The Mariner
he violet scent is sacred
Like dreams of angels bright;
The hawthorn smells of passion
Told in a moonless night.
But the smell is in my nostrils,
Through blossoms red or gold,
Of my own green flower unfading,
A bitter smell and bold.
The lily smells of pardon,
The rose of mirth; but mine
Smells shrewd of death and honour,
And the doom of Adam's line.
The heavy scent of wine-shops
Floats as I pass them by,
But never a cup I quaff from,
And never a house have I.
Till dropped down forty fathoms,
I lie eternally;
And drink from God's own goblet
The green wine of the sea.
poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Wild Knight and Other Poems (1900)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
I Like Smells
i like smells...
woodsmoke, and food,
black coffee in the morning.
the smell of rain,
of mud, of wetness.
the smell of the walls
of the cave, of the stone,
of the moss...
the smell of sex, of arousal,
of a woman's neck.
the smell of pine needles,
of an old house,
of fresh turned earth...
the smell of old books,
of old dogs, of shadows
without form...
i've even become accustomed
to the smell of death!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Secretly
Secretly
I'm wanting you
And I'm hoping you want me too
I smell your scent across the room
And I can't wait to get next to you
It's like I'm lost
I don't know
But this feeling that I have about you
Will you ever know
Secretly
I'm wanting you
And I'm hoping you want me too
I smell your scent across the room
And I can't wait to get next to you
Whatever I see (when I look at you across the room)
Whatever I hear (I wonder if he loves me too)
Whatever I do (I just think about you for hours)
Oh baby
And it's got me thinking of you
Secretly
I'm wanting you
And I'm hoping you want me too
I smell your scent across the room
And I can't wait to get next to you
Whenever you speak
Whenever you
Oooh
Whenever you breath
Baby
Let me touch you
Please
Secretly
I'm wanting you
And I'm hoping you want me too
I smell your scent across the room
And I can't wait to get next to you
Secretly
I'm wanting you
And I'm hoping you want me too
I smell your scent across the room
And I can't wait to get next to you
It smells so good
I just wanna ... kiss you
I wanna ... lay with you
I don't know how to tell you
But secretly
I want you
I just wanna get next to you
song performed by by Jennifer Lopez from J. Lo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rose...
Roses smells like a flower
My baby Rose smells like love
Love that smells like roses
Roses are red but Rose
Is lavander...My favorite
Color purple....She already
Got me smelling like her
Lovely purple flowers
....I'm feeling like I'm a flower
Who has been taking cared of
And mentor by Rose....
poem by Joy O' Pateng
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Under the Madness, Under the Flower
Under the Madness, Under the Flower
The One that tilts, the One with power
Shares such a sweet smell
And all the while, I sit
Breathtaken and Astonished
And for now I have it
The beauty which I have wished
Under the Madness, Under the Flower
The One that wilts, the One that cowers
Still smells so sweet
And if I'd leave, then it
Too would wilt
Its Petals blacken by it,
It too would tilt
When the Light dies
And the dark subsides
My little flower Cannot be
In a life without me
Yet it still smells so sweet
poem by Allen Cuevas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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April Two For NPM
a prose poem
a rose stinks it smells like the thorn bush surrounding it the petals make perfume they call it attar and they sell it expansively in the stores they have a purple bottle eye purchased one for ewe in secret and she has it my love inside her heart so true this thorn is now her cause she loves me eye am special and one of a kind of a fellow that only she could love me like a lover satisfied the purple prose releases me like wine is called purple passion the grape of time tis of the essence smells like love is the glue is hard to shiff it gets me high on the hog the love is closer to the truth is better then the llie it fools no one is worried now for referances will be added the addition to the ell is longer then the house itself will never fall the freeway will expand contract and kill them all the drivers all the passengers take off the runaway beast is amuck us helter skelter the beatles bark the old cliches may seem atrocious is the amswers to the questors as they drink more sodden wine is the color of the grape on the vine is green is this prose poem in the money for the running water washes clean lucky ewe the end of story
poem by Charles Hice
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When a baby comes you can smell two things: the smell of flesh, which smells like chicken soup, and the smell of lilies, the flower of another garden, the spiritual garden.
