Sachets Poems

Bottled Vinegar

In these days of austerity
It’s getting to be a treat
To go out for a few pints
And have a bite to eat,
So, Please Mr Pub Landlord
Grant me just a little wish
Bring back the vinegar bottle
So I can splash me bit of fish.

Those little plastic sachets
You’ve generously placed there
Supposedly have perforation
But they just refuse  tear.
I need that essential liquid 
Over me chips and  cod
To transpose it from wonderful
To meal fit for a demi god.
 
I sit there by the mimute
Growing more and more tense
Looking at the pile of sachets
That just won’t dispense 
In despair I eat my meal
Before it grows cold
But it’s just not the same 
Without that liquid of gold.

I shall add that designer to 
That list of those folk that
I’d like to meet in a dark alley
When I’ve got  my baseball bat
A pox on the plastics industry
Once thought a packaging solution
Now a source of anger and despair
And the growing oceanic pollution.

I’m just a simple type of being
So many modern things I hate
Just give me fish and taties
Hot, served on a real plate
And I reall dont think that 
I’m asking rather a lot
For vinegar in a real bottle
And salt and pepper in a pot.

Grumping

There’s fish and chips on the table 
It’s lovely and all piping hot
Sauce and vinegar was in bottles
Salt and pepper  each in its pot.
Now it’s laid out on the table
Driving me more and more to despair
It’s in individual little sachets
And some of them won’t tear.

My fish and chips lie uneaten
And they’re rapidly losing heat
Without a splash of vinegar
Their  taste just isn’t complete.
Stuff just poured out of bottles
Didn’t give me the despair
Of wrestling with plastic satchels
That  just won’t bloody tear

There’s designers and designers
Each in a field of their own
And I’m sorry if I’m grumpy
And ever ready to have a moan
But there is this little saw
That’s Quite frequently spoken
Just don’t  try and fix a thing
 If the original ain’t broken.

Familiar Ghost

familiar ghost in her house
gave off an odor of lilacs
Jean took comfort in this visitor
Believing her to be benevolent and loving
perhaps she was her Great Aunt Eunice
or her Grandma Pat
They both wore lilac
and kept sachets in their dresser drawers

Jean woke up abruptly at two a.m.
What was that noise?
her spirit guide was a woman dressed in gauzy white
she was sitting on the edge of her bed
and she was translucent
she smiled and faded away
it was a good-bye
Jean did not recognize her
but knew she would see her in heaven
for she instantly knew she was her spirit guide

Foundations

5AM the haywire of light
you've framed the vista 
from your frosty window
Stacked sachets  of cos lettuces
ponder for an outcome growth
Whence the day of blossom

Salvation is always a cost
Once you rode the world
but now you're part of the pack
eager for their morsels

Talk is easy
like hanging fire
Blackened clichés parade
You straddle the foundations
for the fear of listening 
to your own sage
unfold in your mind!

Secret of My Desire

Quote: "From deep within my heart
I always catch the scent of my Beloved.
How can I help but follow that fragrance?"  By Rumi

She, an inhale of perfume on a summer day vacant as the scent of rain 
when she passes by, every flower mutes and bows to her aerial adventure 
truth be told she is the secret of my desire and she drives me quite insane 
when she dances the world stands still witnessing our private indenture 
she is the compote of my sweet thoughts, the reason I believe in love 

Her aroma a signature of passion, an undescriptive calling  to my senses 
when she sachets my way every star of heaven releases light from up above 
she disarms me with her smile and disarms all my defenses 
a bouquet of wild flowers in the garden of my dreams , a fantasy of love
she is the H in my big heart and the T of my tomorrows 

From deep within my heart I catch the scent of my favorite flower 
she is my best loved poem and sensation, she's my girl power.    


July 15, 2022 
Sponsor	Sotto Poet
Contest Name	Rhyme Rumi Quote

Purple Haze

Fields of lavender so divine
Withstand the test of endless time
Year by year with purple hue
Magical moment's fragrant debut.

Spray of lavender in linen chest
Between clean sheets summer pressed
Muslin sachets tied with bow
Lovely fragrant after-glow.

Redolent fields in purple haze
Sublime, serene will amaze
Fragrant harvest bringing pleasure
Simple lavender~perfumed treasure.



Purple Flowers
Poetry Contest
Sponsored 
by: 
Nayda Ivette Negron Flores
02/06/2022



Watercolour painting by: Karen Arnold
Public Domain

Calm Needed

Not for any contest.

The large airplane wobbled slightly,
Someone just screamed impolitely.
An announcement urged all for calm,
Lying was she without a qualm.

The airplane wobbled scarily,
Outside a storm raged terribly.
In vain the speaker asked for calm,
Someone began to pray a Psalm.

The first pilot announced his plight
Ordered someone switch off the light.
Bags and sachets put on the ground,
Seat belts a must, no change around.

A quick landing was now a must,
All in God had to pray and trust.
Luckily a large field spotted.
The plane landed, all exhausted.

Whispering Wings

Quote: Don't let the lilacs die without a touch of sweet perfume 
send forth, from life to grave  

She scented her wings with a powdery substance of lilac 
then parachuted to earth tipping her scissions
with utmost precision;
Stardust fell across his cupid cheek but he did not rouse  
talcum scent of baby powder mingled with sweet sachets 
alighting gently like the moon when discerning the sky; 

With whispering wings wrapped snuggly  
she leaned over his tiny body then whispered,    
" go ahead,... live "  

January 14, 2022

Fine Dining On Air France

We’re monopolized by the Saran-wrapped food,
the plastic cutlery,
absorbed by the clutter of the food tray.

