"scentless" poems
(To Sarah Bernhardt)
How vain and dull this common world must seem
To such a One as thou, who should’st have talked
At Florence with Mirandola, or walked
Through the cool olives of the Academe:
Thou should’st have gathered reeds from a green stream
For Goat-foot Pan’s shrill piping, and have played
With the white girls in that Phaeacian glade
Where grave Odysseus wakened from his dream.
Ah! surely once some urn of Attic clay
Held thy wan dust, and thou hast come again
Back to this common world so dull and vain,
For thou wert weary of the sunless day,
The heavy fields of scentless asphodel,
The loveless lips with which men kiss in Hell.
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To think that this meaningless thing was ever a rose,
Scentless, colourless, this!
Will it ever be thus (who knows ?)
Thus with our bliss,
If we wait till the close?
Tho' we care not to wait for the end, there comes the end
Sooner, later, at last,
Which nothing can mar, nothing mend:
An end locked fast,
Bent we cannot re-bend.
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Lyric night of the lingering Indian summer,
Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing,
Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects,
Ceaseless, insistent.
The grasshopper’s horn, and far off, high in the maples
The wheel of a locust slowly grinding the silence,
Under a moon waning and warn and broken,
Tired with summer.
Let me remember you, voices of little insects,
Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters,
Let me remember you, soon the winter will be on us,
Snow-hushed and heartless.
Over my soul murmur your mute benediction
While I gaze, oh fields that rest after harvest,
As those who part look long in the eyes they lean to,
Lest they forget them.
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With delicate, mad hands, behind his sordid bars,
Surely he hath his posies, which they tear and twine;
Those scentless wisps of straw, that miserably line
His strait, caged universe, whereat the dull world stares,
Pedant and pitiful. O, how his rapt gaze wars
With their stupidity! Know they what dreams divine
Lift his long, laughing reveries like enchanted wine,
And make his melancholy germane to the stars'?
O lamentable brother! if those pity thee,
Am I not fain of all thy lone eyes promise me;
Half a fool's kingdom, far from men who sow and reap,
All their days, vanity? Better than mortal flowers,
Thy moon-kissed roses seem: better than love or sleep,
The star-crowned solitude of thine oblivious hours!
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Visions of crystal cobwebs
swept up in awesome lies;
ambergris whisked scentless
to a sea-streaked sky.
Watching the melting snow,
feeling clouds of fire,
hearing the orchestrated chime,
touching every liar.
Morning passed, blue's forgone
for a quiet afternoon;
vapours pulled at all my senses
towards the rising moon.
Faint southern lights soon faded
against the silent sphere,
no starry sky was witness,
to your smile beguiling sneer.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC
A mighty river sings her song
Fast flowing waters swell her form
Her mesmerizing sound envelopes the night
As trees upon her banks,
Dressed in full regalia,
Dance in the pale moonlight...awaiting
The Dawn of a New Day
Eastern Phoebe, first to awaken heralds the new day
Her short bursts stir those in the forest
Robin commences his morning song
Resonating melodic perfection
Peeking above the horizon, the Sun
Orange hue bathing Mother Earth
Warms Terra Firma
Her coat of green
Covered in morning dew
Glistens beneath the radiant Sun
Mother Bear makes her way along the river's bank
Carefully teaching her cubs their daily lessons
She is key to their survival
She is their world
Monarchs and Swallowtails, warmed by the sun
Flutter by, tasting the sweet floral nectar
Brown eyed Daisies...await
The flight of the bumble bee
Hummingbirds dart and dance from flower to flower
Delicately tasting the sweet nectar
As they so precisely hover
The morning breeze stirs the trees awake
The sound...tranquil as crashing waves upon the shore
Muffle the stealthy steps of Lobo
And lift Eagle to wondrous heights
As a baby fawn lies motionless, scentless, while mother doe stands watch
Welcome 2 the Dawn...of a New Day...
...of a New Hope
(c) 2013 Shawn White Eagle
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 9:26 PM UTC
A man stands. overlooking two different visions. Two different choices.
On the left he gazed over the glorious modernized utopia. Tall prominent skyscrapers, gleaming in the dazzling pure sunlight. Clinical white rows of spacious suburbia. Unnaturally green gardens of perfectly shaped, perfectly cut square grass accompanying the houses. Polished, scentless people strolled down the un-littered perfection of the linear streets. Enormous great smiles featured on the faces of all. The urban paradise. Biblical, eden in practise, sanctity. Economical bliss. Unpolluted, crime free, social perfection. No inequality, racism, no hatred only love among broters. No depression. The endless rows stretched glorious miles, convenience, supermarkets, brand new glistening, hospitals, all necessity in perfect working order. No unemployment, no political unrest. Every man among equals. Utopia.