quote by Carlos Santana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The house that died
An Empty house
An era bygone
Fragrant shadows
Echoes mourn
Smiles and tears
Joyous... morbid
Swift emotions
Of hues myriad
They say we bury
Our emotions alive
And forget in a hurry
But they live and thrive
This house... it lives
Through Echoes and smells
Stored memories behind its walls
Mystic house... story unfurls
A memory for every one who lived
Every single sigh they heaved
A voice whispers to tell the tale
Every memory has a smell
A ball room...under keys and lock
Wooden floor
Smells of rose and holy hock
Symphony rings
True to the core
Dining room
With its sounds
Clatter of spoons
“Cheers”...doing rounds
Nursery room
Giggling smiles
Whispering winds
On broken tiles
A chimney stands
Gathering soot
Smell of fire
Burning wood
And the kitchen
The lover’s nook
For the butler and the cook
Echoes of ladle
Hitting the pan
Boiling pot
And smoking can
A bed room smells of
Shadow and light
Echoes of love talks
Of the passionate lusty nights
The house that died
To live once more
Through smell’s portal and echoes door
Is calling out to you!
poem by Saurabh Som
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Out of the Blue A Patch of Green
-****Rousseau alleged to have used
a pallette of a hundred and some-odd
different greens
in one painting********
-------------------------
There was an empty table
Next to mine
She walked by dressed in green
Holding her coffee she took a spare chair
Then sat down her back to me
She got my attention
My guess was
She was not
Encouraging nor
Expecting company
After the green hit me
Came the pleasent smell
Over the roasting coffee
It was like in the cartoons
When the drawing of the scent
Comes under the guy's nose
Lifts him off his seat
He floats acrosss the room
Led by his nose
By the visable wafts
Who knows what scent it was
I suppose there are some
Who can tell and know its name
All I knew
It was pulling on me
Back to the green in the chair
Darker green at the seams
Slacks lighter green
Leather jacket and
Shoes both different green
Tail of a sweater
Below back of the jacket
Damn another darker green
I wish I had names
for all these greens
Ankles are barely showing
A light tan do they still call it hose
A beige I guess
Probably has a better
Brand name I also don't know
I'm writing this down
As fast as I can
I was working on other stuff
But this is too good to forget
Living in the moment observing
I was thinking
This green is going
To be gone soon
I'm almost out of writing paper
To describe anything more
My coffee's getting cold
What's she here for
To be seen
To just drink coffee
Pass the time until
I look up the green is gone
All I'm left with is
A cold cup of coffee
And this
For you to read
poem by Tom J. Mariani
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Meet Me in the Green Glen
Love, meet me in the green glen,
Beside the tall elm-tree,
Where the sweetbriar smells so sweet agen;
There come with me.
Meet me in the green glen.
Meet me at the sunset
Down in the green glen,
Where we've often met
By hawthorn-tree and foxes' den,
Meet me in the green glen.
Meet me in the green glen,
By sweetbriar bushes there;
Meet me by your own sen,
Where the wild thyme blossoms fair.
Meet me in the green glen.
Meet me by the sweetbriar,
By the mole-hill swelling there;
When the west glows like a fire
God's crimson bed is there.
Meet me in the green glen.
poem by John Clare
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Smells Like
if your heart
smells like my feet,
then the time
is not in vain.
we lose years
in moments of burden...
painting stars
on a ceiling
sure to fall!
if my feet
smell like prayers,
then god should know
the way, and have the key.
if the door
smells like you...
then we'll both wait
outside in the rain!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Smell Of A Woman
The smell of a woman,
When I am down there.
There's nothing on earth,
That quite can compare.
Earthy, moist, steamy, and rare,
Like tropical flowers perfuming the air.
The smell you find, at a womans core,
will make you want her, more, and more.
I can smell a woman across the street,
Way before our eyes will meet.
That delicate scent carried on the breeze,
Coming from a woman, seeking release.
The scent of a woman, when she is in heat,
You'll find yourself commonly looking for it.
And when I find it, it's a matter of time,
Till close up I smell that scent so sublime.
The smell of a woman all over my face,
The sweet scent of a woman, will have me crazed.
Don Juan Tenorio
poem by Don Juan Tenorio
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Our communion
When I rub lavender balm into your feet
it’s every time,
as if we go praying into communion
and in peace stand sinless before God.
I wash your feet in coarse salt
and there are things fitting neatly into our lives
and other things that we talk about
that breaks open a person’s heart.
Sometimes a candle or two are lighted
and the jasmine scent
comes in from outside
and it smells fresh like a new start.
There’s garlic bread of which I get slices
and the smell hangs in the air between us
and we discuss things suspended between us
that a person has difficulty to express in words.
The bottle St Celine
produced by Douglas Green
tastes to you like bitter blood
and you tell me about your pain and bliss.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Grass Smells Red
The grass smells red.
Untill these mortal bounds find thier way into the catostrophic fire's of love and redemption, the grass will smell red.
The grass tells a story of wars unsung and battles lost.
The grass tells a story of love gained and a fury found again.
The grass smells red...but does it speak?
Does it's voice ring out like the bells in a steeple?
