There is a peculiar burning odor in the room, like explosives. the kitchen fills with smoke and the hot, sweet, ashy smell of scorched cookies. The war has begun.
quote by Alison Lurie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
This Room
Your sweet smell of an aroma is all over this room and,
You are the river flowing into my heart;
And like the cocoa from Ivory Coast with a sweet taste,
You are all that i need in this room.
Come and make love to me and,
Let me bear you children;
For your sweet smell of an aroma is all over this room.
This room is made for you and i,
This room will surely take us to the skies!
For you love is the only one needed in this room.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Oh Those Cookies Made
You hooked me with your looks,
And also cooking, 'bay-bee'.
Your speciality is baking sugar cookies, 'bay-bee'.
And a tasting of your cookies,
Is my favorite crave...
I rush to get to savor.
Because the flavor makes them great...
I've lost my patience to wait.
Oh your cookies made,
Are the best I've ever savored.
Yes your cookies made.
Is a taste that can't get better.
Oh...
Those cookies made,
Are fun to munch in any weather.
Yes,
Those cookies made.
Your cookies made.
Oh...
Oh your cookies made,
Are the best I've ever savored.
Yes your cookies made.
Is a taste that can't get better.
Oh...
Oh those cookies made,
Are fun to munch in any weather.
Yes,
Those cookies made.
Your cookies made.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Most Peculiar Man
He was a most peculiar man
That's what Mrs. Riordan says and she should know
She lived upstairs from him
She said he was a most peculiar man
He was a most peculiar man
He lived all alone within a house
Within a room, within himself
A most peculiar man
He had no friends, he seldom spoke
And no one in turn ever spoke to him
'Cause he wasn't friendly and he didn't care
And he wasn't like them
Oh no! He was a most peculiar man
He died last Saturday
He turned on the gas and he went to sleep
With the windows closed so he'd never wake up
To his silent world and his tiny room
And Mrs. Riordan says he has a brother somewhere
Who should be notified soon
And all the people said,
"What a shame that he's dead
But wasn't he a most peculiar man?
song performed by by Simon & Garfunkel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Most Peculiar Man
He was A Most Peculiar Man.
That's what Mrs. Riordan said and she should know;
She lived upstairs from him
She said he was A Most Peculiar Man.
He was A Most Peculiar Man.
The lived all alone within a house,
Within a room, within himself,
A Most Peculiar Man.
He had no friends, he seldom spoke
And no one in turn ever spoke to him,
'Cause he wasn't friendly and he didn't care
And he wasn't like them.
Oh, no! he was A Most Peculiar Man.
He died last Saturday.
He turned on the gas and he went to sleep
With the windows closed so he'd never wake up
To his silent world and his tiny room;
And Mrs. Riordan says he has a brother somewhere
Who should be notified soon.
And all the people said, "What a shame that he's dead,
But wasn't he A Most Peculiar Man?
song performed by by Paul Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Thought You Were So Sweet
I'm at a loss.
Because my feelings for you,
Have been tossed.
But at who's cost?
I'm at a loss.
I should feel crossed,
And upset...
But I'm more in awe,
You could leave me without cause.
There was no argument,
Before you put me down.
There was no hint or clue,
Before you kicked me to the ground.
Like a clown that you had made into your private joker.
Leaving me to feel I drove but you removed the motor.
Before I thought you were so sweet but now I smell your odor.
You bit me with a venom to poison me like a boa.
I'm at a loss.
Because my feelings for you,
Have been tossed.
But at who's cost?
I'm at a loss.
I should feel crossed,
And upset...
But I'm more in awe,
You could leave me without cause.
Like a clown that you had made into your private joker.
Leaving me to feel I drove but you removed the motor.
Before I thought you were so sweet but now I smell your odor.
You bit me with a venom to poison me like a boa.
You bowled me over just to bite me like a boa.
Leaving me to feel I drove but you removed the motor.
Like a clown that you had made into your private joker.
Before I thought you were so sweet but now I smell your odor.
