Sachet Poems | Examples

Thyme and Lavender Time

Thyme and Lavender, in time to purify where Earth meets feet,
Bathed in springs, so soothing and sweet.
Nature's spirituous spices give blessings,
And they're forever making the winds refreshing.
Wise chefs blend the cauldron of spices,
Herbal passages to culinary horizons.

Kin to mint, Thyme's a delight to nature's family.
Thyme is said to guard against ancient immunity.
Aromatherapy with Thyme lifts one's mind
To realms marked by stars and roots intertwined.
Thyme's perfume sings through stones and blooms,
So gather it reverently before it enhances indoor rooms.

Lavender also smells great
On one's body or served on a plate.
In moonlight rites, it's added to the bath
As a charm for various cures of the homeopath.
It springs from the soil with other chanting plants.
Then, with maritime breeze affinity, it surely enchants.

Thyme and Lavender would float fancy-free
With Enchantresses bathing happily.
Thyme and Lavender will endure in time,
And enhance lives when added to one's paradigm.
Pleasing us each and every day,
These spices sweeten time's sachet.
They soothe us in their scented displays
In the mornings and at twilight's grand display!

Pomp and Circumstance

You sachet round the aisle

Just to seek an earnest romp

You flash your crooked smile

More of your parasitic pomp

A masher and a cad

You ever prey on their desires

Take everything they had

Then put out their friendly fires

You'll laugh your life away

You're quite the jester, yes it's true 

I've just come here today

Saying, the joke my bloke's on you

No one ever calls you friend 

Nor will ever recall your name

When you reach the bitter end

You'll know you played a losing game

No mourners will be present 

Teary-eyed beside your grave

No tender reminiscent 

No fond knick-knacks left to save

Some may find it sad indeed

But, all the same, I find it just

Time to plant another seed

One more idiot in the dust

Wishing To Be A Tangerine

"A spoonful of fantasy is often the best medicine for reality." - Poet


Somedays I'm a pale apple wishing to be a tangerine.
Fantasy focused fulfillment fondles contentment dreams.
Enthrall me free amid emerald enthused energy,
wrapped snug-complete in scented sachet sheets -
let gleaming threads golden-gloss this glorious bed.
May lyrical lilacs air link, lift and softly dance while 
harmony twists and peace dips to dazzle me.
I shiver, smile and sigh sensing the sheen of sky -
an ebony-onyx symphony sympathizing with me 
and the ground, a gushing-grass generous scene.
Somedays I'm a pale apple wishing to be a tangerine.

A Sonnet to August

I will miss you so, dear August of mine!			

When September winds blow and the days shift	
Into evening silhouettes of birds,			
Listlessly observing from trees that lift			
Long limbs, where acorns drop for squirrels to dine.	

Many smiles, passionate touches, we share.   	
In summer script, your diary’s warm words		
Shall haunt me into winter.  May your gift			
Survive when I am lonely. When I pine			

Your absent lips, your fragrant rose-strewn hair							
Or hold your sweet sachet of jasmine vine							
Under my pillow as I’m set adrift.							

Sweet August, will you tell me you’ll be true?						
Or will the Fall leaf’s shiver, silence you?

Perusing the Tea

Perusing the tea, what it brings, vitality, refreshing, or tranquility.

tea’s altruistic -
the elixir gives itself
to succor ailments

I warm leaves up when my hands and feet are icy cold. The boil arouses my expectations. The raucous kettle poured over a roomy sachet.

the tea bag’s floating -
my bobbers are on its craft
as the scent surges

My hands rejoice as they gently wrap around the cup and rebound. When the minuet knells, the unfurled dose is tossed and what remains is to be enjoyed in a calm and comfortable setting, ideally with pretty things and perhaps a nibble of treats.

lift from lace doily -
a sip of essential oils
and crumpet or two

What’s better than to sit across from special friends. The setting of a magnolia tea house or with one’s teddy bears.

little ones practice -
imagination infused
with love’s sugar cubes

Perusing the tea, what it brings, essence to our lives.

Love and Odd Similes From Song of Songs

I
Beloved
Your name is like perfume poured out
Take me away with you - let us hurry
Lover
I liken you my darling to a mare
Harnessed to one of pharaoh's chariots

II
Beloved
My lover is to me a sachet of myrhh
Resting between my breasts
Lover
How beautiful you are, my darling!
Your eyes are doves
Beloved
How handsome you are, my lover
And our bed is verdant

III
Beloved
I am a rose of Sharon, a lily of the valley
Lover
Like a lily among thorns
Is my darling among the maidens
Beloved
Like an apple tree among the trees of the forest
Is my lover among the young men
My lover is like a gazelle or a young stag

Source: Bible (NIV) CHAPTERS 1&2

October Spice

October Spice

Inspired October creates a recipe
For a sumptuous feast
A bouquet garni of paprika hued orange tupelo,
A fete of fragrant cinnamon shades in russet umber oaks,
Sprinkling tinges of savory gold in dancing ginger aspens
Then blending bits of sienna nutmeg tones to hickory,
Glazing scarlet cardamom frost on the sugar maple,
In a festival of allspiced sweet gum mixed delicacies 
A banquet fest spread out in pungent cloves of beech offerings
Autumnal master stirs up a feast of bonne bouche in sassafras tones
With a smidge of saffron dusting on sable sycamores
Tidbits of chestnut fripperies - dainty delights wearing star anise harvests -
Sachet d’Epices of magenta dyed coriander colors burning bushes burgundy
In measures reflecting eternal delight - a twirling potpourri of praise. 

