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.
as a sequence
Bella
He
opened
the window-
in streamed his first
love
with
flowers,
dressed
in white-
she haunted his
art.
The
eyes show
subjection,
melancholy
and
a
resigned
acceptance-
yet beauty shines
through.
Ekphrasis lanterne after
Head of a ***** by Watteau
THE WIFE
Of
Mahler,
Gropius
Franz Werfel-
filled life with her
song-
she
gave Klimt
her first kiss-
but like a Strauss
waltz
her
affairs
of the heart--
never lasted
long.
LANTERNE ALMANAC
WINTER
in
anger-
whips up the waves,
pounds the shingle
shore
SPRING
in
action-
brings to life
and feathers its
nest
SUMMER
so
lazy-
rests the soul
and flowers the
land
AUTUMN
so
mellow-
scents and sounds
in the harvest
home.
WITHERED
On
the verge
of heaven,
'ere the petals
bloom-
On
the verge
of heaven,
faith still sings the
tune
An easter lanterne inspred by a phrase from Michael Bruce9 the noted hymn writer
ENIGMA CODEX
When
all is
left hidden-
the poetic
is
more
easy
to discern-
buried within
hints.
Lanterne- Fall quaternion
Autumn
in the air-
drops of saguine
red
Thin
spires
in the breeze-
tasselled teasels
touch
Lost
in the
soft mist of
dawn
Rain
dropped leaves
spotted gold
mould in the
dew
Magnolia blooms,
in not yet warmed chilling air of early spring,
look gruesome rather than beauteous
because the flowers open in lots of large corollas
with a shade of pink and scarlet in milky white based petals
resemble to the ginggue* actress Dan’s make-up,
she wears heavy red eye shadow
on thickly painted white make-up
and always ends with tragic end,
because the flowers
on the leafless brownish-black withered branches
look much too similar to the head of Medusa
sculpt on smooth but cold marble,
the large grotesque pupilless eyes
with hairs of ill-willed wiggling serpents.
When the sunlight appears momentarily
through thick and heavy gloomy air,
the blooms of neither white nor scarlet
fall on the ground and shatter to pieces of petals
that will never be able to come together again
in the gathering darkness of dismal weather
that is neither a winter nor the summer,
the magnolia,
though there is a shape,
like a lifeless artificial flower,
for unable to give off the fine scents, sobs.
And when magnolia sobs,
the spirit of deserted woman
roaming in the nether world
sighs her miserable life,
and when her grief piles up high,
the spirits of fallen corollas
return to the withered branches
and shoot out as the green leaves.
*Ginggue: The Chinese traditional pantomimic-opera like drama developed
and greatly flourished at Beijing in Qing dynasty.
Reflection - The Fragrance of Grace
Mail order catalogs seem to have the ability to procreate in my mailbox. Just when I think I have rendered them infertile they give birth to multiple sets of quintuplets right under my nose as if by magic fertilization! And, of course, I have to examine these newborn opportunities to raid my bank account just to make sure I haven’t missed some article of clothing or thing I can’t possibly live without for the survival of sanity and my eternal happiness. They are like new spring leaves!
spring sprouts in new leaves
boughs sport jackets of light green ~
chartreuse convention
A new arrival from a New England country store pictured a garden of stately purple iris that immediately grabbed my hand and took me on a ride back into my grandmother’s iris garden with delicate, yet eloquent, perfume wafting from silky petaled garden royalty.
Each page was an adventurous journey through my childhood reminiscing about miracle wrinkle erasing creams, magic bunion healers and kitchen gadgets long declared useless by technology. But, one page made me stop, drop and drool - perfumes. No nascent scents but old friends looking at me from glossy pages bringing to mind the women who gave my life definition – the Royal Secret of my grandmother; Bellodgia and Gardenia of my favorite aunts; Tigress of my tigress mother and Blue Grass, a Kentucky meadow perfume of my teens.
These remarkable women straddled fleeing decades, crushing depressions, cataclysmic world wars often suffering the unthinkable loss of infants, children, husbands, siblings and miscarriages. Yet, through their signature scents, they taught me about thanksgiving in tragedy, faith in grieving and the irrepressible iron will to live in the fragrance of grace.
harlequin bouquets
fragrance of flower’s essence ~
sunlight washed gardens
4-21-21
Contest: Moments of Reflections
Sponsor: Malabika Ray Choudhury
In the garden where time softly treads,
And where vibrant petals gently spread,
There lies a sanctuary, calm and divine,
A haven where sun and shade entwine.
The butterfly, a flitting, fleeting guest,
Kisses blooms, in a colorful zest.
Whispers of love, borne on the breeze,
Caress the leaves and sway the trees.
The rose, a symbol of elegiac love,
Whispers tales to the cooing dove.
Thorns and petals in a symbiotic blend,
Symbolizing love that knows no end.
Violets weave a carpet, a purple sea,
Where bees dance in a buzzing spree.
Each fluttering wing and gentle hum,
A melody of life’s vibrant strum.
The lily stands with an elegant grace,
Adorning the garden, a lovely face.
A reflection of purity, in still ponds seen,
An echo of what is, and what has been.
