"fragrances" poems
I wish the flavor
from the taste
of your mouth
could last longer than our distance
and grow stronger with more resistance to time
long enough for my senses to sense your fragrances' scent
within reach of your presence
and be present enchanted by the grace of your essence
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 6:29 PM UTC
Let me take you ,
Into my fathomless fantasy.
Let me uncover , What it feels like to be the one to love.
I see our bodies pressed against each other.
Fragrances binded into one.
Lips being sober.
Adrenaline pumping it's pace over .
I sense your heartbeat against mine
And I hear everything , From the whispers to the moans and the sound of your breathe .
You loose sweat , you cry , you sleep , you care , and you love tooo?
I lay confused . I thought you did not exist for real. I thought you were made of metaphors.
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 9:20 PM UTC
sometimes when i'm asleep i hear whispers.
ghosts of all the men i let decimate my sanctuary
thinking they came to worship.
the men who came with flowers,
fragrances and exquisite offerings
who left with my sobriety.
many pieces of me are
somewhere in the world
being given as bounty to other women
expecting to be loved as i did.
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 2:13 PM UTC
She speaks in clouds,
her curves drink lost
words.
Her dress entrances.
This marketplace so full
of colour,
many fragrances merge.
I watch her dance with
gypsy jazz tones.
Olive skin and dark hair.
She beckons me forth, to
a flaming beauty.
With her clouds I
merge.
Aug 12, 2019
Aug 12, 2019 at 5:05 AM UTC
Prolog:
Foreplay opens with an aphrodisiac dubbed the mind
caressing private chambers with passion, over time
words stimulating nerve-endings for the ideal tease
like the skin dripping of honey from the nectar of bees
exploiting the fragrances of scented oils and balms
or maybe vib’ing lyrics inducing a seductive calm
compelling forces bombard the intellectual’s sanity
as the proximity of the blackhole distorts humanity
Love’s Play:
Costars entwine heated bodies for love’s embrace
as moments become endless as vectors of subspace
sporadic movements take the form of blissful spasms
while the players combine to mold a single plasm
ringing chimes fulfill the awareness with sensations
too diverse to classify for logical deliberations
yet finally, the mountaintop of cliffs can be reached
where there is no retreat and no return from its breach
Epilog:
Aftermath closes basking from the physical exertion
as two kindred spirits epitomize timeless insertion
gazing deeply into the abyss of the partner’s soul
only to find comfort and compassion ruling the role
can this be the earthly heaven that one truly beholds
written in the historic words as the heavens foretold
feelings ignite once again burning deeply within
opening yet another intriguing act, one must attend.
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 10:06 AM UTC
*Green the color of nature’s birth.
Life revolved around these hues.
O’ lover, come out here and smell the dewy grass!
Remember the times we lay under the vast sky?
In the midst of summer days,
Our names were carved in the clouds.
Unbroken and unheard, we were whole.
Sweet escape to the beautiful world!
Goodness in nature is a celebration.
Running free in the valleys and hills creates joy!
Enchanted by the rainbow after the rain,
Embraced the love and letting go of pain.
Numerous plants and countless fragrances,
Enraptured are my senses.
Remember those glorious days?
Young and wild, our lives revolved around those trees.*
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 9:57 AM UTC
It’s the beginning of the monsoons and of the week,
A clouded chilly one with the clouds blanketing the sun.
I’m struggling to get out of bed and into my daily routine,
Running late as always, there’s never time for fun.
The first rains of the season were not welcomed with a smile,
Cars, Buses and mopeds splashing and spraying water all around.
People cursing the rains and others on the roads,
Racing to the office is not as easy as it may sound.
It’s a dark dull day with no sunshine to light my path,
And the rain to rob me of the dryness I had left.
As a child I remember this being different in every way,
The rain bringing me cheer and happiness, never indulging in theft.
Stopping at a red light, all wet and soggy,
I see this small figure making way between the vehicles standing.
On every window and door she knocked with enthusiasm,
This little girl hopping around in every puddle landing.
Trying to sell the water lilies she had in her hand,
Not letting the frowns or the drops of rain her spirit lower.
