APOTHEOSIS
I found her in a dream
Of beauty, she did share
The winds eternal song
Lost, to love somewhere
Providence she was
An answer to a prayer
The Willow's weep at dawn
Loose ribbons in her hair
Patchouli softly hung
Fore-spake, a gentle air
Her fan, a rising Sun
She opened to despair
A wish, be the one
With patience, brings her here
No flower, hand, her arm
Lost, to love somewhere
Shall I never wake
Sleep take me to that place
Waters curl endless
A Lady, watches, waits
A ship which never harbours
A storm, has no escape
No letter, forward onwards
A secret, kept by fate
Still, she stares the waters
Every sailor's gait
Every face she bothers
Haunts, and hesitates
Her fan, falling, falters
The Sun, another day
Her love, forever honoured
A Lady, watches, waits
Breeze of cold.
A song titled hope.
Gulp of and urgent need for a cigarette.
Need to sniff more of heavy ylang ylang.
The itch of a pain.
A warm wind.
The soul lifting song.
Whiff of ceder smoke.
My soul soothed by patchouli.
A healing touch.
Collabotation with Jim Musics
Two of us on a sixties hippie trip
to see if our gears would slip or mesh
innocent but wary yet wide-eyed
to the Imperial city of Marrakech
she perfumed with patchouli
me I traveled totally tie-dyed
all around was peace and love
we teamed to a tee and seemed
a fit the perfect hand in glove
but not long later it was deemed
as it was commonplace to see
in the medina not strapped for cash
kif from the Rif sellers
in the souk smoking hash
the country lacked law and order
no sooner said than escorted
back to Ceuta across the border
funny now in retrospect but not then
how when we blew out on the Sirocco
tho' we hadn't gone so far as the kasbah or bazaar
were deported without ceremony from Morocco
Forest dreams as tender as a whisper
soft spoken wishes in the penumbra of night
Divinely assembled beneath a scried heaven
we live, we breathe, we follow...
The evening plants begin to respire
and the trees close up for the evening retreat.
We sit and meditate while the dusk settles in,
the candles burn surrounding us with light !
Woodland scents permeate the humid air
black orchid with notes of black truffle,
patchouli, and vanilla, rum-soaked in black.
We are never lost when we find ourselves
centered as a Buddha in the thick of light
Tibetan flutes and magical newts by the lake
each breath we take is an intake of peace
we are semi-aquatic beings in the wildlife
Forest reveries as vivid as lucid dreams of old
we stay green and pend, until we turn to gold.
Her dreadlocks were familiar as was her patchouli smell
I recognized her folk music, understood it rather well
She brought back the seventies in the sweetest way
I was thrilled to stumble upon this guitarist today
She gave me a glance, and I saw gold in her eyes.
Something ethereal about her did not give me any surprise.
I thought of the youth who tried to change the world back then.
Her music was soulful and soft, a truly wonderful win.
I invited her to supper and learned her life story of course.
She had grown up in the country with six cows and a horse.
Her story was my own, but sadder by quite a little bit.
I hugged her good-bye, knowing she would not have a fit.
Knee ‘Asia claimed she was Bohemian, but we called her hippie.
That was my folks, she told us. They were rather loose and dippy.
We saw her dwelling and changed our minds in no way whatsoever.
She lived in a communal tent in every kind of California weather.
Her clothes were loose and flowing with ruffles on her sleeve.
Patchouli was her perfume, every Christmas and New Year’s Eve.
She let any stranger linger, some stayed for months or years at a time.
Knee ‘Asia got by the best she could, and most of us agreed she was fine.
I know this might sound kind of wrong
But I am making up a ditty of a cute little song
About how hedgehog loves his smelly patchouli bong
How can I distribute it to this hippie throng?
Hedgehog is a private guy, I said.
You might be messing with his head.
I would write a song about myself instead.
Maybe about how you keep overfed.
Uncle Wilbur said Maddie was old-fashioned.
I was thinking 50’s or 60’s
He meant a throwback to the seventies.
I had not met anyone this calm since life before Woodstock.
Maddie had glazed eyes, there was a smell of patchouli.
She was blowing slow easy smoke rings.
Her blonde hair was fashioned into messy dreadlocks
Her casual cotton sundress reminded me of flour feed sacks.
I looked at Uncle Wilbur in a new light.
I had never before thought of him as a risk taker.
This one would run away with his heart.
smell of burning leaves
like patchouli in my nose
allergic sneezing
written October 3, 2021
What I’d like to give you, is an ounce of my cologne
Sweet masculine patchouli, signature of my own,
The musky smell I was wearing when we first met.
I’ll leave the memory with you with faintest regret
Somewhere in the distant past it lingers in the air,
Reminding me of a time when all our love was fair.
written September 29, 2021
Smell of Autumn in the evening dusk
Decaying leaves slowly becoming dust,
Scent of that Sixties patchouli musk
Smell of Autumn in the evening dusk.
Breezes becoming somewhat brusque
Leaves still green but tinging with rust,
Smell of Autumn in the evening dusk
Decaying leaves slowly becoming dust.
written August 1, 2021
LEST I FORGET
If I forget
What I need
I’ll come searching for you
Have the image of your sweet smile To Guide Me
When the clouds are too white
and the sky too bright
Drop the twines of your hair and I’ll climb them
Let your voice be my refuge
Your songs my deluge
And the memories of your music to bide me
If I lose all my senses
And I forget your scent
I’ll gather mountains of patchouli to remind me
I’ll Let the herbs of the ancients, the oils of the kings
Be the remnants of the history that defined us
Smile on the face or innocence on the face
is as attractive as beauty on the face.
—Amit Kalantri
Sweet Honesty
Lily of the valley,
rose and cedarwood.
Flowing,
romantic,
sweetly bells of white snow.
Ruffled scent
— slow tickle to the nose.
Woodsy,
warm bouquet
stirs the pulse of an innocent Eve
her fresh skin,
sunswept hair.
Budding honey bees need no patchouli seduction.
3/25/2021
Favorite Scents
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
~*~*~*~
on a rug, legs crossed
patchouli incense, bright, glowing
my centering island
letting go of strife
meditation's fond delight
stars smile, inner peace
12/7/2020
all senses under attack
stirred whirlwinds of exotic music
dance in tango heart and soul
aromas of patchouli myrrh and frankincense
have me floating six inches off the ground
trinkets from around the world
a mosaic oozing with mystique
exotic flair whispered in foreign dialects
cultures mingling at the market place
a mermaid chant serenading me
to seaward whimsical adventure
drifting off to faraway lands
an all too eager mind dizzy
soaking in this sizzling myriad
of flamboyant colors
and sumptuous textures
my heart regenerated
my soul ecstatic
twirls with excitement
the world indeed a global village
beauty bold of art
shared across the lands
enchantment imported overseas
mystically inspired awe
speaking to my heart
a cyclonic journey
quenching the drought
of my very soul
Read on air by invitation ~ May 26, 2020 'WORDS & MUSIC'
AP: 1st place 2022, 3rd place 2021, Honorable Mention 2022
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