'smells' poems - Hello Poetry

Eye-Browz-Art Aug 2014

Inhaling.

Eye-Browz-Art Aug 2014

So close to your scent, I feel I should pay rent.
Something you will not know you smell, until a time comes when you go.
And suddenly everything smells like that.
WHAT IS THAT SMELL?
And you calculate the ingredients to the potion of that smell..
A smell you know so well..
But you can not list it's properties
You are it's only property.
A smell you can not tell the smell of.
And when we're back again the smell almost goes, it gets camp set up and lost inside my nose.
You enter the world of this smell, it's warm and it's cozy, it's familiar and almost dusty.
It smells like skin.
Which smells like nothing.
It smells like hair
Which smells like something.
It smells like breath without a particular scent.
It smells like clothes and armpits.
It smells like a sample scent of another world.
Which I am nosing around
It smells like all of your belongings and all the things that you do put into one familiar you.
It smells like sawdust, it smells like dog walking, it smells like toast, it smells like early morning, it smells of the coast, it smells of laptop, it smells of toothpaste, it smells like tents.
It smells of carpets, It smells of washing powder, It smells of your house and your power shower, It smells like Apple shampoo and all the other things that you like to do.
It smells like you.

YOU SMELL.

M Dec 2015

smell

M Dec 2015

smell

christmas lights have a smell
as does freedom, hatred, and ugliness of heart
headaches have a smell, clarity has a smell
home smells like new wood and sand,
both growing up and childhood smell like smoke,
fear smells like my sister's old bathroom
sleep smells like my mom's perfume
love is warm and smells like sleep
anxiety smells like Pure Sport Old Spice deodorant,
work smells like a gym,
familiarity smells like the locker room when the trash
hasn't been taken out,
lost love smells like grass on the lakefront,
nostalgia smells like a cappucino,
comfort in isolation smells like the fur of a dog,
purpose smells like a church,
platitudes smell like mildew,
tears smell like rotten wood but joy smells like that too,
jubilation smells like a fire crackling,
discomfort smells like that attic smell
when the Halloween decorations are taken out,
new beginnings as well as things we leave behind
smell like airports and morning dew,
risk smells like a hot tub,
liberty smells like a public pool,
a broken heart smells like the mountains,
but a healed heart smells like them too.

Mike West Dec 2016

We think Santa Smells (Sung to "We are Santa's Elves)

Mike West Dec 2016

We think Santa Smells (Sung to "We are Santa's Elves)

** ** **! ** ** **! We think Santa smells!
We think Santa smells. And he smells like hell
It's not to laugh 'cause Santa needs a bath!
Yes, we think Santa smells.
Sweating day and night, in his suite so tight.
Stop this debate 'cause it's too late.
Yes we think Santa smells.
We have had about enough of this stinky man.
We must surely formulate a bathing plan.
Santa's gone too long and the odor's strong.
Don't be a dope and grab that soap!
'Cause we think Santa smells.
(Instrumental)
We've an urgent job to do so our eyes won't tear.
Every time to us Santa Claus comes near.
We think Santa smells. And he smells like hell.
It's not to laugh 'cause Santa needs a bath.
Yes we think Santa smells.
** **!

Merry Christmas!

Shirley Antonio Jun 2019

Vagina “ The Liberation”

Shirley Antonio Jun 2019

****** “ The Liberation”

The blood in my ****** runs on the pure waters of the river
The blood in my ****** smells rotten like the person who ***** her
The blood of my life runs on the white of the cloud ...
The blood in my ****** smells like the baby I abhorred
The blood in my ****** smells like the curse of being a woman in the world without equality
The blood in my ****** smells like the mouths of women stifling rights
The blood in my ****** smells like ***** girls
The one of my life smells bad like the men who force their daughters to marry
The blood in my ****** smells like *** of ****** exploitation
The blood in my ****** smells bad like pedophiles.
The blood in my ****** smells the future. The blood in my ****** is female liberation.

#feminist #****** #women #power #liberation #**** #future #blood #smells #supremacy

Kitt Jul 2017

Scentsation

Kitt Jul 2017

Scentsation

It smells like first love
Says the perfume bottle
Smells like true love
Says the bath bomb

What does first love smell like?
First love smells like rain
The heavy scent of the air
Before a thunderstorm

True love smells like cookies
Baking in the background
And a rich *** of coffee
Brewing from fresh beans

And of cinnamon in hot chocolate
And lavender, like my lotion
And spice, like his deodorant

First love smells lightly of sweat
Because you're nervous
True love smells like tears
Because it's never a dry-eyed affair

It smells like the flowers
Of the wedding bouquet
And the crimson and white
Christmas flower display

First love smells like body spray
Slathered on to hide the sweat
True love smells natural
Bad breath in the morning
And yet fine
Because it's theirs.