She shines off all the hate and the disgust,
Through the muck and water walking to sell this pretty flower.
All of the dullness and gloom she got rid.
A smile on my face and in my heart she brought,
This little girl with those bright water lilies,
Like the flower she sold, all eyes and hearts she caught.
Bringing smiles and spreading fragrances in times so dull,
The water lily blooms in the muck and conditions degrading.
So did this little girl on this dark rainy day,
Returning cheer and happiness drained in the rain by blooming.
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 6:16 AM UTC
Have you ever spent the hours
just gazing at the stars,
contemplating all the wonders
in this universe of ours?
The beauty of each flower.
Their fragrances we smell.
The magnificence of color,
and each intricate detail.
Have you looked out at the ocean
as waves crash to the shore,
and felt the awesome power
of it’s great majestic roar?
The many colors of a rainbow
as it arc’s across the sky,
almost takes my breath away.
Is it any wonder why?
Have you sat with one you love
to watch the falling sun,
spraying rays of reddish haze
to show the day is done.
All the beauty that surrounds us
in this world whereon we trod,
is not from “Mother” nature,
but from our Father ... God.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 10:33 AM UTC
On the land molded by footsteps and ruled by obnoxiously bleached clowns,
Visited by swarms of neighborhood guttersnipes and the opulent from uptown.
Allured by the traditional Irish circus music and the grinding of rusted gears,
To arrive at dawn and to leave only when the night sky is tired of fireworks and flares.
Skittish and gleaming eyes would roll on the floor, struck by daze and lost in wonderment,
At the marvel of giant steel rides and god forsaken and socially foretoken genetic mutants.
The word of a woman with two faces and the boy with a tail would make any catholic priest run.
Amusing the rational ones, alongside the man with elastic skin and the girl with the forked tongue.
The opera lady with outlandish proportions and tumorous lips sings to break a piece of cheap glassware.
Little do people know,that the magician’s red gloves are actually stained with blood of rabbit that disappeared.
Their noses get caught in the medley of fragrances from the exotic perfumes shop,
Blended with the saccharine tang from the stall that sells candy floss and soda pops.
Indulging over the overly priced confectioneries at the stall of the baker with the forbidding grin.
Try it a hundred times,try it a thousand,you’ll never get the fifth one right in the game of rings.
People will come out screaming from the haunted house,only to laugh about it later,
Little do they know,that skeletons that drove them pale and white couldn't get any realer.
They’ll jostle and struggle to make their way through the crowd to various rides and attractions.
Hustling to navigate through the maze the carnival is, encountered by countless illusions.
And once your body wears out and senses give in,that’s when you've truly entered the carnival state of mind.
Your ears stinging ,nose stifled,tongue baffled, eyes exhausted,and your sense of judgment blinded.
That’s when my masked act begins,the most profitable act at the carnival,
Diving into the heart of the crowd,to draw an act of brilliance lasting an ephemeral.
Slithering across the crowd in a different disguise every hour,concealed by stealth.
Sneaking into every nook and corner and slipping my furtive hands into your pockets for a little bit of wealth.
Only to dine with the clowns and the carnival family at the haunted house at the end of the day.
And of course, rabbits for dinner,if the baker may
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 3:13 AM UTC
*Her perfumed essence
still fragrances the air
in her absence*
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 8:35 AM UTC
These birds of war that encircle the sky
painted dark by smoke from fires engulfing
events here: every one of them spawns
an illusion, spreading in all directions, until
no twig is untouched: everywhere only
the Mistletoe. Fragrances of the deep night
by the ford under the moon, silken hair
soft for touch under first rays of the golden
morn, images, return broken like imprints
on the ramparts; where now, those oaks
of love that sustained our passion for war?
Years sunk into the quicksands of greed,
After nine winters, now only the Mistletoe.
