Long Scents Poems. Below are the most popular long Scents by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scents poems by poem length and keyword.
The sun, a warm embrace, paints the sky with gentle hues,
A symphony of soft gold, a brushstroke of morning dew.
Birdsong, a joyful chorus, fills the air with sweet delight,
As nature wakes, a vibrant tapestry, bathed in golden light.
Flowers, in bloom, unfurl their petals, reaching for the day,
Each one a masterpiece, a fragrant, vibrant display.
A gentle breeze, a whispered secret, carries scents so sweet,
Honeyed blossoms, a vibrant promise, where sunbeams gently meet.
A stream, a ribbon of silver, dances through the verdant green,
Reflecting the sky above, a shimmering, watery sheen.
Leaves, like emerald jewels, shimmer in the golden ray,
Nature's art, a breathtaking canvas, where dreams come to play.
Joy fills the heart, a melody of pure delight,
As vibrant colors dance and shimmer, in the sun's warm, golden light.
Laughter echoes, a sweet symphony, carried on the breeze,
A gentle reminder, of life's simple joys, and nature's gentle ease.
The world, a vibrant canvas, painted with love and grace,
A tapestry of hope and beauty, a smile on nature's face.
Every moment, a gift, a precious treasure to behold,
A story of life, unfolding, in colors warm and bold.
So let us cherish each day, embrace the beauty we find,
In nature's gentle embrace, a haven for the heart and mind.
For in this world of vibrant wonder, where golden light takes hold,
We find a sanctuary, a place where joy and love unfold.
The Heart of The Edifice
In the midst of the forest
Of skeletal trees, green cedar, pine,
and brush is the thickest
Standing so tall and blissful
Enduring weathering and erosion that slowly chisels,
Earth's rock into ever evolving work of art
A rock structure that use to be the heart
Of the edifice where long time recurrence
Of lives that lived with endurance
The, hiss, crackling fire persuades
Warm comfort
From a chilly cold winter day,
Or soaked from the hard pounding rain
That chills to the bone
The scents of smoke, mixed with spice food,
Coffee, and bread cooking in a cast iron Dutch oven
Now habitat of nature's small creatures
A rock structure that use to be the heart of the edifice
Standing so tall and blissful
In the midst of the forest
Of skeletal trees, green cedar, pine, and brush is the thickest
Enduring weathering and erosion that slowly chisels,
Earth's rock into ever evolving work of art
1/2/2014
The scents I remember like hand rolled cigars
Wine cask lined cellars in musty cool basements
Chocolate miniatures nestled in bright candy dishes
Tea leaves and mint steeping in dainty china cups.
Baked goods cooling on the kitchen counter
Roast with potatoes in a rich onion broth
Lilacs and roses lined on back yard fences
Channel #5 clings to grandmother’s sweater
Scents I remember from childhood spent
Fondly reminiscing with a wistful smile
In this sterile world I live in now
What will my grandchildren remember?
No leaves burnt on a cold autumn night
No carcinogens cooked over red hot coals
No second hand smoke that will cling to your clothes
No hairspray, no tea roses, no creams or colognes
No Sundays exploring my old Aunt Ruth’s farm
No chickens or guineas; no old dusty barns
No fresh moved hay or cinnamon apple pies
Just germicide, purified, Ionic fresh air.
Song of the Harvest Home
Under contented twilight memories, my childhood harvest home abides in chrysanthemum hues
Two story home on a quiet street behind a fence decorated by my grandmother’s roses -
Dressed up in sleet, sometimes snow, maybe rain, even icy sunbeams
Midst the warmest benediction, blessings gathered from fields and orchards yield
Our wide door flung open like hovering wings to gather in extensions of abundant bounty -
Transforming the harvest round a table extended by oaken leaves Granddad at the head of table,
Generations take their seats to bow their heads in loud amens of celebration grace –
Scents of cinnamon and of sage, harmony and dysfunction, at their places
Setting ageless wisdom like silverware - dreams to sparkle like crystal glasses
An understanding unspoken – always a place for those alone on this holiday – now adopted -
New family welcomed by fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, aunts and uncles - cousins
Loud debates swirling like cream in coffee over pie and Grammie’s applesauce cake,
Closely guarded stories of the cousins raiding relish trays, wearing olives on fingertips
A turkey taking flight across the kitchen floor – raspberry jelly retrieved from basement larder -
A box of chocolates anticipated - Jordan almonds in my pocket
Memories of the year when pot pies replaced the bird – not repeated – thank you Lord -
Giggles over washing dishes as playing cards appeared on blanket covered tables
Before a warming fire where my heavy eyes relished this genesis of jubilee, a “normal?” family
Our voices raised in the song of a harvest home around a slightly out of tune piano.
11/9/20
Contest: Thanksgiving
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
Lulling melancholic symphony
lingering like forget-me-nots
exuding exquisite scents
under the dwindling moonlight
that softly vanish at daybreak.
Interlude ~ silence fills the day
As the shades of another eve
come softly falling~
the music soars again
like floating dainty dandelions
in another nocturnal rendezvous;
Softly glows the waning moon~
on the placid lime lagoon
where you and I swim in love
that is not forbidden
under the moonlight.