On the right hand side, wretched poverty as far as the eye can see. Cramped, overwhelmed shanty towns. Terrified people, dragging themselves through diseased streets. Crippling illness plaguing the antagonized masses. There is no employment here, no glistening new buildings. Only the decaying festering ruins of lifetimes of selfishness. Hatred, jealousy, paranoia, neurotic fluttering harpy’s, harlequins of the night. Plagued minds, plagued bodies. Gargantuan monsters of men rose from the rubble. Demented. Lava flows freely through the crumbling streets. There are no trees here, no vegetation, only blackened earth. Blackened with the ****** despair of man. Only anguish in this land. The black sun burns with hateful rage in the sooty, cloudy toxic sky, the only rain falls as corpses falling from sardine cans to the sky. Burnt out cancerous lungs, filled with sulphurous air from the giant volcano's of dead minds, spewing deadly chemicals into the already uninhabitable environment. The demons of despair stalk this land, endlessly wallowing in there own self-loathing, amongst other vile things.
The decision resting on his shoulders governs life for all men, all men to come. His left side, yearning for paradise, freedom, equality for all, peace, communal gain.
His right side leaning towards narcissistic self gain. Taking the world for himself, watching alone the setting of the poisoned blck sun, poisoned by his greed.
He walked forward, leaving the realms of choice behind him. The future was his to choose.
Apr 10, 2012
Apr 10, 2012 at 4:45 PM UTC
Mrs Jean-Baptiste Grenouille
*“I promise not to tell your perfumed secrets
There are countless formulations for pressing flowers.”*
Nirvana - ‘Scentless Apprentice’
His love caught me off guard.
I’m dressed in black; veiled.
Mother’s sewn bustier, each stitch
caressing gentle curves, ribbon
drawing in the inches,
lace ornamenting my *******
Perfume weighing heavy in
the air, clinging to my
porcelain skin.
I watched him.
He strolled towards me
maintaining a dignified silence.
He closed his eyes, & took a breath
as if his life depended on my scent.
Was this who I thought it to be;
the Devil himself?
Had father invited him,
to Laure’s funeral?
I knew little of him then.
I knew he stalked the naked human –
killing young girls, barely fourteen,
making perfume from hair & clothes.
I knew he was abandoned
by his mother – leaving him
in piles of fish.
He was born scentless - I senseless.
I knew Laure wasn’t the first,
& certainly would not be
the last.
I sit tonight, & I remember certain
nights. How he’d leave the house
meeting a new lover, & return home
speaking of his conquests.
I would smile.
“You are my muse!” he would whisper.
“I no longer want to be, the Scentless Apprentice,
I want to be Grenouille the Great!”
Each morning he would speak to me.
I would wake soon after; dawn breaking.
He & I,
we compose a morning sky.
© Sia Jane
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 9:00 PM UTC
The rose,
Staid on the porch rail,
Was forbidden in the parlor.
First frost arrived,
Enrobing petals in velvet,
Crimson thick and skin softened,
Bewildering. Those who stroll by
Behold,
But not take —
Who could handle
The scentless spectacle
Spoiling inside?
A private decay in a white blanket tomb,
A fading in a deafened hollow.
Next year the neighbor will plant
New roses to surrender.
Feb 9, 2021
Feb 9, 2021 at 2:55 PM UTC
**** this half-life, half-light existence;
A weak mockery, reality resistance.
This watered-down version; this decafe taste
This lightless, scentless, barren place.
Colorless, tasteless and poisonous,
Against it all there's no defense.
Encompassing all in shades of Grey,
The approaching walls aren't far away.
Forest green is far from here
Replaced by oceans, gray and clear
And everywhere's a widow's walk
Against the dusk that mocks the clock
Time is a canyon, a chasm, a rift
Filled with thoughts that swirl and sift
The colorless earth splits and sears
Pushing what's lost so far from here.