Does it feel the pain of those who died?
Did it hear the screams?
The grass smells red and it grow's red.
It feels red.
This grass will die red.
poem by Troy Nichols
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The smells of Football
Football has it's own smells
from the grass on the pitch
to the aroma from the Hot Dog stalls.
In the dressing room there's sweat
strong odour coming from ointments
being rubbed into aching muscles.
On the terraces you smell beer
years ago there was tobacco too
on Boxing Day the whiff of cigar smoke.
As a boy my mothers washing powder
making my kit smell nice and fresh
and getting rid of mud and grass stains.
The smell of leather of a new pair
of football boots and new ball
and layers of thick black polish.
At the half-time break in a match
onto the field came a large tray
full of sweet smelling and tasty Oranges.
These are the smells of Football
the odours of the Beautiful game
and for some the sweet smell of success.
poem by Kevin Halls
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A Flower's Decision
Does a flower breathe
Like you and me?
Breathing in its scent
Exhaling it for free?
Does it smell pollution
And cry inside?
Maybe it wants to close up
And let its beauty hide.
But it blossoms instead
Into the polluted air
And gives off its scent
Just for those who care.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Paddy Smell
Nostrils are the steps to soul.
Paddy farm, just reaped, smells.
Same old unique smells
Climb up the attic of soul.
Full soul shines in silver
Above the leaves tide.
Footfalls of cat eyed maid
With a pot on her shoulder.
On embankment in field,
Her anklet resonates.
Old untouched love beats,
Then my soul gets wild.
At dawn smelling paddy,
Old white skirt flutters
Below black blouse hers:
Truly soul smells paddy.
poem by Fabiyas M V
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Reverend Girl
We are for today
We are for the moment
We are a crusade
But we are invalid
1 am rummaging
Stained my hands on her antique
2 am
Reverend girl
I am so indifferent
I am whatever
3 am cellophane
Suffocates my favorite things
4 am
The reverend girl
Seems that the more were achieving, the less chance of leaving this world
With a reverend girl
Another lover wakes me
Head upon a window pane
Before the thunder shook us
She could always smell the rain
A year is dissipating
Another hail cannot disdain
Never mind the thunder
Now my lover smells like
Now my lover smells like
Now my lover smells like rain
song performed by by Verve Pipe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I have bad breath
I have very bad breath
It smells like decay and death
People say it makes them sick
As it also smells like garlic
People shirk away, Ok I get the hint
I will have to suck on yet another mint
When people face me, they look away
Looks like I'm gonna have to invest in some mouth spray
People face me and wince
Looks like I will need to buy mouth rinse
I think the smell comes from rotten caries
Or from my bad gum disease
What ever it is, people won't come near me
I am rejected from society
Looks like I won't be missed
Until I get myself to the dentist
poem by Katherine Shaw
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The Sea-Swallows
THIS FELL when Christmas lights were done,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
But before the Easter lights begun;
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.
Two lovers sat where the rowan blows
And all the grass is heavy and fine,
By the gathering-place of the sea-swallows
When the wind brings them over Tyne.
Blossom of broom will never make bread,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
Between her brows she is grown red,
That was full white in the fields by Tyne.
“O what is this thing ye have on,
Show me now, sweet daughter of mine?”
“O father, this is my little son
That I found hid in the sides of Tyne.
“O what will ye give my son to eat,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Fen-water and adder’s meat,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye get my son to wear,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“A weed and a web of nettle’s hair,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye take to line his bed,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Two black stones at the kirkwall’s head,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye give my son for land,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Three girl’s paces of red sand,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye give me for my son,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Six times to kiss his young mouth on,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“But what have ye done with the bearing-bread,
And what have ye made of the washing-wine?
Or where have ye made your bearing-bed,
To bear a son in the sides of Tyne?”
“The bearing-bread is soft and new,
There is no soil in the straining wine:
The bed was made between green and blue,
It stands full soft by the sides of Tyne.
“The fair grass was my bearing-bread,
The well-water my washing-wine;
The low leaves were my bearing-bed,
And that was best in the sides of Tyne.”
“O daughter, if ye have done this thing,
I wot the greater grief is mine;
This was a bitter child-bearing,
When ye were got by the sides of Tyne.
“About the time of sea-swallows
That fly full thick by six and nine,
Ye’ll have my body out of the house,
To bury me by the sides of Tyne.
“Set nine stones by the wall for twain,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
For the bed I take will measure ten,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.
“Tread twelve girl’s paces out for three,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
For the pit I made has taken me,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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~ Smell ~
I want to
Smell you
Inside out
To see
If your
Smells…
Smell of
Me.
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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