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Cné May 2017
My life is full of poetry
in lyrical design
Expressions in a rhythm
that ascend and then decline.

One moment I am full of joy,
then sorrow breaks my heart.
My soul is touched by music
and the thrill that it imparts.

I love the rain, embrace the sun
and smile at winter snow.
I crave the full moon's silver light
and dance beneath the glow.

I savor sweet aromas
taking pleasure in the breeze
And love the gentle rustle,
as it passes through the trees.

Yes, poetic is the gift of life,
inspiring me to rhyme.
I'd write a million odes to it,
but I just don't have the time!
Happy Saturday
Waynepatrick Oct 2018
Bubbling of streams,swaying of trees,chirps of birds,all divine sounds heard.
Dense woods tall as can be,lianas swing from tree to tree,animals going on with glee.
Unparalleled fragrance,soothing aromas,pleasant smells and sweetish scents.
Smooth lotus leaves,rough alligator skin,slippery eels and soapy cobra's spit.
Cheerful,merry,ecstatic, thrilled,feelings of general peace.

Then an enclave,my heart,separate from all these.
JustJune Jul 2018
Rouge petals and dancing light
Aromas of the deep and caresses of feathers

Penetrating endearing gazes
Iron words and glass scripture

In quick gusts, I’m caught up
Breathlessly engulfed, all suddenly

It’s gospel

Mumbles of truth from higher dimensions
Real breakthrough in the deepest of places

The wind is gone
There is peace

There is healing here

Rest in my discovery
Comfort in my wake

Dita Oct 2018
Spines curve as sweetly as drops from a honeysuckle
Notes in a melody fill the void spaces
Gentle rushes stir like the swish of rustling leaves
Flushed as red as the cherry who’s stem is knotted
Time stolen from the hands of a frozen clock-
Still like snow fallen from a winter shower

Senses fully awaken to chase alluring aromas  
Repetitive jolts of candied sin trickle throughout the body
Electric flow in the veins sparks an extended invitation
Contagious appetite will mirror aches of desire

Surges of shock in the body join the mind and soul
Accelerating spikes in heart rate kiss private secrets
Boundless longing branded to one another
Yearning indulged by limitless exchanges of energy-
Transfers immune from harm

Pressure from oneness loosens the tremble in pleading breaths
Hands close around each hip to clench their hollows
Credible fingers drenched in admiration coat mingled skin
One is composed by the gravitation of two
Defying moonlight to surrender at an immeasurable ******

Reaching for the highest point to let go
Sharing traces of untamed wind with soaring wings
Collecting innocence altered by ecstasy
Choosing vulnerability to expose what cannot be said
Fantasies traded through the rhythm of touch
Kewayne Wadley Aug 2018
My love for you isn't just a feeling.
It's a civilization.
It's a group formed in unorganized noise.
A commotion of expression purposely existing
the sole purpose of you.
Living & breathing.
A jumbled language overheard.
Stenciled with each patter of foot.
Every horn honked.
Each lane clogged with the thought of you.
A foundation built from the ground up
in means to explore.
A stone age modernized.
Misinterpreted by the desire of fire.
Built upon.
Built into the tallest building, which I call your name.
My love for you is like the plane that flies overhead.
Roaring loud in repetition.
Tedious nooks & crannies.
Places to shop, things to see.
All the things I see when I look into your eyes.
My love for you a province of sorts.
The smell seared in a pan. Best served on a plate for two.
A mix of different pastas, vegetables.
Fried in upbeat cafe, different aromas.
The chit chat different versions of me.
Complimenting the very essence of you.
A new building erected with cranes and steel beams.
Plastered dry wall.
Soon opened for your arrival
Julio 2d
The Terran Odor of the poplar
The spicy aromas of pine and cypress
The deep mist of quebracho
The Splendid peppers
of the ñire
Fragrances of me fires
Fọlá Dec 2018
I doubt,
Therefore, I think
Therefore, I am.

