Unscented Poems | Examples

Pink petals

Pink petals filled the air
Oh what a lovey vision 
Flowing gently everywhere 
Filling the yards 
And streets as well
As gentle as angels 
Feathers they fell
Unscented and so frail
Unlike rain or snow
Or frozen hail
I felt ubiquitous 
In their wake
My breath paused
In awe for goodness sake
As if within a dome
Someone controlled 
Shaking it all
My eyes did roam
To the ground and 
Street as well
For hours pink
Petals surely fell

Smells

I do not like the smell of any
Perfume or cologne.
Unscented are the lotions
And deodorants I own.

Yet certain flowers’ scents can help
To brighten up a mood
And lovely food aromas
Can improve one’s attitude.

We all have favorite smells
And though our senses are unique,
Agreement can be reached when odors
Absolutely reek.

Scentless Flower Poetrix

Unscented flower,
made of malleable plastic
it is not a flower that can be smelled... !

Night Wind

The night wind blew
through the Judas trees
scattering their unscented flowers,
pinkish purple all around,
resembling blood 
shed on the ground 
of a small hillock
not far from another one 
called Golgotha.
That was so long ago.
A man stood there,
ruminating on past events.
Why did he have to die?


Note:  The Judas tree produces flowers first.  When all flowers are gone the leaves appear.  It's not a pleasant sight.

Movie

You return in sequences;
peripheral memories nod
like wire-sprung dipping birds.

Your ruby-dark triangle
the V of your asking,
an opiate of drenched blooms.

I am reprising scenes
cut from any official showing.

Senses lost in a long darkened cinema,
and I cannot make it back
until unscented by your ghost.

Scenes whir on
under closed eyes.

Say What You Want To Say, I Love This Land

Say what you want to say,
I love this land
From sea to shining sea
Welcoming sinners and saints.

It wasn't the indigenous Indians turning their backs
It wasn't the land that hung and dismembered us
It wasn't these shores that drowned our dreams;
The winds of change never held its breath, while
Alchemist "white supremist" dreamt up injustices to men.

Say what you want to say,
I love this land my ancestors cultivated
Here we stand transparent
Transforming market of our mind, while
Shame stood shameless
Hugged podium carved by the poor.
The silent sound of ancient tears, like 
Rivers running from debris of the enemy;
Poseidon would be pissed; drunk  with disgust
The "Transpopulantic" passage a graveyard, 
The ghost of the innocent took no hostages -
Who would build bridges to reciprocity?

Say what you want to say,
I love this land
Vast as the Atlantic Ocean;
Who will hold garden gates ajar?
Remorse is like a rose, scented or unscented.

*

Inside Garden of Anemones

Anemones are the symbols of anticipation and fragility. 

Daffy bent down suddenly, and picked a small startled white flower. “Anemone,” he said, handing it over; he made her repeat the word until she had it right. “Find me a silk to match that.”

—Emma Donoghue


INSIDE GARDEN OF ANEMONES


   inside garden —

its wiggle of ultra fine threads,

pastel blue and pink wormy stems.

   full-frontal petals, contiguous.

blossom’s cerulean, buttercup and bittersweet.

  the velvet sky, black.

            its vibrant neon flowers

      bright, float in the canvas-night,

though a few, unopened, droop

      like indian pipes.

spread of unscented paint —

   dry, flat, spurning soil,
a floral garden
   surrounded by
a golden frame.

          its wall is white.

3/12/2021
Flower or Flowers in Imagism Form
Sponsor: Constance La France

anemone — pronounced “uh nem uh nee”

Breathing Dead

Without the oxygen to feed my heart.
My lungs have no reason to do their part.
With time erasing nubile hope.
There seems no reason left to cope.

With every chance that I've been given.
I've lost desire to keep on livin'.
When unscented smoke paralyzes.
I just put on my fake disguises.

When and if has come and gone.
With every clouded new born dawn.
A soul that's left with lost regret.
For never gambling to lose the bet.

