"redolence" poems
mirrored fly-glass
and polished chrome
are tinted
in the blood orange dawn
running dogs of lummi
hush quiet
on this celestial
summer morn
clubman bars
and tan saddles
strapped to
the lowered hind
skull caps
and fitted chaps
for the open flow
and rich peripheral scene
concessions at the peace arch
(from the blue-coat fuzz)
black *****
and maples
cake the bow hill
and chuckanut
choppers launch
at edison
(with their metal fleck
and tuft)
a half moon rises
on the concho
and interstellar cross
cinnamon gulls
and ravens
scour the netted docks
warlock driftwood
and row homes
spot the winding
coastal roads
rumbling sounds
at the packer slew ~
with the redolence
of briny bay
alive
on the overlook
at fairhaven
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 5:55 PM UTC
the scent of incense mixed with rain is diluting the redolence of missing you, but not matter how many stormy nights i spending reading and listening and trying to find contentment in silence and simplicity, i will forever see your name between every line, hear your voice in every song, feel the absence of your presence in every moment spent alone. you are with me, you are with me, you are with me. you are always with me.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 10:21 PM UTC
Sometimes I hear a whisper,
The slightest hum of her voice,
Eyes scavenge the plains before me,
For a glimmer of her,
For a glimmer of hope,
Alas! There is none,
Nothing but the thoughts of a melancholic mind.
Sometimes the wind carries a fragrance,
Redolence of our past embrace,
Lips spread to call out her name,
For a sight of her,
For a sight of love,
Alas! There is none,
Nothing but the thoughts of a melancholic mind.
Sep 6, 2022
Sep 6, 2022 at 9:41 AM UTC
treacherously torrid and torrential torrents of totally tangential tumultuous tortuous ; tyrannically torturous adjunct viably salient seethe.
procrastinating pandemic plenipotentiary prosthesis ; prosaically pragmatic parenthetical predication predilection premise prognostication
panoramic tableau preternatural propensity proclivity prestidigitation gesticulation :
gyration guidon ; ghastly gruesome grotesque hideously horrible horrendous heinous
grotty gnarly
diabolically maniacal dementia brusque macabre abrupt
awful
amalgamated anathema analysis agnate aggregate aberrance
somatalogy virtuoso cognate obduracy
worse
rudiment ebullience , confluence effluent effusion affluent , prolific profusity opulence , cogent fecund secular secund , recondite redolence abstrusely obstreperous mesomerism resonance resilience
protractive perpetude futurity
blither blandishing blabber burnishing boresome blahs
lithe blithe jabber prattle chatter tithe
morose morsel moribundness
stolid stoic
stalwart bastion bulwark
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
Rays set to illuminate her left
Making her form a black silhouette
As she twirls with ribbons in her hair
The sun gives her gold curls a halo
Giving her sea eyes more life to drown you
She turns and flashes you a last smile
Night wind blows her redolence toward you
Wrapping you in living desire
As she dances into the darkness
The moon scoffs at your loss your impulse
Passion to rage as you’ve lost her again
You storm out of the moons mocking light
Laughter sets way to the teasing sun
Seething with angst, desire for dusk
Racing to the cliff waiting for her
The sun setting behind the sea line
Then fireflies light your bitter green eyes
As they linger on the clear cold sky
Waves jump to kiss the maiden goodnight
Blushing the azure sky fire red
Out of the sun she appears dancing
She smiles, laughs and winds around you
Lingering behind you taunting you
Tying, lashing your stomach in knots
Sun reflects her alabaster skin
Fair with alive eyes and honey curls
Alluring, will crushing temptation
The sun is fading below the sea
Turning seizing her delicate arms
Only to have her slip through in fear
The waves reach wash away the left light
Cast an abhor glance atop bare skin
As she danced into the darkness
Fireflies shed more light than the sun
Cast long shadows of her fading shape
You lunge after her, reaching her hand
The suns slow evanescence over
The moon beamed at the failed attempt
Laughter rang with you into the sea
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 1:32 AM UTC
A rose is active in the storm,
Its smell is an unexplainable redolence
It thrives to flourish.
