I am delighted that Sanaa, our newest staff member of Poets United, is guest host today at the Midweek! Enjoy!
I will be back in August.
I will be back in August.
Much love, Susan
|Method by Loui Jover ~ Pinterest|
Perfume is like cocktails without the hangover, like chocolate without the calories, like an affair without tears, like a vacation from which you never have to come back. ~ Marian Bendeth
Perfume is a story in odor, sometimes a poetry in memory ~ Jean Claude Ellena
Perfume. The mere word and image brings to mind a thousand different things, as it's steeped in romance, in culture and in history worldwide.
Perfume is thousands of years old, with evidence of the first perfumes dating back to Ancient Egypt, Mesopotamia and Cyprus. The English word "perfume" comes from the Latin per fume, meaning "through smoke." In fact, legend has it that Cleopatra had the sails of her boat slicked with fragrant oils!
Your task today is to write a new poem that revolves around the idea of perfume. Feel free to take the subject in whichever direction that suits you i.e romantic, solemn, philosophical, dark etc.
by Charmaine Chircop
My cherished one...
Here I am, alone with stone wall paper
in the silence of my room.
The pit-pattering raindrops upon my windowsill
help me to remember, outside is cold and vacant too.
Here I lay, on my dark brown couch
like on other nights and many afternoons.
Here I stay, undisturbed, with a pen in my left hand
Provoked to put black ink to paper
Seduced to write down unconscious thoughts
Terminal thoughts and deepest aches
wrapped in the echo of your absence.
If only you 'd knew, my rose was not seasonal
Its crimson still bleeds, like in yesterdays, now gone.
Its perfume still lingers between forgotten postcards
and the impossibility of separation.
Its petals once blown, still float across the boundless ocean
The same ocean that moves, that spreads breathlessly
between our lands, our lips and hands, but not our hearts
Nor the hundred fantasies that still reveal your footprints
along my distant winding paths.
by Andrea Dietrich
In primrose twilight, summer is still near.
She whispers in my ear; I hear her in
the one lone owl that hoots to only me.
I wake to find her shining through the clouds -
though breathing not so warmly on my cheek.
I glimpse her waning smile as in a field
I dance to soundless music in her sun.
My mind goes wandering, and in the breeze
I hear her sigh, for she is lingering
within the scent of asters that I pluck.
I’m hanging on to that one glint I see
of her before me in gold glitter dusk.
But in the cries of geese across the sky,
she calls goodbye, and sweet is her demise.
|Michael Faudet ~ Perfume ~ Image from Pinterest|
Please share a new poem using Mr. Linky below and visit others in the spirit of the community—
(Next week Sumana's prompt will be ~ Dance)