I see.
I take in the colours around me.
The patterns, the lights, the rainbow.
I see the night, and the stars that glow.
I dream.
Therefore, I think.
Therefore, I am.

I smell.
The perfumes, the roses.
The stench, the rotten, the putrid.
The aromas, cooking.
The green, the forest, the trees.
I inhale,
Therefore, I think.
Therefore, I am.

I hear.
The noises. The people, the cheer.
The wails, the screams, the tears.
The rejoicing and happiness.
I hear.
Therefore, I think.
Therefore, I am.

I taste.
The sweetness, the fire.
The treats and savoury delights.
The sourness, the bitterness.
I eat,
Therefore, I think.
Therefore, I am.

I speak.
Short messages. Long speeches.
Quiet whispers. Bellowing noises.
I scream,
Therefore, I think,
Therefore, I am.

I feel.
The despair, the fear, the anguish.
The joy. The pride. The seething.
The envy, greed, and jealousy.
The cold, the heat, the shivering.
The pain, the sickness, the ageing.
I die.
Therefore, I lived.
Therefore, I was.
This poem is a spin of the famous saying by René Descartes. Enjoy.
Thomas Bodoh Nov 2018
Just another broken heart
flattened into words again,
Smearing across the pasty page
like black or blue-blotched blood again;
Just a touch of token art
with which to whip the world again;
Fearing a cross too crass to carry,
They faerie-framed their thoughts again:

Take time, took time, take time this time
To clash colors, a mix of chromas, aromas:
Molten gold, glinting, told tales this time
Of sins staining souls, a soma, a coma;
Forge phrases, four ages of metals to melt
Syllables, words, still able swords, vaunt,
Down and up high the hammer to **** her
Or him for whatever however we want

Looking for troth or truth, that thing;
Maybe by binding books we can find it.
It should never make sense, confusion is
Beauty apparently; form or frame has aged
Too sage, or something, just a splash of
Words on a page, repeat, repeat
Sounds lovely, drip, drop, break, love, hurt,
He said, she said, forever and for ever, then

Something simple, sight or sound,
Take a second, and rely
On real eyes
To realize
The real lies
We're all just
Eleni Jan 30
Serves 1

200g of room temperature lies
2 tbsp of chopped-up dreams
1/2 a bottle of wine
50ml of salted tears
300g burnt photographs


Melt the room temperature lies, until transparent. Stir in the chopped dreams, so that you can see them standing out in the rich butter of lies.

Generously pour in wine and breathe in the aromas of a dark, resinous malice. Sober the mixture with the salted tears, to make your potion more savoury for demons.

Finally, present your potion by scattering the ashes of burnt photographs. Drink immediately to enjoy the horror of your creation.
Jude kyrie Mar 28
This night's aromas are steeped in fragrance
Springtimes first blush touches my face
My heart overflows with the
heady perfumes of all things renewing.

The last touches of a winter sky
Fade in the warmth of the newness.
Above a silhouette of squawking geese
Fly in a perfect Vee formation
With the slightest of gaps
Between their outstretched wings

Springtime sends it coded signals
Rich from the memories of  eons past
to all living things to live be beautiful
Multiply and bear fruit it calls.

A night breeze stirs  my hair
Like a mother's touch.
And my spirit rejoices
At a winters death.
Just LOVE springtime
AD Mullin Nov 2018
In a meadow of wildflowers
under a warm blanket of alpine aromas,
a gusting front gives warning
of impending change yet we sit, observing
as the sun also rises into the moon's embrace
July 21, 2018
S Rose Sep 2018
Scorching was the color of toil,
As my feet carried me to and fro
And my hands carried the weight of service,
And my heart begging to be let go.

Alas, through the doors, a drifting breeze,
Filled with aromas, never before known,
And the cool colors of misty blues,
Instantly to her, all eyes were sewn.

I was greeted with the brightest smile,
Colors of a warm sunny hue,
But mystery shrouded her rosey cheeks,
A girl like her takes a table for two.