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 2:11 PM UTC
He was truly indebted
to my hyposmia,
As perhaps without it,
I could have smelled
That swindling, two-timing
Lying son of a *****
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 6:22 PM UTC
In a blanket of breath now pleasantly swathed
Our bodies made broken; prostrate in the fog
Exhumed from the boughs of tree-tops so balmy
On alabaster bones that tremble quite calmly
With thoughts of tomorrow, our miasmic today
That in wistful contemplation is thoroughly dismayed
Like the sullen, windy chimes of a church bell that rings
In the hardened heart of winter, on frost-bitten strings
Which frail, arboreal appendages, with nimble purposes pluck
To indulge the dulcet beds, in which our thoughts are tucked
In a licentious yawn that drifts, from scentless, sleepy shrouds
Like azure ships now sailing, through lofty, lilting clouds
Our pendulous hands still pawning these passionate decrees
With fervent fears to consummate your swiftly slumbered vestige
Atop my flesh, all slick with sweat, and in shadows sorely rapt
The mellifluous hum of reverent sight, through keyholes quickened pass
My heart is estranged from the banal constraint of this stagnant mortal coil
Held aloft in the piercing plea of love’s unbidden toil
All visions captive to the subtle sway of your chest now undulating
Like waves that crash, in rhythms vast; my thoughts, they are invading
Urgency deemed, from unconscious form, in sharp pangs of desire
The crease between your lips, the hand heavy on my hip: the nuances in which I am mired
The idiosyncrasies of you like a poem that is repeatedly folded
And jettisoned into my open mind, where these precious admissions molded
Taking form in tangible caress, to envelop with silken shivers
On the sill of windows wide where lonesome flowers withered
Thus proffered throat, in porcelain quiver, where stilted lungs concealed
In tear-wrought arrows, tempered and true, fly with errant zeal
To pin my ruminant heart upon this ragged, beggar’s sleeve
And chain my weightless body, from where it floats among the eaves
Oct 28, 2011
Oct 28, 2011 at 8:29 PM UTC
Born as a no one, destined to be a some one
Born ugly, but grew up to stun
Cut off from the rest from the very start
He paid no heed and said : "Here smell my ****
No one wasted their time on him so he did the same
His controversial attitude didn't stop him from shooting to fame
"This ain't one to fight for"
said the doctor to the nurse
If he could then, oh
how he'd curse
The black sheep in the herd of white
Not losing any chance to fight
He had his own world, he had his own life
This is the story of a scentless apprentice....
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 9:30 AM UTC
I’m not a ditzy tulip,
or a bent erratic stem,
I’m not a trapped crysthanamum,
or a wilting gray hydrangea,
I’m not a pollinating prophecy that gives to all of nature,
I’m not a zoo of daisies,
I’m not an incessant rose,
That ****** the first to bow,
or a zinnia that pallied dawn,
I’m not a scentless lavender that pouches sweet consent,
I’m not a blossom specks of red that blanket willow trees,
or a bush that dupes that soil,
after frost descends the weeds.'
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 1:10 PM UTC
I speak of being lost often
It’s a feeling that invades me
Without anticipatory thought
Going to bed alone tonight undid me
I thought of my smoke stained hair
I realized that I didn’t smell normal
Without a pause the thought changed
There is no one to tell me I smell good
No quick lean in to inhale
No passing smile from the scent
Warm skin is just warm
No one is there to breathe in who I am
Of all the things to devastate me
The thought of never having anyone
Sneak a breath of me turned my heart
A teary moment is only delayed
For the length of a shower
cc071412
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 3:38 AM UTC
Glad Roses . . .
I can fix sad roses . . ., she says
And her smile confirms
Like rain on the earth
That indeed sad roses
Is familiar turf.
But it’s not so easy
This task in my mind
The world with its roses
Is definitely blind.
They’re scentless you see
And sad for that reason
These roses I give
No matter the season.
So it isn’t the wilt from
Stem to the hilt
Nor the mad range of
Colors that drives me so sad.
But the lack of a scent
And the image it recalls
That hammers at my heart,
Raises my walls.
I can fix sad roses
Her smile supposes . . .
As she arrays them in a vase
Then turns and pauses
At the frown she can see
Is still on my face.
So she takes my hand and
Pulls me in a way
That suggests dancing
As we begin to sway.
And it’s then that my senses
Pick up the scent
Of timeless embraces
And memories well spent.
I can fix sad roses.
I can here her voice murmur . . .
And her smile is my smile
As we waltz down the aisle
And the laughter we hear
Is from a child at play
Or a family gathered
At the end of the day.
And the roses are real
Red, white, and yellow
And the music is moving
And her touch smooth and mellow.
And its night on our porch swing
In a light breeze
And the roses are shadows . . .
With a backdrop of trees.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 11:07 AM UTC
Your stomach is real, I can feel it,
More than the womb, through
The first petal I ever adore,
Your rosey skin
In a burn, moonlight-glazed,
Silvery, beautiful.