You bowled me over just to bite me like a boa.
You bowled me over just to bite me like a boa.
I thought you were so sweet but now I smell your odor.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fake Flowers
ı do not like fake flowers
having no soul and odor
dry and like ice
they gaze with their icy..cold eyes
they tray to smell
but only in imitation
but have no smell or odor
ı n the natural flowers
you find the all the mixture and voices
of the colors and the odors
they smell
like a beloved..like a comrade..like a mother
and they flow into you
like a colorful fountain
one is man made
the other GOD made
one wavers and boasts ''ME..ME..MEE..
the other gives real friendship and love
and GOD..the one who looks at us
and protects us from above
Ali TURK KESKIN....translatı on Metin Ş AHIN
poem by Metin Sahin
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Based Upon Appearances And Not Technique
As if children fighting over crumbs left,
On plates once stacked with cookies...
No one can get near the kitchen to clean it.
Or restore the cleanliness of its presence.
Since an argument has ensued,
As to who should do what with a doing to do...
To recreate the flavor of the cookies once munched.
And who is best qualified to imitate the recipe.
Based upon appearances and not technique or skills.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I always liked the smell of a smoke-filled room. I think it's a good smell.
quote by Dennis Franz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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That Smell
Whiskey bottles, and brand new cars
Oak tree you're in my way
There's too much coke and too much smoke
Look what's going on inside you
Ooooh that smell
Can't you smell that smell
Ooooh that smell
The smell of death surrounds you
Angel of darkness is upon you
Stuck a needle in your arm
So take another toke, have a blow for your nose
One more drink fool, will drown you
Ooooh that smell
Can't you smell that smell
Ooooh that smell
The smell of death surrounds you
Now they call you Prince Charming
Can't speak a word when you're full of 'ludes
Say you'll be all right come tomorrow
But tomorrow might not be here for you
Ooooh that smell
Can't you smell that smell
Ooooh that smell
The smell of death surrounds you
Hey, you're a fool you
Stick them needles in your arm
I know I been there before
One little problem that confronts you
Got a monkey on your back
Just one more fix, Lord might do the trick
One hell of a price for you to get your kicks
Ooooh that smell
Can't you smell that smell
Ooooh that smell
The smell of death surrounds you
Ooooh that smell
Can't you smell that smell
Ooooh that smell
The smell of death surrounds you
song performed by by 3 Doors Down
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Misspoke
'Sir...
We clearly have you on videotape
Saying you baked those cookies.
When in actuality,
You did not.
If you are expected to be selected,
As our choice to lead...
We need immediate clarification.'
I must apologize.
On several occasions,
I now admit to saying...
~I baked those cookies.~
You see...
It was many years ago,
When I begged from door to door...
For a taste of homemade chocolate chip cookies,
I was made to feel inadequate.
Until one day...
Out of the blue,
I decided I could and would bake my own cookies!
'But sir...
These are 'not' your cookies.
You might have tasted these cookies.
However...
Your baking them is a false statement.'
Baked, ate...
Tasted!
What difference does it make?
I misspoke.
Can we move on?
There are other more important allegations to lie about.
And besides...
It's just an election.
What's the big deal?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Christmas Cookies
Chorus:
I sure do like those Christmas cookies, sugar
I sure do like those Christmas cookies, babe
The ones that look like Santa Claus
Christmas trees, and bells, and stars
I sure do like those Christmas cookies, babe
Now Christmas cookies are a special treat
The more she bakes the more I eat
And sometimes I can't get myself to stop
Sometimes she'll wait till I'm asleep
And she'll take the ones I didn't eat
And put those little sprinkly things on top
Chorus:
I sure do like those Christmas cookies, sugar
I sure do like those Christmas cookies, babe
The ones that look like Santa Claus
Christmas trees, and bells, and stars
I sure do like those Christmas cookies, babe
Now those sprinkly things just makes things worse
Cause it makes them taste better than they did at first
And they're absolutely impossible to resist
Some disappear to who knows where
But I make sure I get my share
And those kids just stand there waiting for the ones I miss
I sure do like those Christmas cookies, sugar
Sure do like those Christmas cookies, babe
She gets mad that they're all gone
Before she gets the icing put on
Sure do like those Christmas cookies babe
Now there's a benefit to all of this
That you might have overlooked or missed
So now let me tell you the best part of it all
Every time she sticks another batch in the oven
There's 15 minutes for some kissin' and'a huggin'
That's why I eat Christmas cookies all year long!