First love turns to sweet summers' air
Vanished with August's last week
True love kisses the scents
Both foul and fair
That break upon my cheek.

2014

#smells #scents #senses #sense #love #innocence #life #marriage

a kind of nostalgia Jan 2012

Triggers

a kind of nostalgia Jan 2012

Triggers

It smells like snow.
The air whips crisply through
her lungs as she inhales.

It smells like new parchment.
The excitement of a new book
just waiting to be read.

It smells like Christmas.
Brings her back to when
even Santa Claus was real.

It smells like horses.
They always make her
feel completely free.

It smells like nostalgia,
      brings the memories back.

It smells like regret,
      pain follows each breathe.

It smells like fear,
      that she had but one chance.

It smells like hope.*
That fickle friend
    promises to catch her,
        but still lets her fall.

And now
It smells like you.
So full of the past
that I wish my lungs
                               would
                                      stop.

Copyright © Claire Shelton 2012

Trying to explore all the senses, not just the obvious sight and sound.

brokenperfection Aug 2014

Leather

brokenperfection Aug 2014

Leather

my favorite material
rich, luxurious, deep
cigars and a musky afterglow
your man's warmest sweater
he smells like the earth
he smells like lust
he smells like leather

my favorite material
*******, bedroom, broken
lay me in a vice grip and
force me to inhale
it smells like love
it smells like I'm centered
it smells like leather

#love #lust #**** #leather

s Oct 2014

Don't Fall In Love With A Boy Who Smells Like Winter

s Oct 2014

Don't Fall In Love With A Boy Who Smells Like Winter

don't fall in love with a boy
who smells like winter
because all he had is
frozen heart and cold soul

don't put your high hopes with a boy
who smells like winter
don't. you. ever.
because he just love a girl
who smells like spring
the one who are melting for
the one who keep him warm
even in the 0 degrees

don't you ever
fall in love
or put your high hopes
with a boy who smells like winter
because he will never love a girl
who smells like autumn

whenever I write a love poetry I just didn't know for who it is. I've never been in love and i thought that I don't want to, but the feelings is here. it's in here, in me, in my soul and I can't deny it.

#love #poetry #man #heart #girl #winter #spring #autumn #loving #touches

Slightly Lovely Dec 2018

To you, the friends

Slightly Lovely Dec 2018

To you, the friends

You, the boy with the large flannels and red hair,
You the boy with the puffy eyes and soft hugs,
The boy I don’t know well yet but already love,
The boy who smells of fallen leaves and cinnamon
You haven’t been in my world very long, but when I see you it makes my day
All the dumb jokes, easy smiles, and quiet understandings,
All of your soft affections are why I wish we were closer.

You, the girl with the high skirts and the curves,
You, the girl with tights and cat sweaters,
The girl who I wish for when I feel desperate, when I need a hug,
The girl who smells of floral air, of clean soap.
You provided a comfort I didn’t know I needed,
All the kisses on my cheek, the soft embraces and the warm intertwining of fingers,
All these things are why I’m so grateful I met you.

You the boy with the yellow beanie and the inked hands,
You, the boy who’s always laughing to scare away the sadness,
The boy who taught me the importance of acceptance,
The boy who smells of marshmallows and smoke.
You made me realize that there’s more to life than good grades and church,
All those deep conversations, the uncontrolled laughter, and the love for your friend group,
All these moments are all the reasons I’m so glad we’re friends.

You the girl with the long legs and the monotone clothes,
You, the girl with the elegant figure and the ever changing hair,
The girl who has always been there,
The girl who smells of pine needles and tea,
You who always knows, and is closer to me than anyone,
All those inside jokes, soul sharing and constant support,
All this love is why I’m still here…

You, the boy with mocha skin and the dark eyes,
You, the boy with the charming personality and intimidating anger,
The boy who I wish I knew better,
The boy who smells like the dark clouds before a rainstorm,
You are unknown to me, but when you smile at me it makes my heart warm with motherly love,
All the kind remarks, humorous glances and small blushes
All of your characteristics make me yearn for a longer conversation.