Numbed by hours of jiggling,
the carting of torpid bodies through interminable distance,
we’re wedged now into boredom, uncomfortably numb.

Anesthetized – we fear nothing.
If the aircraft stalls, few will scream.
We’ll keep decanting small bottles of vin de table,
butter buns.

As the aircraft plummets
and drops like a stone to certain death
we’ll still be struggling with condiment sachets,
coffee creamers, with small, molded cruets

oblivious now to anything less important.

Hide and Seek of Nature

Flowers were snoring with sweet dreams,
When the Sun's fingers woke them up;
A symphony of birds-chorus,
Like a concert, seemed to thrill up...

Amidst summer's severe staring,
Rain opened his tap so softly;
A Ray-gleam joyously wetting…
The breeze seemed to wipe her gently...

Storm's wretched hand at such juncture,
Snatched the small sachets of roses;
Leaving the sunshine and shower,
Lay cuddling into bird's nestles...

Thunder smashed the sky; lightings laughed;
Bamboos kissed and the flutes giggled;
Weddings of clouds and vapors blessed;
Heat flew fear-filled, dreams unfulfilled.

========

O Nature! Play this 'hide-and-seek',
With my soul when she's sorrowful;
That she might reach joy's highest peak,
And dwell there, forever, blissful...

“Let the floods clap their hands; let the hills sing together for joy”
(Psalms 98:8)


23 May 2021
Personification Poem 150 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger

A Sunny Afternoon In My Country

On a sunny afternoon in my country...
With the hope of receiving alert for the new minimum wage in my dreams
I decided to sleep knowing it was a sunny afternoon 
Everything was hot and could not have been made cool no matter how many consumed ice creams

NEPA people even after privatization have refused to bring constant power supply 
And so, I was left to swim in my salty sweat
You can imagine such a punishment for a young man trying to survive in a very hard economy of no sure employment opportunities
Except you know a person that knows a person wey sabi another person for that place 
Like that was not enough within that space

Decided to take a stroll down the street 
Just to get some sachets of sweet
Unfortunately the owner was just opening 
And had to wait a whooping ten or more minutes for her to open her shop. Why?
There were more than eight solid padlocks to be unlocked  for her shop to be opened in a country where all the security forces recruit on yearly basis

The afternoon was short but the experiences lasted longer than the roads being constructed in my lovely country
Just me satirically reflecting on a sunny afternoon in my country.

©ABSOL

Fine Dining On Air France

We are monopolized
by the Saran-wrapped food,
the plastic cutlery;
absorbed by the clutter
of the crowded food tray.

Numbed by hours of jiggling,
the carting of torpid bodies
through interminable distance,
we’re wedged now into boredom.

Anesthetized – we fear nothing.
If the aircraft stalls,
few will scream.
We’ll keep decanting
small bottles of vin de table.
We must butter those buns.

As the aircraft plummets
earthward,
we’ll continue to struggle
with condiment sachets,
coffee creamers,
with small molded cruets.

Nuptially Content Is What I Am

Luminous as a star jointed at the seam with darkly hue, it 
Imbibes the centipede of heaven's bliss and then releases  
Quizinary scents of blueberry sachets. Permeating the night  
Undulating it to motion with liquid verbosity it is light itself   
Invigorated by the ocean sprays , it tells my fingers to    
Do the math, " I am as moon as the star is star " it says    

Legendary as a module of the starry sky it enhances and 
Umpires the realm of my sweet imagination 
Nuptially, it marries me in and inspires me to 
Amalgamate myself to its lustre and twinkle  

Laces of light emit from far and wide, she is clandestine  
Alleviating all my worries for another day.   I am a mere spectator
Clinging to the notion that some day I will join her crescent  
Endearing me to her heart, she is my lantern in the night...

March 6, 2019

Unforgettable

When fragrances of candles and sachets
	come wafting to me as I shop, I close
	my eyes a moment, think of childhood days,
	and smile. I loved the sachets Mama chose
	to place in drawers—lavender and rose.

	Preparing grandkids’ breakfast takes me back
	to lovely scents of childhood. I recall
	those sausages and yummy golden stacks
	of flapjacks Mama fixed. Down our short hall,
	I hurried to be served. I never stalled!


written February 18, 2018, for Sara Kendrick's contest

The Collection

Arm piece;
Piece of glamor;
A bedazzling jewel.

Parade of fancy flesh.
Kind to his eyes.
Soft to his touch.

Mindless merchandise
Fallen breast.
Eyes swollen;
Damaged by
Reckless owner.

Invested in the flesh.
He has stashed away
Yesterday’s
Pleasures
numerically.

Stored
in backroom boxes
Of subfuscous
treasures.
Women
Tucked away
As for yesterday’s booty.
Serves now but as an
Unattractive prize;
Weighed with eyes’.
and lustful hearts.

For her, no fresh start.
Ahh!, but for him
New glitter sachets;
As she parades
In her fine attire.

She has appealed 
to his recent desires.
Maids and maidens’
He added them;
Subtracted, them
From the human collection.

Once attractive royalty,;
No longer appealing.
Pleasures weighed
By false measures.

Determined by a heart, 
“wholly without loyalty”.
whose fault?
I say…
“Her fault totally”.

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