A rose will wither away
inside a crystal vase or on firm ground.
A liquid substance is necessary to live and to rise,
just like He rose.
I wish to know the first time you blushed.
I wish I were there to pick you up when you fell as a child for the first time, and leaves fell to the ground.
I wish I were there the moment petals where stripped away from your body.
I wish to see you speak with radiant tenderness.
Your words and syllabus pierced through doors,
doors that were permanently locked in the heart of stone.
Meanwhile, I am just an ovule wishing to respond in a corollary way that slowly grows in a dark world
but like you rose
I will rise.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 1:04 PM UTC
He’s trick, like enrapturing
Wherein lies the paradox of his pantheism parapet’s paragon
Extraversion embezzlements and euthanasia extortions
Diction’s enunciation echoes of opaque opulence
Its redolence a savory waft
The evolution of psychic clarity’s élan vital
Bizarre dichotomous augur the singer’s aural austerity
Gypsy Queen, his guitar’s moniker, romanced aimed intention
Elaborate elliptical empathy endeavors for posterity’s predication
Pandemically phatic propriety venerations
Their apex crux axis beyond finite solution
Carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character charisma
Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix
The individual must remain sacrosanct
Traipsing through the fallow furrows of assimilation’s xenobiotic barratry
Like capillaries' capricious and intravenous intrepid
Incalculably sensual beyond emotion’s expression
Impetus intrigue's intuitional verve
Ethology’s entelechy, theosophy’s theophany
Zoomorphic zoolatry's social contiguities
Futurity's corporeally preternatural fatidic
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 7:13 AM UTC
Isn't it a pity that,
what she and I have
might be a
foretold; untold tale?
This writhing soul might be a fool to be
- t a n t a l i z e d -
by her honey-like scent,
with the topical rose redolence;
percolating every existing room for air
in my thickly tar-scarred lungs
from every hush of her troubled breath---
only then to realise that
every passing seconds spent
have always been a constellation of
== inane innuendo ==
to pique the lovelorn in me.
Dec 5, 2020
Dec 5, 2020 at 8:16 PM UTC
cease awhile
and hold commune
with his fabrication
and admire
every cordant note
of a symphony yet unwritten.
t’was a nymph
saw i a-Maying
her comeliness
beggared the reach of art
outreached my arms
to touch her tidy traces
alack, gone she
in the mists of morn.
the moon-kissed bed
was light and life
with verdant dewy leaves
astride the speechless
mountain tops
a journey was begun
to rain again
his darts of gold
to every waiting one.
the blanket of
the skies was azure blue
on limpid waters seen
along her hurried way
she dropped those
gaudy flowrets beam.
saw i her locks
in every nodding palm
‘neath the tropic sun.
t’was birds do counterfeit
her melody the
rustling bamboo stole.
they utter now
sweet words of love
as winds doth
beat and blow
the roar and rush
of the swollen river asks:
what is it to you?
sprightly now
the winged ones
from bud to bud alight.
athirst, searching for that
self-same delight.
the crown of earth’s
flowing seas of grass
its mighty arms apart
attentive to the
incoherent whispers of
the breeze that chances by.
what now
messengers of the skies?
what saw you beyond
the floating clouds?
what find you at the
end of the rainbow?
what secrets lie hid
in yonder hills?
pray tell this
to the hurling spar
of the ever-running brook
for down and down and down
she goes to her anxious
ocean-brother.
could she have paced
the grotesque shore
to appease the bleating sea?
now she laps up
the sand-white beach
now she beats
the rock-bound shore with
shrill indignant murmur.
the shore and plain
nod assent
nay, my search is done.
