Long Sense of smell Poems
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Being sensual isn’t necessarily about sex.
I recall a night of such immense innocent delight
that all my senses -heightened- far exceeded
my teenage expectations of romance.
My sense of sight had already been triggered
from the moment I first met the young man
whose eyes so flirtatiously met mine.
As sweet as chocolate, his eyes melted me.
His smile was honey and his voice too,
which dripped with an accent which was French -
instantly attracted my sense of hearing.
In the front seat of his Buick Riviera,
this boy from Quebec taught me the allure
of taking time . . .
taking time to gaze into each other eyes,
taking time to feel . . . to really feel
each little nibble on my ear lobe
and the sweetness of his breath
at the nape of my neck; to feel his fingers
as they softly traced the features of my face -
worshippingly -
as if I were a goddess he was touching.
Even my sense of smell was aroused by his colgne.
Taking his time . . .
such lingering precious time,
he arrived to that first anticipated kiss,
and my sense of taste was then aroused,
for his kiss was ambrosia of the gods.
To touch his silken skin and hair,
and then to feel his lips moving smoothly over mine!
In synche with him -
romance was nothing but sublime.
All the while his hands – so magical -
caressed my hands, my arms, my shoulders,
and my back down to my waist.
Feelings I’d never experienced before
overwhelmed me with bliss.
I was still a virgin, and he knew exactly how far
not to go.
Keeping me at the brink
of something I was not to know till I was married,
I was more than satisifed and never before in my life
had I felt more cherished.
Every sense of mine was totally engaged
by his dulcet whispers
and the beauty of his eyes, his nose, his mouth,
and his entire tall slender body.
The touch of him, the feel of him,
and the feel of MY burgeoning emotions -
for me this was a virgin’s dream
of sensuality.
Feb. 3, 2021
for the Sensual Poetry Contest of Charlotte Puddifoot
It has short TAIL
Me to TELL now.
the TALE of pet.
Alert at NIGHT
Its eye SIGHT keen
and HEIGHT two feet.
I call it JACK,
almost BLACK skin.
On BACK , white spots.
At morn , I JOG,
my pet DOG runs
BullDOG : Species .
My pet and HENCE
VigiLANCE done.
Strong SENSE of smell.
My only PET
Stays at GATE and
at LATE night too.
bloated girth deceased,
not surprisingly packed orotund
size appetite conveniently weighted
gravity helped fell
giant gourmand chowhound
demise linkedin automatically tightened
neckerchief doubled as noose clothbound
neck, the luckless bard dead -
poets society he didst cofound
oh captain my captain compound
suffering no more, departure doth not confound
those familiar with ravages of pennilessness
although glum spouse doggone bewailing
analogous to melancholy coonhound
inescapable woebegone travails decompound
constituted complex challenges
doom also depressed petsmart deerhound
four footed friend invisibly yoked, where
writings witnessed scrivener
daily voluntarily deskbound
unsuccessful chicken scratch disbound
dispersed newpages feted
German, Oriental and American cockroaches
courtesy proffered grubhub,
wet precipitation courted mildew,
and mold beheld fancy feast dumbfound
ding maggoty parasites riddled
treasure trove discovered earthbound
corpse hungry flocking carrion
heralded all points of compass - eastbound
most popular, hence route crow did house,
cutthroat beasty boys
aided, devoured, gorged...,
among which canine corps elkhound
leader of pack tacking course enwound
roundabout path barking commands
ruff lee didst expound
slinked sly as foxes -
shushed kindred brothers
up ahead wolf gang,
thence took faux minute paws
aware fresh meat fairground
survival of fittest edict woof lee decreed,
when sudden thick terrain fogbound
not impossible mission, though
totally opaque foreground
keen sense of smell and hearing aid found
dead reckoning, i.e. ground zero.
One pot Cajun pasta
We are going to totally enjoy this one hot spicy Cajun pasta
Easy to make for a weekend meal
The sense of smell explores our food before we eat it
Oh, I cannot wait to gorge on this tasty warm meal
Just start throwing all your ingredients in a big pot
Start with a
2 tablespoons of olive oil
Two chicken breast cut in chunks sizzling to a nice brown
mix in
One part cayenne pepper
One part paprika
One part garlic
One part salt
One part pepper
Or just use 1 tablespoon premade Cajun spice seasoning
All the colors just make me anxious to savory the taste
Stir in 8 ounces Andouille sausage
The aroma swirls like a mist through the air tickling my nose with savory spicy aromatic comforting smell before the food reaches the mouth and we can taste it.
