The Perfume Bottle Poetry Contest Entry
The Perfume Bottle
Lalique. Baccarat. Dior.
Crystal. Glass. Or something more.
Objets d'art in any tongue,
Be they old or be they young.
The bottle is not all, not so,
What it holds sets hearts aglow,
And rouses passion in one’s breast
Does it matter how scent is dressed?
To be sure it does my friend,
Without the bottle how would it end?
Drained upon the parlor floor,
Never to enhance amour.
What a waste that would be,
I think on this we can agree,
With the bottle there is no alarm,
Plus, it lends its own true charm.
Luxurious design in practicality,
That’s the perfume bottle to me.
So celebrate perfume’s sweet scent,
But it’s only the bottle’s… content.
eap(eep) is a list cinquain where L1 is a statement followed by rhymed L2-5 that amplify the statment with words introduced by 'in the' by the ' of the'.I labelled this an eap after Edgar Allan Poe as it is inspired by sililoqy in this format in the conclusion of his essay Poetic Principle.
A couple of examples -
eap-BEAUTY
A poet see beauty:
in the field of corn
in the mist-filled dawn
in the face care-worn
in the image still-born
eap -ART
The artist creates art:
with the portrait passe
in the still life display
of the abstract soufle
in the objets trouve
A STUDY IN VIOLET
This treasure house of objets d’art
Littered with plots and storylines
A room encrusted with jewels of history
Inviolate – and undisturbed.
Over there, a military tunic
Blue – and in such fine condition.
Pale lapels perhaps too remote or innocent
Of its vile ‘let them have it’ past.
Here, an abandoned symphony
Black notes pebbledash the page.
Written for that ancient violin, no…
Viol. Late Belle Epoch I think.
That leather book I recognise
An ancient asset register.
And with such work of reference
Identify - a little more.
A philtre or monk’s cure perhaps.
Or poison, used to sway an empire.
Something forensic science may analyse
This phial – let it keep its secret.
Here, a scroll. Homeric tragedy?
Greek, according to the words.
Those old strange symbols, faded now
A ‘Phi’ or letter ‘P’ – I’m sure.
I cannot touch nor be considered
A robber, loose in a dusty tomb.
Caught in the torchlight, gold in hand
Say ‘Fie!’ – or let him go.
This treasure is too much for anyone
To really own. To hide away.
Bequeathed to me but never really mine.
Something Auntie Violet always knew.
The artist creates art:
with the portrait passe
in the still life display
of the abstract soufle
in the objets trouve
Why not try one of these yourself in my latest contes 'RHYME TIME'