MS-DOS isn't dead, it just smells that way.
quote by Henry Spencer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The girl is more inviting who smells of wild thyme than she who smells of musk.
The past is the only dead thing that smells sweet.
quote by Edward Thomas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The body of a dead enemy always smells sweet.
quote by Titus Flavius Vespasian
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It Smells Like Rain
It smells like rain
filling the air
before the first drops break
in quiet splashes on the river.
It smells like rain
musty and fresh at once
warning the birds
to go home.
And the rain comes
water on water
cool rush of sound
quieting insects
teasing fish
drenching boaters
surprised by the storm.
It smells like rain
It sounds like rain
It looks like rain, now
I’ll go outside
and feel the rain.
Hell. I’ll be the rain.
poem by Robert Fort
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The past is the only dead thing that smells sweet.
Edward Thomas in Poems, "Early One Morning" (1917)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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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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All Dead, All Dead
Memories, my memories
How long can you stay
To haunt my days
She came without a farthing
A babe without a name
So much ado about nothing
Is what shed try to say
So much ado my lover
So many games we played
Through every fleeted summer
Through every precious day
All dead all dead
All the dreams we had
And I wonder why I still live on
All dead all dead
And alone Im spared
My sweeter half instead
All dead
And gone
All dead...
All dead all dead
At the rainbows end
And still I hear her own sweet song
All dead all dead
Take me back again
You know my little friends
All dead
And gone
All dead and gone
Her ways are always with me
I wander all the while
But please you must forgive me
I am old but still a child
All dead all dead
But I should not grieve
In time it comes to everyone
All dead all dead
But in hope I breathe
Of course I dont believe
Youre dead
And gone
All dead
And gone
song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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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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Smells
I’ve lived with your
Smells…
all my life.
Now, life
Smells…
You in me.
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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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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Jaguar
Nasal intonations of light
and clicking tongues…
publicity of windows
stoning me with pent-up cries…
smells of abattoirs…
smells of long-dead meat.
Some day-end—
while the sand is yet cozy as a blanket
off the warm body of a squaw,
and the jaguars are out to kill…
with a blue-black night coming on
and a painted cloud
stalking the first star—
I shall go alone into the Silence…
the coiled Silence…
where a cry can run only a little way
and waver and dwindle
and be lost.
And there…
where tiny antlers clinch and strain
as life grapples in a million avid points,
and threshing things
strike and die,
letting their hate live on
in the spreading purple of a wound…
I too
will make covert of a crevice in the night,
and turn and watch…
nose at the cleft’s edge.
poem by Lola Ridge
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Monologues
JAGUAR
Nasal intonations of light and clicking tongues… publicity of windows stoning me with pent-up cries… smells of abattoirs… smells of long-dead meat.
Some day-end— while the sand is yet cozy as a blanket off the warm body of a squaw, and the jaguars are out to kill… with a blue-black night coming on and a painted cloud stalking the first star— I shall go alone into the Silence… the coiled Silence… where a cry can run only a little way and waver and dwindle and be lost.
And there…
where tiny antlers clinch and strain
as life grapples in a million avid points,
and threshing things
strike and die,
letting their hate live on
in the spreading purple of a wound…
I too
will make covert of a crevice in the night,
and turn and watch…
nose at the cleft's edge.
poem by Lola Ridge
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Every morning
You are faithful to your morning
Prayers and your habit of
Having coffee first
After waking up
So the room smells of coffee
Fumes wafting
Settling to
My nostrils
As I pretend sleeping
You complain somehow
That this room
No longer smells
The pungent
Odors
of lovers
Of our common
Sweat drying because
We have overslept
Because we are so exhausted
each one
unattended.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Bollmanator
You sit on your desk
Starring at us like a hawk looking for food
You snd us to lunch 10 minutes late
We come back and you room smells
Smells like rat urine
You give us tons of homework because of
Of your personal problems
You are the bollmister
You make us do bellwork
You always growl at my class
You can't wait but to yell at us for causing destruction to your calculators
You are the Bollmanator
Or the cause of my horrible life
You pick either one works
Trinculo [sees Caliban]: What have we here? A man or a fish? Dead or alive? A fish. He smells like a fish, a very ancient and fish-like smell, a kind of not-of-the-newest poor-john.
line from The Tempest, Act II, Scene 2 by William Shakespeare (1611)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Dead Poets
dead poets; old cars
junked in heaps
in front of
abandoned houses...
empty mailboxes
rusting to the
ground...
empty swings creaking
in the late evening breeze;
a bottle of wine,
half-empty,
moans in the shadows.
the fields have been picked,
nothing left, but sweat stained dirt....
even the embers have grown cold,
and the pot is empty.
the sounds and smells of living
linger by unmarked stones...
dead poets; old cars...
running on empty!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Dead And Broken
Too many things I've never spoken
I'm not feeling fine
I never told you what to do
I never made you a promise that you could hold me to
That'll be the day you see me crying
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
How many different faces can you show me?
How many times can you be right?
Another world of fantasy
Another reason for dramatizing everything
Taking it all in just one more time
I'm dying
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
Sorry to see that you're underestimated lately
I'd rather be dead and broken than living in your grace
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
song performed by by Godsmack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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