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 12:06 PM UTC
Preface
**When the broad mind has opened, to gaze the stars that shinning in the unfathomable skies and the glittering Nature, its flowers’ fragrances given to taste the wealthy realms of her, as well as Earth's mysteries—that I ever think of to feel and by my thoughts that spread so deep to try to work with things that sounds of ‛creative’. Here I the ‛moody soul’ started his first journey, leaving his home a few years ago and his up-start was through Literature, Science and Arts and Fiction. Writings and paintings here I believed to be most powerful and that those more often need to convey by the Artist’s conscience and the intensity that gains moral knowledge and appreciation. Here the book has the pictorial paths of Quest and the wanderings, all by imagination’s boat, sails from the western Ideas and its enthusiastic flow. Some finds hope along and also hopelessness, God and Love vagabonding among these ink-stained pages.
Dreamt in the wandering world where no chains shall bind, from the dark veiled lands to the daring spark, no atoms that obscure the force calling light, to aim the glad precious moments of life, to embrace me with a silence and its whispering magic, where gate of hope’s always open to bliss, thundering words are always from roam, the nocturnal pleasure that I only know, and when all will run away as time—why I alone in the upward steps of solitude that caressing wild only wings?
If I met Life as a strange stage of different senses—and I only say you to enjoy the aggressive fruits of my invention. Here it is for all of you can read and evaluate.**
Nithin Purple
Acknowledgement
**This book is dedicated to my parents of Love and support,
from where I got the powers to be inspired—to write and prove.
Special Thanks to Parisian Author and poet Roman Payne of
‛cultural book’ for supporting me as a writer of varying tastes. Also Writer, Wilson B Sanchez of New York, who first gave suggestions
and his valuable sparkling comments of self-improvable topics, which I always bother. Belated friend, poet and writer, Curtis Plaskon from France for his valuable support. Also Poet Timothy & Hilda from Virginia, to them I had good writing memories. And for all the Indians, this book is an open heart to read.**
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 3:06 AM UTC
Overcrowded a hollow sound
In the circumference of birdsong
Rising with the Sun
As roosters crow morning
Wake-up calls
There in Cebu / House
Full of family
Pieces of my other me
Feeding many mouths
That overcrowded feeling / not again
A nest that homes
A clutch of poor
Cuckoos
Consuming, so many babies
Paradise islands
Third world poverty
Not so far away
White man and money
A supposed land of milk & honey
Beyond the tundra snow
Bleak / must speak English
The beautiful broken
The overgrowth of crowding
it's called city life
Unlike Manila
Although artifice and hollow
Full of the fragrances
Colored by Birdsong
Oh beautiful life / I am drowning
In the thicknesses of pollutant
Mouths speaking
ill
Humanity misbegotten / Understood
We connect with nuttin'
“nothing is the cure
When nothing was wrong
With you”
Birdsong in twilight
Xylophone-stars across the ocean blue
Teeth of night
The cold chime
Befallen
In the infinite / magic of you
Oh love I let me
Overcrowd
Still this loneliness
Feels so very loud...
Then I hear / halcyon Birdsong
The soft feelings of truth
Oh love!
Oh god!
Oh my!
Goodness you.
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 12:16 PM UTC
Do I know what you are thinking?
Perhaps....
But come into my kitchen,
and let's see if this other fragrance
makes your nose swoon....
Bright red little apples,
spooned with a sweet,
slightly spicy sauce
soften,
turn pink,
exposed to quite
another
kind of heat...
And that fragrance,
well...
Close your eyes...
Yes...
That's it!
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 4:11 PM UTC
Some days I think I could love you
If the grass was green enough
If I didn't associate your musk with the flannel
I search for at every goodwill
At every thrift store
Trying them on relentlessly
Button up, button down
As if each little plaid square could shrink my ******* smaller
Stretch my back vertically
Aesthetically speaking.
Some days I think I could love you
If was smaller and wiser
If I could believe in nothing
Rather than the absence of something
Every time I close my eyes and pray once more
Beneath the shadow of the hospital-tainted shower curtain.
Some days I think I could love you
If I remember the piercing blanch
Of whiskey burning in the back of my throat
If I recall the tears in your eyes on a mid-May afternoon
Standing closely in a gravel parking lot
Telling me "See ya later" instead of goodbye
Kissing my forehead, nose, and eyes.
Some days I think I could love you
If you told me it didn't matter how prominent my collar bones are
Or that it didn't take the catalyst of pickling my insides
******* a lonely man while you were away
To make you want for me.