Ah, Take it away boys
--- Instrumental ---
Chorus:
I sure do like those Christmas cookies, sugar
I sure do like those Christmas cookies, babe
The ones that look like Santa Claus
Christmas trees, and bells, and stars
I sure do like those Christmas cookies, babe
I sure do like those Christmas cookies, babe...
song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gary Granada’s definition of a house
A shanty of cartons as walls
Some tin for roof
Several cuttings of tin
And some worn out rubber tires
To keep the tin roofs
In place
Ten persons reside there
Too crowded
Smell of dead fish
Smell of decayed fish
And dried urine
Rodent and human urine
Hotter than the
Temperatures of
An Arizona desert
Patches of wasted wood
Planks of leftovers
Undefined window frames
There is no comfort
Room or living
Room or bed or
Sala
Every floor
Every patch
Is a bed, a room,
A kitchen
All in one
For ten people or more
Is this what you call a house?
Gary Granada is singing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mutton
In the everlasting summer, when the town is limp with heat,
and the asphalt of the footpath curls your boots and burns your feet:
When you're creased and crabbed and sodden, and can hardly raise a crawl,
And the persperation's drippin' in a constant waterfall;
There's a penetratin' odor gets abroad and fairly roars;
It will creep in through the keyholes and it sneaks beneath the doors;
And it fills your happy home up from the cellar to the roof,
Until ev'ry other odour holds its breath and stands aloof.
That's Mutton! Mutton!
Everlastin' Mutton!
All-pervadin', never-fadin' smell of cookin' sheep.
Into ev'ry room 'twill roam, chasin' you from house and home,
Mutton flaunted, mutton-haunted, even in your sleep.
You can smell it in the parlour, you can feel it in the hall,
you can HEAR it in the kitchen, where it hugs you like a pall,
Hov'ring o'er your couch at midnight, wafting thro' your troubled sleep:
First to greet you in the mornin' when the day begins to peep.
Seek you vainly to evade it in an open-air retreat,
It will rise and upper-cut you, from the gratin's in the street.
Vain are all your disinfectants, for they fail the woes to drown
Of a mutton-ridden people in a mutton-scented town.
Oh, the irony of hearin' songs about the home, sweet home;
When you swelter in an oven where the kitchen odours roam.
When each kindly word is wafted on a mutton-scented breeze,
And each sigh stirs up remembrance of a week of hashed-up teas;
Where endearing terms are flavoured with a touch of mutton raw,
And you sample last week's dinner, ev'ry tender breath you draw.
Do you wonder that our home-life isn't what it ought to be?
Do you know what sets us drinkin', in our abject misery?
It's Mutton! Mutton!
Soul-destroyin' Mutton!
Over-cloudin', odour-shroudin' all in life that's bright;
By a thoughtless movement stirred, chokin' down a kindly word,
Ever-present, effervescent, mornin', noon and night.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An image so sublime
A room of peculiar imagery,
Sexually flushed to central perfection
Strobe light at instant still,
When dancing eyes glimmer at cursory glance,
To all standing walls that glaze,
An image of all time,
I am no curator with minds ablaze,
An image so sublime,
Crowned in cloudless clime.
An image that sparkles by lifeless glee,
That the dusk room and my wandering eyes might see,
Her dangling breast in motionless inhuman form,
Supple finger on damp blank palette,
Weary, idle mind to throb over incessant sensual call.
What an image so ordinary,
Like roses of sharp spine,
Royal in smell and hue,
An image more bright,
Less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazet.