An ancient proverbial dismay.
That leaves me nothing left to say.
A stillness that has robbed my soul.
And in it's place, you see the toll.

Note: this was inspired by the posting of poems on I can't Breathe. PS. ??now I realize what I can’t breathe is about. ????

Two-Ply

Two-ply in roses of yellow and pink,
rolls and sings to the touch
of fingers on its faintly-scented folds,
giving miles of pleasure to soft seats
on hard covers all in the name of
modern convenience which sure is a change
from old catalog sheets housed in quarter-moon
outhouses on homesteads.

Two-ply greets us in grocery stores,
all the pretty ones sit on the front row,
purring at our squeeze test,
begging to be brought home,
heaven forbid if you buy the plain,
all-white single-ply which sits
on the bottom shelf looking forlorn
because of its unscented homeliness.

Two-ply dies a million deaths each day,
lost in the vortex of flushed toilets,
killing its suppleness and sweet fragrance,
headed to the deep and dark sewers waiting
to be processed in the jaws of the sewage
treatment plants which do not discriminate
against the bland, anorexic and hard-to-the-touch

Hands Off

A beautiful landscape all clustered with trees
Among the bright flowers the buzzing of bees
A babbling brook and warm summer breeze
The frolic of beavers on the cool beach sand
The air that they breathe unscented by man 
No human hands have touched this land

Look in the distance, what’s that bright gleam
Sun glinting off new shovels and axes of a ditch digging team
Man is coming to clear; then erect steel beam
Work is done at a feverish pace
The buyers are anxious to move into the place
 
The work now done has left on the site
A skyscraper shinning like a star in the night
But, the truth of this building is devastation widespread
Can’t find the brook; as it is now a dry bed
Old growth trees are cut down and dead
Birds have nowhere to give birth  
Flowers are crushed under earth
Bees are unable to find pollen of worth
The beach is now a slab of concrete
Never again to bear the beavers feet

Unscented Flowers

Interesting talk
Restate again and again
It's okay to hear 
 
Rise many issues
Forecasting hundred matters
But nothing realized
 
Fascinating tone
Wish to see the rain from clouds
But the ground stills dry  

Appealing slogans 
People notice and witness
Such a fun talk show  
 
Colorful flowers
Viewers take a deep inhale
The unscented outcome

Concave Reasoning

Concave Reasoning


he seemed a bit demented
then again, his head was dented

yet he tried his best – and meant it
once they got his head cemented

some said he was tormented
his thoughts too long fermented

inside a head once dented
yet only recently cemented

he seemed to be contented
in a world disoriented

and he never quite repented
for the thoughts he only rented

so that he could present it
mental cash – he quickly spent it

on reasoning augmented
with logic yet unscented

so his teachers all lamented
these theories he invented

after all – his head was dented
only recently cemented


©12/23/2017

submitted to – NEW YEAR STANDARD CONTEST ANY FORM OR NONE – poetry 			  contest

Unscented

Phew! What is that smell
Monsieur, tis au natural
Street crossers can tell

Cognitive Graffiti

Outcomes...
Or the consequence on account of what we do
to bring about a change that is transparent...
Time as it grows worse utters effluvium
screaming sacrifice violently inward.

Effluvium that targets the sense to hear
transparent and see unscented numb to smell
inward even further the circle of life...
Do we respond or do we watch for nothing?

Hearing the science that we vomit inward
Living the part of honesty transparent
Smelling life blossom without effluvium
not standing during man made celebration

                                              ...Basis

     Gaze upon the dark of silent detonation 
     and believe your heart.

Dancing With the Devil

Dancing With The Devil




Black postered silence as the shadows lights dance
A dark and sadistic waltz with evils romance

Unscented dead roses, bouquet of dried thorn
Grave ravens site the night sounds of drifting mourn

Underground dark chamber the evil buried listens in
A world obeys in silent decay as death craves new skin

Seen without vision for not all blind read by brail
Run for the door, jump in the elevator, next stop...

Oh! Damn it to Hell!!!!!



bmdavey@05/28/16

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