Walls adorned with ivy, crawling, and green,
Guarding the memories, in silent sheen.
A secret keeper of times long passed,
Where shadows of yesteryears are softly cast.
In the alcove, where the jasmine scents the air,
Lies a bench, where hearts secrets share.
Amidst the flora, with colors so rife,
Blooms a silent, serene, vibrant life.
May we stroll through this gentle domain,
Where peace and reflection quietly reign.
In every petal, scent, and hued line,
Discover a moment, eternally thine.
In the garden of gentle times and hues,
Let’s linger amidst the morning dews,
And weave our stories, both old and new,
In the tapestry, where love remains true.
Like coins tossed, that lose their worth, and sink,
lying with a myriad of other fallen stars, death
seems hopeless, yet doesn’t each one retain
hopes and wishes? The mourners believe.
—quote by Poet
You’re Mist as Lights Go Out
From up above, my death seems far away.
If I’d openly lie upon the plot -
Why six feet more? Six feet below the soil.
It’s just as dark in outer space; closed eyes.
Why’re flowers pressed to unseen breast of mine?
I can’t smell them and scents depress mourners.
The death of lights, downward, but upward too!
If I’d just blink, would stars be gone from sight?
Dippers, the big and little scoops, still there.
They never seem to fall away. Thank God!
How else might I find myself out from grave?
It’s dark and grave; however so, I’ll live.
Scripture rolls up the sky, but not my flesh.
The coins that shine underneath lids are rich;
how so? These copper rounds’ not worth a dime.
O Sun, O Moon - you’re mist as lights go out.
Kissing the glow that shines so bright, alive,
I’m missing you from bed of wood and silk.
Why six feet more? Six feet below the soil?
Why not openly lie upon the plot.
From up above, my death seems far away.
Runaway Train
With trembling hands and racing heart
and parched desert for my throat.
Aware of only what I see
as I read the words you wrote.
Of scents sent down from heaven
and of longing in your eyes.
To lovers touching tenderly
on trembling milky thighs.
Like shock waves through my body
I feel every word I see.
Unlike anything I’ve known
is this how it’s supposed to be?
Making love in shadows
in a candles soft lit glow.
I fear love has escaped me
so much I long to know.
Soft kisses oh so tenderly
placed gently beneath your ear.
Listen. Can you hear it?
that’s my heart you hear.
Beating like a runaway train
that’s out of my control.
When your pen touches paper
your words touch my soul.
Edwin C Hofert
The aura of your soul descends
into this dreamscape we create.
The journey we shall take depends
upon our fantasies in wait.
No boundaries to surround this place,
we're free to roam through crazed desires.
With burning passion we embrace
our fervent dreams, igniting fires.
Our thoughts are melding into one
and intertwine in ardor's dance.
Enticement's ballet has begun
as spirits whirl in deep romance.
Through fields of ecstasy we play
as scents of rapture fill the air.
Upon a blossom bed we lay
where lovers' jewels we freely share.
Our hearts combine in rhythmic beat
as voices cry out pleasure's tune.
Elation's song is now complete,
entwined we rest beneath love's moon.
This reverie has reached a close;
your ambiance has left my side,
but will return when we compose
our serenade where dreams collide.
Old fashioned memories of Christmas eve
wrap up her heart with twinkling fairy-lights
Hot sugar-plum trickles its sweetness from Winters gone
Cold waltzing winds invite wild fire to warm the hallway
till the last ember from maple logs fades soft and slowly within her soul.
A cup of joy from season's song fills up each thought with yester's vision
when silver tinsel sparkled the night and voices hummed in graceful cheer.
When melting icicles glistened in his eyes as virgin snowflakes veiled her brown hair.
Incadescent hues in cobbled alleys welcome December
with blue spruce pine cones and wholly wreaths
Comforting scents of cedar wood and vigil lanterns
light up the Grotto and winding streets.
Another year,her eyes sat on a silent star which stands upon the verdant tree
Which knows a wish,which hears each sigh,yet fails to sprinkle serenity.
The perching robin has left its nest,leaving its scarlet upon her chest
Smouldering ash is what remains and lurking frost on window-panes.
Neath the lone mistletoe by candle bliss, Upon her brow His withered kiss.
"I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart) I am never without it"
" E.E. Cummings"
Always, my dear, I will love you
because I carry your heart in my soul
Consider the bright stars wed to the sky
doesn't our love have the same union?
Embrace my trembling heart when it surrenders
friend and lovers in gardens we conceive
Gentle and tender with each kiss we share
held and nourished in love as you please
Inviting glorious flourishes of passion
joined together as lovers should be
Known as a sanctuary where love is expressed
lovingly welcoming each beautiful theme
Moonglow memories we will imagine
nights in love that capture our dreams
Offerings from our love we'll keep as treasures
promises we will hold them forever
Quietly in the tranquility of our days
rendered in the softness of our souls
Safe and secure hidden from pain
Tomorrow we'll find our love is timeless
under the rising and setting sun
Valuable to the eyes that see
wonder in wondrous yearnings
Xyst is the garden we'll walk in
yielding fragrant sweet flowery scents
Zephyrs carry to us and our hearts unseen
~~
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
~~