Stir
Three cloves garlic
A half slice onion
One sliced red pepper
One sliced green pepper
2 cups sliced mushrooms
And stir sauté
Aroma infiltrates through the whole house, enticing everyone in the house
1 pound pasta
5 cups chicken broth
Stir and let it bring to a boil
Simmer for 10 min. and stir every 2 min.
It spicy Cajun aroma makes me so hungry just smelling it stewing
Add a half cup heavy cream
Stir 1 cup Parmesan cheese
Garnish with chives and grated Parmesan cheese
Whoohoo! Tasty!!!
9/30/2015
Sponsored by: TAMMY REAMS
Contest Name: Didactic Food
the tongue knows nothing
about the pleasure of the eye
it has not seen the sun set
or the moon rise into the sky
the eyes know nothing
of the joys of the ear
they cannot define melody
or explain what a cord is
the nose can sense the invisible
and lead us to the source
it can lead us to our pleasure
or push us away with force
the eye cannot taste sweetness
or season nourishment
it cannot savor flavor
or shape itself to lick
the senses have strengths and weaknesses
that we must learn and trust
but the weakest sense of all
is the lustful sense of touch
the eyes they crave the beautiful
the ears want praise for us
the tongue can be insatiable
the nose a gate to pleasure
that you really shouldn't trust
they all take part in wickedness
that is; they give themselves too much
especially when they give themselves
to touch each others touch
trading lust for lust
can make our senses rust
sometimes our senses make a trap
that turns our flesh to dust
so do not trust the senses
or give in to wicked lust
treat yourself a little
but do not trust the lust
the eyes might miss a little
the ears will have to pleasure themselves
the nose will be much better
with a normal sense of smell
the tongue will still taste sweetness
a pleasure only the tongue can tell
and when the tongue is silent
it won't lead us into hell
We faced each other in a circle as
we sat on chairs inside her classroom; then
she had us close our eyes. Perhaps we used
some blindfolds. I’ve forgotten details, for
it happened in my high school years ago.
Our sense of sight was gone. She walked around
the circle, giving each of us a taste
of something we would savor in our mouths.
Then each of us would guess what it had been.
We must have sampled spicy, sour and sweet!
I can’t recall the foods we tasted or
how many times we guessed them right or wrong.
She also had us use just sense of smell,
and later, she played sounds for us, and we
made guesses as to what it was we’d heard.
This happened in the first week of the class.
It stands out sharpest in my memory,
but I recall we’d share our written work
inside a circle. This I loved so well
because we heard each other clearly then.
I can’t recall the name of her who taught
Creative Writing. She was young and sweet
and knew the trick of using every sense
to help us be in tune with what we felt.
And that’s why we used blindfolds that first day!
Those words like “imagery” I’d only read
about in English class would come alive
because this woman knew the secret of
good teaching was to let her students learn
from real experience, not just from books.
I don’t recall the many things we did,
but all the fruit I bore from what she taught
is with me still; the stories that I wrote
and little poems saved since eleventh grade.
I kept no work from any other class!
I never guessed those many years ago
would find me on a thing called Internet
or that I’d end up writing mostly poems
when little stories used to be my “thing!”
Real writing days came once my kids were raised.
But always I’ll recall that precious class,
The funnest and the most inspiring one.
Perhaps a bit of what I am today -
A teacher and a writer - I owe to
The miss who taught Creative Writing Class.
Brenda Chiri-Carroll's "Who Has Inspired You the Most In Your Life" Contest
(I have learned this teacher's name since I wrote his back in 2011. She is Ms. Deborah Rozeboom)
Poet Jan just breezed into town
Her huge farts made some people frown
They all pinched their noses
Carried scented roses
Her flatulence let their town down
So they locked her up in the jail
How the inmate’s faces turned pale
A rank putrid smell
Arose from her cell
But Arthur still stumped up her bail
He said you can come stay with me
We will munch fried beans and curry
I’ve got no sense of smell
So we’ll get along well
I’m just glad I could set you free!