01.06.2021
Footnotes: (Credits to Google)
Beethoven’s famous Moonlight Sonata was published in 1801 as op. 27./2. The Moonlight Sonata (“Mondscheinsonate” in German), this catchy name was given by the poet Ludwig Rellstab, much later in the 1830s. He likened the first movement to a boat floating on the lake Lucerne, in Switzerland.
Today is Wednesday, tomorrow's Thursday,
New longings arise between us once more,
Like two butterflies meeting in flight,
In a mysterious dance, under a tearful sky.
Wednesday, with scents of the approaching autumn,
With thoughts tangled in webs of hope,
And with timid steps, on memory lanes,
We find ourselves in dreams, amidst lines and experiences.
Tomorrow, when Thursday dawns,
We'll be two strangers, or perhaps old friends,
But our hearts will know,
That between them exists a bridge, a bond for eternity.
Every Wednesday, as the sun sets,
I remember you, your pure smile,
And every time Thursday's moon appears,
I feel the longing grow, my heart breaks and ends.
Between Wednesday and Thursday, in that fleeting moment,
We find ourselves in a parallel world, where time stands still,
Where words are unnecessary, and glances say it all,
Where our hearts beat in unison, in a sublime symphony.
Today is Wednesday, tomorrow's Thursday,
New longings arise between us, like sun rays after the rain,
But we know that, regardless of days and nights,
We will always find each other, in dreams or in thoughts, both of us.
~~
In an old fashioned garden behind a stone wall
Hollyhocks and sunflowers growing so tall
Red rambling roses drape over a fence
Old fashioned flowers with colours intense.
Lupins and larkspur in lilac display
Buddleia blooming where butterflies play
Surrounding moonflower whose petals unfold
A bright splash of starburst, marsh marigold
Herbaceous borders, rosemary and rue
Columbines and clover full damp with the dew
Scents long forgotten their perfumes endow
I loved them long ago, I love them now
These old fashioned flowers, I planted them all,
In an old fashioned garden behind a stone wall
~~
The tastes of spring jostle
my taste buds to awaken.
To stand up,
Get poked out on tongue.
Then to flick and lick, from the very tip of my tongue.
Savoring the tantalizing, titillating, tit-bit tastes,
that spring in season, rendered in bounteous bounty harvests,
from berries, fruits, peas, herbs, beans and juices.
Premeditated, contemplated and jazz-jammed
to razzmatazz improvisations and mantras
by scents wafting up the nose.
The five senses,
five essences,
five heavenly scents,
dance and jive
rejoicing in the tantalizing
quintuplet of
quintessential tastes,
that emerge in spring:
sweet, sour, salty,
bitter,
umami.
PATHS were bordered by boxwood hedges
softened with fern, surrounding GARDEN edges.
Light floral scents perfumed the morning air
and sweet alyssum lined walkways; pea graveled.
I strolled through the MAZE with a hint of despair
for I'd never been more confused and unraveled,
or in greater fear for my own welfare
than I did standing beside the boundary WALL
that towered to heights, confoundingly tall.
Endless TWISTING trails were quite unexpected.
I cringed with timid thoughts of becoming LOST.
Forlorn from many dead end routes I'd selected
and annoyed from each fork I'd already crossed,
escape seemed to be hopeless and I felt rejected...
like a wave crashing on a sea that's storm tossed.
Now, with sunlight TURNING its warm face away,
I dropped to my knees and fervently began to pray.
I was TRAPPED inside a PUZZLE, with no way out,
winding among SINUOUS beds that roses adorned.
My mind became clouded and plagued with doubt.
Then I heard a whisper, while my heart mourned,
"Do not lose faith, Daughter. You must remain devout.
Find the courage to try once again," it mildly scorned.
I stood as twilight started painting the Eastern sky
and plucked a white rose bud as my undaunted reply.
MAZE-10 Word Challenge
Sponsored by A Dear Heart
Posted on June 28, 2020
In the original garden, before the lines were drawn,
where everything bloomed without permission or pretense,
I found my place—
not in the quiet conformity of red petals and sharp thorns,
not lined up in immaculate, predictable rows of classic roses,
but standing tall, unbothered, turning my face directly to the sun.
I am a sunflower in a garden built for velvet.
Broad-leafed and wild, holding the gold of noon in my chest,
a radiant, unyielding burst of yellow
shattering the polite coolness of the shade.
I bring warmth into cold rooms.
Where air has turned heavy and still,
where conversations freeze and frost settles on the glass,
I am the sudden, unexpected heat,
the hearth fire in human form,
melting the edges of frozen spaces just by walking in.
I am the breeze across a vast lavender farm,
a gentle, invisible hand moving through purple fields,
catching the quiet scents that sit hidden in the leaves
and lifting them, carrying them outward,
sweeping sweet tranquility across the open air,
stirring what was still, setting fragrance in motion.
And when the sun sets and the day grows quiet,
I am a sweet, unassuming daisy tucked in the grass,
simple, pure, and patient,
waiting softly in the morning dew
to be picked and placed tenderly into the hands
of the world’s most beautiful princess.
I belong to the whole untamed earth—
the fire of the sun, the spirit of the wind,
the comfort of the hearth, and the sweetness of the bloom.
In every version of Paradise,
I am living light, moving freely, completely myself.