twelve knotty hours
of day are gone and still
my find is none
to tease the gloomy
brow of night
aflame is all the west
in its expiring redolence
my happy nymph adieu.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 7:09 PM UTC
He’s trick, like enrapturing
Wherein lies the paradox of his pantheism parapet’s paragon
Extraversion embezzlements and euthanasia extortions
Embark embargo extraditions
Diction’s enunciation echoes of opaque opulence
Its redolence a savory waft
The evolution of psychic clarity’s id conclusions
Bizarre dichotomous augur the singer’s aural austerity
Gypsy Queen, his guitar’s moniker, romanced aimed intention
Elaborate elliptical empathy endeavors for posterity’s predication
Pandemically phatic propriety venerations
Their apex crux axis beyond finite solution
Carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character charisma
Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix's vertex vortex
The individual must remain sacrosanct
Traipsing through the fallow furrows of assimilation’s synthetic synthesis
Like capillaries' capricious and intravenous intrepid
Incalculably sensual beyond emotion’s expression
Impetus intrigue's intuitional verve
Ethology’s entelechy, theosophy’s theophany
Zoomorphic zoolatry's social contiguities
Futurity's corporeally preternatural fatidic
Elan-vital's apotropaic apotheosis
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 3:20 AM UTC
"Blood keeps drinking away, certain of its destination. Driving through New Orleans at night. Gotta find a destination...just one fix." ~ Ministry
Sick
I gargle your blood one last time
I hear you tell stories of authors
you love so much
while inside my head digs tunnels
to China
At first unwrapping,
(a child with no eyelids)
the chunk of tar
always seems fist-sized - until it is gone
High
You are suddenly there,
a cool summer morning anxious to be far too hot,
wind blows through you as if it were
balloons
in rainbow hues.
Reloaded conception, sanity.
Sick
Stupid -
doing your part by recycling cans,
wasting water cleaning each one out,
equation a zero-sum,
positive multiplied by a negative.
Aokigahara, a Sea of Trees,
redolence of a carrion flower attracts flies.
They land, bring up dissolution and
spread your legs
where they deposit the eggs.
Beachy Head, a white plume of efflorescent death.
Apr 24, 2011
Apr 24, 2011 at 8:00 PM UTC
When I foretell beauty deep brown eyes do appear , the redolence of jasmine and gardenia blossom whisper a pleasant advance ..
The morning fire mimics the glow of whimsical emotive means as the fuel's anger delivers a cacophony of compulsion abated by the warmth of her smile ..
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 4:08 PM UTC
.
Delicious is a word I save for you.
Chocolate comes close but feeds me only
Famine. Your skin is blest three times,
Once for new redolence. Bay leaved
To the core, you proffer memories
Which chamber the years in round rooms,
Opening freely into rouge galleries
Of spice. Secondly, it is soft as summer
Water. It draws itself toward touch
Like ripples skipping over a sweating pond,
Lapping its way towards the creamy shore.
The third gift of your skin is the colour
Of desired destination, an instrument
Which maps the mirror of a universe,
Because you are deckled with stars so heady,
You are wet smoke from drooling galaxies
And rose white fathoms of sky, they are pooling,
And pulling me with force so fulsome
As to be almost—
Tasteless.
The firm green bread of spring,
The blue blood of heaven and the milky
Sun, these are your flavours all intermingled,
And three piquant senses speak to my tongue;
I smell, I touch, I taste— you are,
Delicious.
.
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 3:49 PM UTC
Delicious is a word I save for you.
Chocolate comes close but feeds me only
Famine. Your skin is blest three times,
Once for new redolence. Bay leaved
To the core, you proffer memories
Which chamber the years in round rooms,
Opening freely into rouge galleries
Of spice. Secondly, it is soft as summer
Water. It draws itself toward touch
Like ripples skipping over a sweating pond,
Lapping its way towards the creamy shore.
The third gift of your skin is the colour
Of desired destination, an instrument
Which maps the mirror of a universe,
Because you are deckled with stars so heady,
You are wet smoke from drooling galaxies
And rose white fathoms of sky, they are pooling,
And pulling me with force so fulsome
As to be almost—
Tasteless.
The firm green bread of spring,
The blue blood of heaven and the milky
Sun, these are your flavours all intermingled,
And three piquant senses speak to my tongue;
I smell, I touch, I taste— you are,
Delicious.