You, the girl with the blonde curls and bold eyes,
You, the girl with the shared silence and the quiet mouth,
The girl who I rant to, the one who shares my book loving nature
The girl who will squeal over Harry Potter, and talk at the perfect times.
The girl who smells of new books and ocean spray,
You make me regret my too timid nature, make me wish we had started our friendship earlier,
All the random topics, long rants and knowing looks
All of your endearing quirks are why I hope you never leave

You, the boy with the great style and fun hair,
You, the boy who is so extra and yet still calming,
The boy I can always hug and who always jokes,
The boy who lives in an unknown world of pop culture and makeup,
The one who smells of tree bark and bubbly cologne
You remind me of my brother, bringing with you familiarity and laughter,
All your performances, loud exclamations and soft conversations,
All aspects of you make me glad I got the ***** to make friends

You, the girl with the speckled face and brown eyes,
You, the girl with sass and snark
The girl who was always kind, and is always up for a conversation,
The girl willing to talk about everything and nothing at all
You who smells of softly tread dirt and new life,
All your pretty pictures, moments of comisory, and kind words,
All these things are why you make me smile

I'll probably add on to this later

#i #love #my #friends

RA Mar 2014

My Own Peculiar Brand Of Perfume

RA Mar 2014

My Own Peculiar Brand Of Perfume

I could know any of them
in a dark room, eyes
blindfolded, hands
tied. How, you ask?

One of them smells
like fresh laundry, warm, like hugs, a tinge
of unshed tears, a safe place
to sleep. She smells like home more
than anywhere I've been, when I can catch
her smell. I have breathed this
in for so long, sometimes
it eludes me, the way I
cannot scent myself, for
an abundance of familiarity.

It feel traitorous to try
and describe how
a second smells, that
when she will never
understand, but she
smells like spontaneous gifts
of friendship, and
long sunlit days, she smells
so much of herself
I could never imagine
her differently.

Yet another scents the air
in such a way I
feel my lungs are
bloomings, and yet are somehow
contricting, like I cannot draw
enough of this air,
to breathe so deeply as
I need. He smells
of an accomplishment
hard-won, but worth
every step of the way, though
there is a hidden
bite, a concealed
sharpness, an almost imperceptible tang.

I cannot begin to think
how to explain the intriguing way
another smells, as I cannot quite
place my finger
on it. Much like
its owner, her aroma
is a woven tapestry, and so
we see the complete
product, but never
the individual
threads, a perfect
work of art.

And lastly, the one
who often seems
to have no smell
at all. Spend
some time around him, however,
teach your lungs how
to sense his
presence, and you will notice
he does not smell flashy
or bright, his smell
is constructed
of strong undertones, complimenting
and supporting
everyone else, comforting like
some people's idea
of god.

Sometimes I think
if I could have my own
particular brand of perfume
all the time, I
would be invincible.

March 13, 2014
12:15 AM

T. S. Eliot Jul 2009

Rhapsody On A Windy Night

T. S. Eliot

Rhapsody On A Windy Night

Twelve o’clock.
Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
Whispering lunar incantations
Dissolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations,
Its divisions and precisions,
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a fatalistic drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.

Half-past one,
The street lamp sputtered,
The street lamp muttered,
The street lamp said, ‘Regard that woman
Who hesitates towards you in the light of the door
Which opens on her like a grin.
You see the border of her dress
Is torn and stained with sand,
And you see the corner of her eye
Twists like a crooked pin.’

The memory throws up high and dry
A crowd of twisted things;
A twisted branch upon the beach
Eaten smooth, and polished
As if the world gave up
The secret of its skeleton,
Stiff and white.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.

Half-past two,
The street lamp said,
‘Remark the cat which flattens itself in the gutter,
Slips out its tongue
And devours a morsel of rancid butter.’
So the hand of a child, automatic,
Slipped out and pocketed a toy that was running along the quay.
I could see nothing behind that child’s eye.
I have seen eyes in the street
Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
And a crab one afternoon in a pool,
An old crab with barnacles on his back,
Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.

Half-past three,
The lamp sputtered,
The lamp muttered in the dark.

The lamp hummed:
‘Regard the moon,
La lune ne garde aucune rancune,
She winks a feeble eye,
She smiles into corners.
She smoothes the hair of the grass.
The moon has lost her memory.
A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone
With all the old nocturnal smells
That cross and cross across her brain.’
The reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of chestnuts in the streets,
And female smells in shuttered rooms,
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars.’

The lamp said,
‘Four o’clock,
Here is the number on the door.
Memory!
You have the key,
The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair,
Mount.
The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,
Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life.’

The last twist of the knife.

— The End —