A maelstrom in perfection,
Her mouth so bear,
With fluidity sorting my thoughts,
A sour smell at grieve harbinger,
An imagery of pouring dainties smell
Yet most quaint.
A vermilion odor at her hair pour
Passaged through floating breeze.
What an image,
An image long over-due for admiration,
A century of adulation to her beauteous whole.
Her sultry eyes,
Her naked primrose lips,
Her elegant face,
Her cereal face of laughter,
Her lanky legs,
Her larger than life breasts,
Her curvaceous bosom,
Her petal royal smell of skin,
To the gallery stand,
All to ashes now embraced,
That all eyes might again lust.
poem by Folayemi Akande
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ode to The Scent Of Cinnamon
The heady scent of cinnamon
Upon the opening of the door
The tugging out of memories
From the mind’s musty store
The warm, soft smell of pie crust
Upon the opening of the oven
The revisiting of the memories
The huggin’ and the lovin’
The aromatic aura of apples
Baked with a crispy honeyed glaze
The remembering of the memories
Kitchen memories, happy days
The Smell of hot peach cobbler,
The tantalizing odor of allspice
The callin’ back of the memories
Kitchen memories, warm and nice
Red and white checkered aprons,
Flour dappled, love lined faces
The tearful tug of way old memories
Memorable kitchens, happy places
The heady scent of cinnamon
Upon the opening of the door
Is one of the bestest of my memories
And likely will be… forever more
Ahhh…The heady scent of cinnamon!
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I use nothing but the best ingredients. My cookies are always baked fresh. I price cookies so that you cannot make them at home for any less. And I still give cookies away.
quote by Debbi Fields
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That Smell
(allen collins - ronnie vanzant)
Whiskey bottles, and brand new cars
Oak tree youre in my way
Theres too much coke and too much smoke
Look whats going on inside you
Ooooh that smell
Cant you smell that smell
Ooooh that smell
The smell of death surrounds you
Angel of darkness is upon you
Stuck a needle in your arm
So take another toke, have a blow for your nose
One more drink fool, will drown you
Ooooh that smell
Cant you smell that smell
Ooooh that smell
The smell of death surrounds you
Now they call you prince charming
Cant speak a word when youre full of ludes
Say youll be all right come tomorrow
But tomorrow might not be here for you
Ooooh that smell
Cant you smell that smell
Ooooh that smell
The smell of death surrounds you
Hey, youre a fool you
Stick them needles in your arm
I know I been there before
One little problem that confronts you
Got a monkey on your back
Just one more fix, lord might do the trick
One hell of a price for you to get your kicks
Ooooh that smell
Cant you smell that smell
Ooooh that smell
The smell of death surrounds you
Ooooh that smell
Cant you smell that smell
Ooooh that smell
The smell of death surrounds you
song performed by by Lynyrd Skynyrd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At The Cemetery
last Friday
i went to the cemetery
i like the silence of the place
the trimmed grass
and the tiled mausoleums
the air is warm on this cemented
territory
this silent city
this paradise of mutes and
rested souls
i like the creeping vines with white flowers
and reddish center
i envy the stones and the pebbles
i appreciate the grills and the shiny
engravings
metallic dates of death and birth
and the last epitaphs of the
beloved
but like you
i do not wish to stay that longer
it is not my time yet
as i still have other places to go
the noisy ones
the intriguing places of the heart
those where we lose ourselves
and wish sometimes
that homes be not that far away
that lights in the living room and the kitchen
still function well
the odor of the fried bananas
the aroma of coffee
the smoke from their tobacco pipes
the smell of perfume on slender necks
the silk in their gowns
the colors of their eye shades
the movement of their hands
the activity of our worlds
on their orbits our bodies as planets
in our living universe.
we offer flowers for the dead
we wish them luck too
and we keep on moving somewhere
not losing hope
keeping the grip for life
whatever that be.
the marital bed of course
keeps the central point of this existence.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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