Aug 25, 2012
Aug 25, 2012 at 10:18 PM UTC
O body, the little fish you swallowed yesterday
Yes, those
There are no other reasons
For this cat to roam around
For the third time
Fish swallowed yesterday, do not flail about
The globular eyes of that cat
O stomach, at least
Till it goes away,
Do not upset
With the slight movements of your waves
Body, body
Cautiously by the seaside
If all the fish that got inside
Bounced on seeing the place of origin
And if their friends tried knocking on each cell
If body, your body washed up all over a shore
Kissed by fishes
Body,
If all that you looked at greedily,
All that you ate ravenously,
All that you relished slowly
Appeared before you sometime
If it appeared
Body, body,
While seeing the kids,
If breast milk from thirty years ago spread out
If cake and fried liver
start out searching for little mouths
If all alcohol imbibed
Spurted out while meeting friends
Screamed out at midnight
Recited a ***** poem while no one was listening
Body,
On a noon, in favorite city
If two areolae appeared
And again spread brilliance
If you spilled out
Inhaling that redolence
Seeing something,
If saliva, sweat or wetness
Jump out
Body, body
If seeing greenery,
The cows and buffaloes and rabbits
Come out to graze,
Frogs start croaking
Seeing rain clouds
If seeing the sky,
The crow and crane inside
Start flying
If the **** comes out into the yard on seeing the hen,
Body, body,
If the fish, beasts and birds inside
Come out simultaneously,
Body, body,
Body’s soul…
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 8:19 AM UTC
it has been two and a half months
(really it’s been seven years, three months,
fifteen days, twelve hours, five minutes and thirty-three
seconds)
but my jacket is back.
(except it smells like you)
acoustic guitar, the redolence of ****
and mistakes pungent in the sort of summer air.
but my jacket is back.
(except it tastes like you)
i felt your footsteps, imagined the way your fingers
held my hair, tight, yanking. a doll with loose threads.
but my jacket is back.
(except it looks like you)
your teeth reminded me of the oceans i could never find,
your eyelashes like razors begging to slice me open.
but my jacket is back.
(except it feels like you)
it felt heavy in my bruised hands, your hug
was a boa constrictor killing prey. main course.(dessert)
but my jacket is back.
yet when i wear it,
all i can think is you mounting, hands
rigid, your fingers venom.
i cannot breathe with it on
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 1:26 AM UTC
Grapefruit tree blooms lush
Its proud fragrance dominates
Stirs senses...in white...
Redolence wakens.....
Mind and nostrils, side by side
Inspire and create...
'neath Sunday's twilight
Branches mate....shadows connect,
Entwine....entangle.....
Curved silhouettes form
An arabesque....of shapes
And my own dance steps...
Night impregnates mind,
Scents, trees, starry nights..are turned
To runes..........some, with tunes.
................................
(A cluster of haikus)
Sally
Copyright April 2, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 11:37 PM UTC
Hearts imbued with redolence
fill the garden with others sent…
…to pour their wine in waiting chalice
of servants drunk in sultans palace.
Fragrance comes before the rose,
then long after the petals close.
Following the scent of flower white
a nightingale came to rest one night.
Amongst the thorns she made her bed
there from her chest, the colors bled.
So the rose received its hue,
from the winged messenger of Allahu.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC
Driving off on the side roads precarious and dense
with firs holy beneath the florid specter of roseate afternoon,
purified with rainfall on the montane bladed rocks
holding together cliff face edges of highways.
I'm present with my black coffee humming while
folk plays on the radio and my sweater from the
consignment shop is still captured in spellbinding redolence
from the girl of my dreams. Nearby, a hidden path boasts a cliff commanding flowing pacific waters pronounced with gold
among mountains obscured in shadow.
Companions cross the valleys reciting sutras and tracing fingers through this blessed land, treasuring the trees, firesmoke ascending from beyond assembling woods thick and overgrown.
Doe and rabbit bounding from rocky terraces alert and surviving instinctively while riverside cabin homes hide a while yet from the long driveways and cozy mailboxes hand-painted or made of wind-bent tin cans.
I'm flourishing slowly and with periodical decay in this garden growing while I grow and life is beauty and spasm devils as am I, this I know.
We're matches momentarily lit in the weary hands of stars
to guide them in the darkness.
