Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Perfume

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.  

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

Midweek Motif 

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.

My Rose Was Not Seasonal 

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.

And Sweet Is Her Demise

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)