Some days I think I could love you
When you trace the lines of my waist
Asking me not to lose any more weight
When you tell me I'm beautiful
That you envy my heaven
When you ask to see me simply to hear my thoughts.
Some days I think I could love you
If you told me you loved me
If that alone didn't set you apart from the rest
Aligning yourself a whole in one with the others
Only greater.
Some days I think I could love you
If I couldn't recall the misshapen line
Between a large vocabulary and eloquencey
Between a man and a frightened boy
Between an eating disorder and self-motivation.
Some days, I think I might love you
If I could silence my mind of all the fragrances of adultery
If I could leap elegantly past the fear of such a concept
Without wondering how I appear to you compared to the rest.
Some days I think I could love you
If I could forget that you can't
If I could remember how to open my own hatch
Without fear, as the key
If I could remember to love myself.
Some days, I think I could love you
Some days, I believe it.
Some days, I don't.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 2:58 AM UTC
That season again; familiar fragrances:
of flowers and of emotions.
On shortening evenings
graying skies paint the earth in shades of
anticipation; Snapshots,
joyous memories, of
distant years roll out of catherine wheels
and sparkle-pots, rare
treats and new clothes
for the year; rolling wheels of time, how
loves change, people's
priorities change, events
drive everyone further and farther away.
But memories awaken
from vaults in the heart;
Familiar fragrances, blessed resurrections
always chase
all the doubters away
Yes, this season again; blessed fragrances.
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 1:06 PM UTC
His body lost temperature as he pressed himself against the chest of hers, seducing her with his love.
With his sleepy **** voice, he hums her romantic morning lullabies.
The gray walls of the room soon embosomed with gleaming hearts of their beauteous lust and speedy soft breaths, leaving nothing more but powder blushes of crimson on her flowery cheeks in the springtime dawn.
The honeyed lust in the veins lit the bodies of two lovers like candles into eternal flames of romance.
Under the chocolate brown duvets,
Milky fragrances of the tea dances along the bare hands of two lovers,
while he serves breakfast on bed to her in an old-fashioned way.
Bleak morning mist tango around the vitreous skins of scratched windows,
as fat hummingbirds' tinkling giggles paint beyond the nature's smiley meadows,
sending a major abundance of lovable freedom and glee to the people.
In the bathtub,
Velvety calyx of dreamlover rose flows smoothly through the silk water.
They shower each other and let warmth grasp their naked body.
He kissed her dancing soul of chasms out
and tie uncountable amount of butterfly knots to her pancake stomach.
His abilities of heart possessions had captured the universe's breath.
*Nothing has changed since day number one, everything is iridescent.
Everything is swimming in a magical pool of scarred perfections.*
As the sun sets to the west,
The undarkened nightfall sings lulling melodies and let its harmonic fire burn the skies.
The shadows of their love whirl out unstoppable romance that vanished away void hopes and pain.
The lover's spirits echo and echo into spring gorges and dashing rivers,
Feeding darkness with lucent fragments of light.
Oh they were only two humans in love...
Or only a size of two negligible lovedust in the mystical galaxies...
But their endless love never fails to deluge the world with drizzling tears.
A facile spark of romance can be an amazing set of fireworks that creates indiscernible fruitful happiness.
Who in the world could resist this unpredictable power of their spingtime love?
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC
Tulip blooms, she smiles
The pebbles cemented into the sidewalk
And why didn't we notice it earlier
Tulip blooms, he smiles
Piles of tulips in deep lilac
His sentiment to her.
His private messages delivered to her heart
Thank the tulips for all they do.
Tulips blooms, she smiles
When these fragrances reminded her
Tulip blooms, he smiles
Leaning on his solo path.
Spring is here.
A symbol in the journey they take
a petal for each milestone
Tulip blooms, she smiles.
Tulip blooms, he smiles
A swap role in each chapter they make
Who is trying to save them,
really, who is it? If Tulips were fragile,
like them too?