My hair will gray from death we jest
and I will live before I rest.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 12:13 AM UTC
Delicious is a word I save for you.
Chocolate comes close but feeds me only
Famine. Your skin is blest three times,
Once for new redolence. Bay leaved
To the core, you proffer memories
Which chamber the years in round rooms,
Opening freely into rouge galleries
Of spice. Secondly, it is soft as summer
Water. It draws itself toward touch
Like ripples skipping over a sweating pond,
Lapping its way towards the creamy shore.
The third gift of your skin is the colour
Of desired destination, an instrument
Which maps the mirror of a universe,
Because you are deckled with stars so heady,
You are wet smoke from drooling galaxies
And rose white fathoms of sky, they are pooling,
And pulling me with force so fulsome
As to be almost—
Tasteless.
The firm green bread of spring,
The blue blood of heaven and the milky
Sun, these are your flavours all intermingled,
And three piquant senses speak to my tongue;
I smell, I touch, I taste— you are,
Delicious.
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 1:47 PM UTC
The water laps the dock
Giving sweet nose, bay redolence flown by the cracking whips of tuffed air,
Listen to the roiling and embrace the soaring perfume
Drumming the song of the deep against the old trees, now pilings
Old trees now legs
That want to kick and splash and enjoy their bosom neighbor
And run into the depths
But are sadly anchored .
Hear the tern’s silence broken
while the fish break chains of water entrapment
Breaking surface, momentarily flying and shattering back home.
Splash, they all splash.
Splash the tree, splash the silence, splash the sky
Splash is the serenity
Splash is the soothing commotion of the dock.
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 7:10 PM UTC
An old man whispers softly,
Bowing before the old grey stones,
Tears falling lightly on the brim;
Petals falling to the earth.
His fingers feel the coarse of death,
The cold stone, with words so heavy and grim,
Carries with it life, coursing deep in its veins.
A life now forlorn in the earth below.
Dressed in stark formality; his respects for the dead,
He yearns for the warmth in his hands,
The grace of his feet; the light of his head,
One last dance was all he asked.
Now waiting in the familiar silence of years come to pass,
He rested his eyes and let his head fall;
Quiet was the day when his heart followed suit.
Yet, in his redolence a golden tune had filled the yard.
And the gold had spread, captivating and encapsulating,
The leaves the flowers, the stones and fences,
All veiled in a vibrant hue of a time gone by,
Ethereal was the hand that guided him through nostalgia’s sweet haze.
Now vigor had taken him: embodied with life he stood,
The hands he so tenderly held once now returned to him,
Warm were their touch, though living they were not;
He knew this, his eyes closed in reverence.
The gentle tune had guided their sways,
With revived vitality he made his dance with death,
Graceful were their swings that led the ball,
Elegant were the strings that filled the hall.
With reluctance he made his final twirl,
Dropping her deep in a final embrace;
The music crescendos to finale,
Sorrowful, he lets a longing, loving smile escape.
Just as well, she escapes his fingers,
The breeze whispers softly the words of lovers;
Tender was his smile now, he opened his eyes and looked high above,
Not questioning where or how, but grateful beyond love.
He ran his hands on the cold stone once more,
His fingers feeling the smooth of love rather,
Those words now carrying with them the world he’ll leave behind,
As he walks down the green, cut path;
Leaving the graveyard for the very last time.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 9:10 PM UTC
Between your beautiful legs so fine
is where I like to spend my time.
skin so soft
you melt when touched,
I love your redolence
so very much.
seeking your rose
my favorite spot,
lord have mercy
do you get hot.
my love for you will never wane,
by your convulsions
you feel the same.
allow my tongue a simple tango,
tasting your cum...of sweetened mango.
caress my cheeks
with those beautiful thighs,
as I stare into your pretty eyes...
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
O’ Maiden of jeweled Elysium,
kissed by golden moon;
Iridescent skin swathed
in radiant, silken plume.
Come silently through
the darkling visage of shadowed dune,
And bless my turbulent slumber
with your ancient tune.
Linger here in redolence
with the nocturnal uraeus
Wandering through your hair,
amidst night-blooming cereus.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 11:08 AM UTC