Your blinking pores, angelic,
No one breathes, I
Know it from the very beginning.
Heavenly and emotionless,
A useless throat,
Ungrateful neck,
Cracking voice and weak whistle,
Childlikely broken.
Your stomach is real, I
Know it from the very beginning,
Dry and sour, clever and hygienic,
Scentless and free,
Beautiful.
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 6:12 PM UTC
scentless poison
fractured heart
tasteless fragrence.
everything has
fallen apart in
your world of
fantasy.
you're trapped in
this small white
room with the
hard padded walls.
they removed you
from reality you
dodn't need.
the doctors have
stripped your life
from you.
you're no longer
human.
all you are is
their toy, their
test subject.
but really, it's
all in your mind,
they really are
trying to help
you; you're just
crazy.
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 1:19 PM UTC
deep ocean steel
challenger deep steel
abyssal
like a bulkhead
behind the temple like lapis lazuli
fleeing something
the closest thing to life that isn’t living
i’ll put you up against my flesh
and compare and contrast
fleeting images of cold rainstorms
and flashes of light
flashy blade
from far away, a signal
candid steel
lucid steel
halcyon
mute sensations in a cathode ray tube
except in exactitude unmatched
and louder than the loudest
vocal cord vibration
and silent too, not a breath
escapes the hostage
with steel against its trachea
unsolicited speed
home run
thrown into the wall stud
luxurious scentless tasteless
and so rich and tasteful and sensual
if I’m in love with you steel,
I must be a necrophiliac
or not
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 10:31 PM UTC
I'm surrounded by the feeling of doom,
This is only the beginning of the pain!
My life a mere part of this game,
Visible at every turn, feel I'm being followed,
Feel death is watching me, every single day,
It's violent, my stomach, dry mouth-I swallow,
Every thing will wind up going down the drain.
It's only a matter of time...
Years ago I used to think it was a value...
Not to swear in front of "grandma,"
Be clean cut and tidy all the time,
Follow all the rules, straight A's at school,
Buuuuut...when I got older...
Ooooops! Said a swear word, a sprinkle of donut
Over my fat belly, the world on the blink
Is dragging me under one cell at a time,
Toward my eventual demise, so I can drink
Coffee and just wait for everything to stop,
It's like we're all being stalked by death,
I'm really feeling dizzy,
This cold scentless style-free flat linen bed,
Then I breath until I know I no longer can.
The lamp dims, the hospital spinning.
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 3:41 AM UTC
Distorted midday dreams
Deepest unwelcome fears
Uttering thunderous screams
With inglorious tears
A warm but scentless gaze
Limited by these walls
Lies fixed on you these days
While a dread in me crawls
Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 12:06 PM UTC
a stuffed couple share their skin with clothes never to be taken off trapped within their sins they lust for a simple pleasure stripped from them.
Yet they have books too heavy to read their arms drawn to their bodies their feet sewed together while they stand looking down at me.
Every afternoon I tie back the shades and give them a glimpse of a garden they will never walk and scentless flowers they will never smell, but how could they know that.
Their house hangs on the wall carved of wood their bedroom is on the thrid floor around the corner and through the doors they dream of the simple cottage far from the city.
They never move, they never speak, they never sigh, they can´t even weep, all they do is see what its like to be me.
Feb 23, 2011
Feb 23, 2011 at 2:26 PM UTC
Can you hear the voices? The forsaken voices( That crowd us)?
Rippling around the spaces between us.
Are you sure you can't hear them? They speak to you as well as me.
You do! You do! I know you do!
Can you smell those sweet words, they sent to our scentless ears,
Ruffling and echoing in your nose?
After you tasted the sounds silence made just for us.
Yes I do, Oh I do and so do you.
Celebrate the rebirth of our memories death.
Reach for what's left before they dissipate into nothing.
At the corner is that a man? Who comes to haul and imprison my sanity
Yes it is! RUN! RUN! RUN! Hahahaha, It's only my mind projecting what I fear.
Crazy? No, no, no, no, no Not crazy.
Restless yes, Inventive maybe, but never never ever crazy.
Ah! There's a friend beckoning, telling me to retreat to the safety of my mind to rest until I am lucid.
You should too, rest until you are lucid. We must do what the voices tell us.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 8:22 AM UTC
waking up
without
and there's no
warm barrier for
the wind.
the shell
of duvet, pillow
and sheet is
scentless,
soulless
and no
longer a haven
for my hours
without
you to
guard
me while
I rest.
Nov 15, 2010
Nov 15, 2010 at 6:50 AM UTC