Yet there she sat, her company a book,
Although her eyes wandered often astray,
Most often at times, meeting mine in passing,
Lonely, they seemed to ask me to stay.

The words I wished I had spoken were left,
As a language conveyed through gestures,
And before I knew she was floating away,
Reminiscent of a distant messenger.

My eyes followed her step by step,
Off to the distant lapping of waves.
Shyly she joined, her soles with the water
She became one of the gifts God gave.

As I watched her blossom under the summer sky
Those deep colored eyes turned to me,
They said that she had no needs any longer,
And I seemed to know we would never be.

And she danced with the waves,
And the waves danced at her feet,

And she played in the sun,
And the sun played with her hair,

And her hair framed her face,
As the delicate portrait of nature’s beauty.
Angeliki Dec 2018
the years took its toll,
onto a dying man's heart.

A breaking body,
and a sorrowed soul..
the stress kept building up,
and the alcohol was his comfort.

Five years,
and onwards..
he would brave the storm,
and not succumb to his death.

and tastes -
he could no longer recognise,
as he lay against the bed
eyes shut and fading,
never again..
would his sight lay upon his family.
In memory of my dad.
Poetoftheway May 5
she smells (nameless and shameless)

a concoction of mixed aromas,
a once in a lifetime scent,
impossible to bottle,
impossible to name,
nameless and shameless

morning coffee, last nights vin rosé,
a come-a-little-close-tasting for the summer solstice,
the stale of the evening meals of grains and kale,
the sour remains of bedroom sweat,
the displeasing scented sight of
sweat soiled clothes carelessly discarded

the first of the season red spot stained white peonies
fail to mask the bodies aromatic musks,
which are mostly gender identifiable

my sneakers hail mary, her stockings odorize the atmosphere
most unusually, nylon and lycra are strangely familiar,
prior memorized perhaps, from deep within,
deep amidst where, the ***** linens are shelved and binned,
before they journey to the Egypt Nile of the basement waters

the burnt crumbs of illegal in-bed brioche toast
amazingly invisible on unclean sheets,
state “breakfast in bed, was yummy in the tummy,
but next time use a big dinner plate,
down here, the burnt of the bread and the burnt
of other things (caramel popcorn pieces)
is just a scratchiest fragrance too far, needing a sheet wiped clean

even the colorless and tasteless water
absorb the ionosphere of smells,
because one does usually speak poetically,
one of us makes a vice presidential declaration:

she smells, I man-ually stink, each, glower shower nower,
open the window to the spring wet grass,
exhume and send away this odor now christened,

nameless and shameless

11:47 28/4/19
Glenn Currier May 23
Now they are memories
like silver threads in a gliding tapestry
how wondrous feeling and smelling the sea breeze
the aromas and excitement of the market
the cool magnificence of the mountains
in late autumn on the brink of winter.

These travels and their newness
still dance in my head
but even now my gut clinches
remembering the effort and focus
on preparations each day.

It’s the dark side of the coin
sadly evoking shame
to even mention it
a blotch in the snow
on the marvelous trek north.

But write it I must.
I wonder if it take courage
to be pitiful in public,
but maybe that’s what poets do
undress in front of everyone.
It is the stuff of nightmares
and here I am doing just that.

On the other hand…

How sweet the peace
and routines
back home
sitting calmly writing
looking out on the back yard
the tallow trees coloring
preparing to shed a variegated carpet below.

Maybe it took travel
to help me appreciate
the beauty of
these serene moments
at home.
Written two days after our return from a glorious ten day trip from Texas to Vancouver and Whistler, British Columbia.  This  has been a draft, but I revised it and made it public today.
Captain Trips Oct 2018
An arctic smile,
pockets full of tissues,
floral aromas mingled
with talc and perfume.

The waiting.

A line forming,
A line dwindling,
bottoms finding chairs,
and you're dead.

The reading.

Crying, sniffling,
snot flying,
you can taste it
in the air.

The prayers.

It feels like
the hospitals
all over again,
but for the last time.

— The End —