Jan 29, 2020
Jan 29, 2020 at 7:39 AM UTC
The Garden Buddha
sits
between
the
Rosemary, Dahlia and Boronia
fragrances in the breeze
Welcoming Accepting
the sun, the rain,
the star lite night sky
fierce frozen mornings
the snow when it comes,
the spiders, the slugs, the mosquitoes, the flies
Garden Buddha
quarter smile
whether or not
I sit beside him,
Unattached to all he sees
a study in the 7 Dharmas.
The Garden Buddha
being is all he knows.
While I worry
about this and that
fearful thoughts in the days and nights
all attached
to
love and loss,
fears and triumphs
births and debts,
what people think
will poems trend
whether there is food on the table
whether work will extend
whether or not I am part of the latest fashion trend.
The Garden Buddha
doesn't care or not care
about any of those things
his eyes
never waver
they always look inside out
outside in.
The Garden Buddha
stone of course
his smile
never goes away.
In the end, though,
nature will always have the last say
I can accept it
or not
Be filled with longing
suffering or accepting
life on life's terms
The Garden Buddha
will be here
long after
my last
dying day.
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 12:24 PM UTC
*When you earn love, you never treat that right
& when it walks out the barren roads
You run after the love making things clear with a pine
The gravity of universe attracts the love
For the piece of magnetic life
Your heart works upon your thoughts
And, you get lost to the pulse rated night
The life wonders. . .
When you earn love, you negotiate to feel the incense of it
& when the fragrances snicks out the world
You become desperate to drink each & every drop of bliss
Oh... So, life wonders, what's this?
Some visions, many questions
Comin' to hit you up at dusk
You living beyond the region, where there's no another sun
Sun never awaits for you to get scrolled down the sky
Moon ain't stop for you to come outta behind the light
What you've found in your hands. . .from the world
Is another “wonder to wander” to solving the puzzles of infatuated night.*
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 3:56 AM UTC
dented but not broken
in the demon dark
the deep chasms
of the wilderness
and the forgotten recess
silence from tender slumber
has awoken
the synergy of temptations
on their merry dance
sip divines peach nectar
the naked flesh and heaving chest
unleash thy sporadic vital spark
the impressed intent
of thy chosen scent
fuels the interactive nodes
neon infused electronic spasms
that echo in the dark
a subtle jowl in latent jest
as twilights nimble fingers
unbutton what remains of carefree days
and the fallen angels
with such sweet caress
to touch the mystic
unfurl the arc of your rainbow
and shine your rays
on cobbled memories
of Paris in the rain
and Tokyo Blue
hustles in the backstreets aroma
blow the cobwebs a gentle kiss
on days like this
left unchecked and laid to rest
gathered in momentums voice
and uttered as a sensual breath
the nakedness of emotion
the arcane interventions
should not be left to fade
to fill the empty space
they call the void
these technicolour moments
we've made
stumble on the waves
the fragrances of youth etched
in unedited stop motion
the contours of discovery
sparkle in the ether
the azure eyes
and the open arms
of the ocean
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 10:39 AM UTC
The chill of an autumn morning
A rising steam as the fallen leaves exhale
The lonesome trees have given up their glory
A carpet of red, yellow, orange, and brown
An overcast sky with no definition
Is but a blur
Movement indiscernible
There is wisdom in the sky, revealed to a few
The smoke of the day’s first fire ascends
Wafting its familiar fall fragrances
Brings warmth and comfort to the soul
And campsite memories of long ago
We pass the bleak and barren cornfield
Stippled with autumn’s harbingers
The Raven
They stare with the blackest of black eyes
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 7:01 AM UTC
She placed a scarf in my hand
on a cold and rainy day,
lavender lace
laden with the scent
of Oscar de la Renta.
That would be
the last of us,
I lost her on that day.
She always had a penchant
for fine fragrances,
I always had a penchant
for elusion.
I ran to hide my secrets
in a place I couldn’t be loved
and zombied along for
two decades and then some.
Occasionally
when women pass in
crowded halls or shopping malls
their trailing wake radiates
a breezy scent,
a swirling memory
of what's been lost,
a stinging pain
for that which
slipped away.
Dec 5, 2010
Dec 5, 2010 at 11:49 AM UTC