I step beyond my front door, shoes brushing dew
And the air is crisp, familiar-something old, something new.
The sky unfolds in pale gold, the sparrows sing the same tune,
And I swear, I've wandered here before, beneath the waking moon.
Sunlight dapples over lawns just as it always does,
Neighbors wave, dogs bark, the world's gentle hum abuzz.
Every scent, each rustle, is a whisper from the past:
The rustling trees greet me-echoes that forever last.
My feet trace the sidewalk cracks, memory's soft parade,
I know the way the breeze feels, the shifting light and shade.
Deja vu in every heartbeat, in every glance I steal-
It seems, like yesterday, this day was wholly real.
Yet, as I wander outward, with wonder and with grace,
I find new meaning hidden in every time-worn place.
Perhaps I've lived this day before, or dreamed it in the night,
But outside, in the morning sun, the world feels just as right.
In my eyes, alive I see
A place I wish to be.
In my eyes, alive I see
A way I wish for me.
To be alive and to know
My friends as friends go,
To face my way and then
Conquer my fate again and again.
Eating your leafy words
Is wise,
Not absurd,
Not a vitamin guise.
Sweet logorrhea of crimson carrots
And great golden potatoes
With blueberry beauties
Nibbling newborn walnuts.
Sage sachets invoke lucid lentils lore,
Rosy resonance forevermore.
The tastiest side salad awaits
With vanilla visions for all my mates.
I'm coherently linking leafy greens,
A poet's realm of vegetable things.
Linking lavender to raspberry resonance,
Merry mustard seeds, and petite pumpkins.
Starlit sunflower seeds are swirling
While the ivory cauliflower is boiling,
And raspberries on broomsticks baffle
The mischievous umber mushrooms.
Those who eat dinner with me
Will digest split pea poetry,
A discerning dinner with glee,
Filling our carefree cups with timeless tea.
Morning Beautiful
Morning beautiful.
What did you say?
I was unable to hear,
As I was lost in your spheres,
Like I have been for a thousand years.
And if you ever need me near,
I’ll be right here with open ears.
(C)2025 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Written: September 15, 2025, for a contest sponsored by John Lawless
*********
Perhaps it was never love—
just a fipple of breath in velvet dusk,
a suction of names unspoken,
burnished by the stygian hush
between your glance and mine.
Perhaps the ossuary sang first—
an aria of alabaster bones,
each note a necrotic lullaby.
We writhed in the molten ache,
palliating truth with ephemera,
inveigled by the aureate hush
of what we dared not name.
Perhaps this is the Desideratum—
a triptych of sacred forgetting,
Lethe in a chalice of dedication,
The hex of hope is still undulating
beneath our slack-jawed silence.
Winds of honest scented
insistence glided my wings
through life’s many dramas.
Raw breezes fragrantly
touched my unsure skin
with soothing perfumes
promising my faith was
not errantly consumed.
I thought, go until I had it,
not go until the path quit
without signs I had tried.
I imagined a target future
sat for my eventual,
precisely aimed, bullseye.
That’s a notion I did covet,
even leaned it towards perfect.
If bottled, wind's cologne could
release sachets of peace to
waft serene blends upon and
through times of disquietude.
Your glance thrills deep to my marrow,
As if struck by love’s tingling arrow
Today I met Elvis
Not one who have left the building
The apple sometimes fall far from the tree
But he played to the crowd
Hands on to the ladies
My left foot kept the time
And he was older than 42
There’s a quietness in the shadows.
A lonely place where sadness grows.
A place in time where my mind goes.
Thoughts and memories are my foes.
But I have learned to not resist,
for when I do, they just persist.
I used to fight; I’d clinch my fist.
Shadow boxing, I always missed.
Meditating on dark and light,
it came to me I shouldn’t fight.
Brightest light or dark as the night,
their contrast gives us better sight.
The reason for simplicity,
to deal with life’s complexity.
Ornate and half-full; the emptiness full of her scent.
Gentle wrists above soft hands,
with perfume’s disappearing sands.
Captured see-through embody;
an immovable body.
The dust gently swept away,
whilst ebb and flow of tears sway.
Purple urn does not consume;
she sleeps sans warm floral bloom.
Ornate and half-full; the emptiness full of her scent.
Blithe lift and douse of precious moments before ascent,
to pulse points of my mother;
romantic kiss of father.
The ring on her hand a splash;
Diamond spills heart throbbing ash.
Still, the soul ne’er sweetened better;
Scent was not a Dear John letter.
La Vie Est Belle Rose, does dare
to linger, last, propel, and share.
Blithe lift and douse of precious moments, before ascent.
A perfume bottle’s shape and size may dictate what you buy.
So pretty and so colourful all pleasing to our eye.
But then again it will depend on contents, and its smell.
A little sniff that we all take, is often how we tell.
Some perfumes that we really like, are ones we use each day.
A quirt upon our neck and wrist, is mostly where we spray.
Ensuring then we do replace the perfume bottle lid.
So, the perfume does not dry up, a crime we must forbid.
Our perfume bottles have their place, look pretty in a row.
So lovely that we feel we must, put them all on show.
But when the perfume does run out, the bottles rarely keep.
Instead, we buy another one, on special when it’s cheap!
Most perfumes cost a fortune, cannot believe their price.
Upon the shelf they beckon us, in bottles looking nice.
Designer brands, like Cartier, Lancome, Dior, Chanel
Attractive to our senses, they all have a lovely smell.
So yes, I do like perfume, many bottles I do own.
A perfume tragic I’ll remain; have even tried Cologne.
I feel complete, with a squirt, a different one each day.
Then replace the lid quite firmly, so I don't lose my spray.
Glass vial brimming
with distilled desire waiting
to be vaporized
on warm skin to fire the want
with scent of blooming flowers
Hollow taint remains
a genie swirls from the rub
whiff evaporates
hope lingers in the remnants
of what the genie scent sang
I feel like I’m running for my life.
Never a single moment of stopping.
Constantly on the go, as if I tripled my caffeine intake.
Feeling as if I’m being chased by a cheetah, barely escaping the kill.
That constant feeling of doom towering over me.
I just need a moment.
Toddlers learn to walk.
Only then, they learn to talk,
Testing me with jolting squawk!
Fall is a flavorful time of year,
with pumpkin spice scents everywhere.
Specific Types of Senses Poems
Definition | What is Senses in Poetry?
Poems Related to Senses
impression, taste, sensitivity, feel, touch, sensibility, function, sensation, hearing, sight, faculty, smell, kinesthesia, impression, atmosphere, feel, intelligence, insight, mind, imagination, wit, recognition, knowledge, sentiment, common sense, ability, mentality, wisdom, appreciation, understanding, judgment,