9-27-21
Contest: October
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh

Thank you Jan for the inspiration!

Sweet Sachet

We live in the perfume of our sweet love each day 
Its scent adorns me with each sachet fragrant ray

Carolyn Caravanning

I've not, in truth, knowing the late Ms. Carolyn,
It might be owing I am quite late to come in;
It's when I know about her from you, dear masters,
And learn you've found in her love's true lasting treasures;
Wildfire of adore, I feel, burning in! Spreading!
As the feelings underwent by, you, tears-shedding!
=====
===
Understand, please, my forms are betraying me here,
I've forgotten all styles taught by you to endear!
See how the very thought of death makes me forget,
Each feeling I've been treasuring in my sachet!
=====
===
Sentiments that you've been sharing of her sweetly,
Indeed, you've been loving her forever fondly!
It's this makes my mad mind to tell you so sternly,
Death has succeeded in making you feel lowly!
=====
===
Carolyn is not dead! She's caravanning! Feel!
She's researching on grave and coffin, with great zeal!
When she's out, kindly, convey my wishes to her!
Ask her to compose me, rhyme on her study rare!



15 August 2021
Tributes to Carolyn Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France

No Suicide

Sadness
Like the sachet
Of a detained schoolboy
Taunt, tease, thrash, threaten, terrorize
Sadly

Sadly
Sachet full with
Colorful memories
Captivate, caress, convince, cure
Serene

Serene
Sadness gives way
Sachet memories soon
Savors secure, smoothes shines, shields, saves
Smoothly

4 August 2021

Tips On Thirukkural

Sea in a
Small pot;
Sun in a
Small dot…
Sky in a
Silhouette;
Stars in a
Sachet…
It's a stream;
It's a dream;
It's a treasure;
It's a pleasure…
Touch it once
You will feel as though
The Bible has
Taken another flow…
Words just seven
In a line;
Giving meanings
Many a million…
Meter minimum
Music many;
Murmuring of this
Makes melody…
Total Kural counts
One thousand and 
Three hundred and
Thirty poems profound…
Tamil Holy Book
As it's known;
This is an ocean whose
Depth is still unknown…

(Thirukkural – verses of wisdom - written by an ancient Tamil poet, Thiruvalluvar, was composed between 450 to 500 CE)

My Heart Doesnt Know What It Needs

trees dilly-O sing.
mellow skies surmise —
they’re not quite blue, white nor gray.

knocking in front and back —
pileated woodpeckers, shockers
with crests, crafty
to home owls and bats,
like royal courts of yore
dillydally the enemy within
mine walls.

the oaks shade their eyes,
press into my panes,
scratch during a storm,
rain on my parade.

yet, I can’t help...but adore
the pines and oaks,
ivy that wraps serpentine around bark,
wild flowers ready to leap
on ballet toes,
touch my nose with romantic scent.

so Spring,
the sachet of hidden things,
like a freeze game come to life
with intrigue, potentiality
of pairings — doves, robins,
crows and the like.

what if i could climb the tall trunk
high, below the unseen clouds —
easy does it.
my hair sailing like a pirate.
my grin foolhardy.
my heart doesn’t know what it needs.

it needs trees.

2/27/2021

Our Lady of Fatima

She made me my first reticule when I was ten years of age 
cutting an empty javex container she basketed the base   
then used her crochet to knit the yellow phentex into a purse,  
including a string to gather and hug the curve of my hand;  
In that moment , she taught me how to treasure things 
and put them inside soft places   
where they could be hidden, from the rest of the world;
My mother, my confident, my first best friend,   
stitched to my heart the memory of her actions 
as I the soakant in souled her like a kiss  
Inside the satchel I kept an Avon sachet, "basket of scented violets" 
and the memory of those blessed hands. 
If I close my eyes I can still recall the statue that sat in our living room 
Our Lady Of Fatima 
Three elective children, The Leonardi Clan" praying the rosary on plastic covered couches;   
Mom was our compass of faith, as we prayed, 
I thought of my little pouch, and all the treasures I stored inside.

October 18, 2020

Years of Play

Kid faces often changed names during my child years of play

but fun adventures same filled each child's innocence sachet

that I hope life retained to aid the adults all became one day.

Inside, games, crafts and pretend dramas made home a fun stay.

The most vibrant quests were amazingly best in nature's array.

Surely childhood play attends adulthood with youthful sway.


... CayCay
August 28, 2019

Daybreak

RISE ...


breathless, calm ...

     I face the morn ... possibility

          mists crawl 'neath gangling willows

            dew drawn from the keening hem of twilight

             spattered on green and growth like atomized sachet

            patient for the sun and its timid truths

          as I listen for the silent cry

     a new day's glory ...

soft-born.






~ 2nd Place ~  in the "Brian's Choice Y, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.

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