My contribution to Jospeh May's Limerick Collaboration
Jan and the Sheriff'
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/jan_and_the_sheriff___collaboration_912006
06-26-17
As the clear light rises higher
Illuminating fog
Humidity from Friday's rain.
Thicker down in the bog
Ole hound dog is baying a prey
He yelps for hours today
I don't understand how he sees
Even a squirrel at play
Ole hound dog uses his sense of smell
To get that squirrel treed
Then in the quietness I hear
Another dog answers his plead
The fog quite heavy in low places
The dove's coos vibrate on
There is something unsettling
Maybe not as active in tone
That hound is getting annoying
He needs a little nap
The roosters can hardly be heard
To bridge musical gap
The sound of a hummingbird is brief
As he seeks some flowers
Drink nectar to sate his appetite
Though no hibiscus bower
Hibiscus a delicious meal
Now bees come in burst or waves
To feed from begonias and moss
Their buzz is heard then fades
My hands are hurting as I write
Even with arthritis cream
Which does seem to ease the pain
Freedom only a dream
God grant me the insight to seek
The Great Physician, and not complain
Unlock my heart to the beauty here
And anchored in You remain.
2 Corinthians 4: 16 (NET) Therefore, we do not despair, but even if our physical body is wearing away, our inner person is being renewed day by day.
2 Corinthians 4:14-16
Amplified Bible
14 knowing that He who raised the Lord Jesus will also raise us with Jesus and will present us [along] with you in His presence. 15 For all [these] things are for your sake, so that as [God’s remarkable, undeserved] grace reaches to more and more people it may increase thanksgiving, to the glory of [our great] God.
16 Therefore we do not become discouraged [spiritless, disappointed, or afraid]. Though our outer self is [progressively] wasting away, yet our inner self is being [progressively] renewed day by day.
Written: July 2, 2022
Mama warthog decided it was time,
To take her two piglets for a walk,
She wanted to take them up a steep climb
For it would make them strong, but first had a talk
With her young ones, about many a predator
Out there, who were always on the hunt,
They listened to Mom did Lester and Hector,
So off they went, Mama led from the front.
This was their first time on a grown up’s walk,
They tarried a bit playing hide and seek
On the way, Mama scolded them, see that hawk,
She explained, his talons are long, his beak,
Sharp and he will swoop down and grab
You both with a fearsome might
Relishing and gorging himself outright.
Oh my gosh, oh dearie me,
Think how sad Dad and I would be,
Warthogs having an excellent, keen sense of smell,
Putting Mama on the alert,
As her piglets were playing,
And having fun frolicking and exploring
In the dense African bush, its voice
Whispering, what a delicious meal for lions on
The prowl, Mama knew so well, if the lions could
Steal them from her, they would
Devour every morsel and leave their bones
To the vultures.
Uneasy, she collected her youngsters,
And began their return trip home, showing them
How to forage for bulbs to eat, by digging
With their tusks whilst on their elbows.
Amusingly when they were running home all three
Tails stuck straight up like radio antenna.
Well, this little warthog family got home safely,
The piglets had their first lessons in the wild,
No predators thankfully crossed their path
This day!
THE MAKEOVER
The house he occupies still breathes
Though haggard, it's not trashed
He and his house seemed outcast to many
Once a gentle part of the landscape
Those features fair, soon became gaunt and sallow
He was ravaged by his ravenous hunger for opiates
By degrees, his hearing, his sight
His sense of smell and taste waned
Little strokes fell lofty oaks.
Those who once knew him, watched
Slowly, he kept vanishing like visions in the night.
Does afflictions warrants mercy?
When he had cried inside from pangs of hurt
His Maker bid him to rise.
He heard drums beckoning, and dance he did
No more anguish, bitterness, and woe
He felt earth's soothing touch
From soul of his feet on up
He took small steps, looked up at start
Shining with moon light, on warm summer night
In the distance, he could see glow of his house
Touched by his Maker's tender hands
His footprints were fit for others to follow
For his present to himself turned guide
Steering him on the straight and narrow.
*