Smells
I’ve lived with your
Smells…
all my life.
Now, life
Smells…
You in me.
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Related quotes
The girl is more inviting who smells of wild thyme than she who smells of musk.
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
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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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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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
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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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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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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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Mugsy and I
Mugsy he
schools me
in all things dog;
smells a thousand times better than me
points out these smells on our outings.
Schools me on the art of forgiving
which takes him seconds
and me years.
He is always up for adventure
his enthusiasm for life undiminished
pulls at his chain
eager onward
looking back to see
if I can see the delights
around the next corner, like he.
Mugsy
like I
is of mixed pedigree
but he
combines the best
of several breeds
and revels in the talents
each means.
Mugsy and I
teacher and pupil.
walking paths each day
searching and finding
simple pleasures
and simple happinesses.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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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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I Hate You For Living
I hate you
Your hair smells like bleach
You’re somebody’s beach
You think you’re a success
But you fail in life
I prefer knowledge of a ware wolf
Then to be u
You need major help
Your only advantage is your tall
You live to be maked fun of
Not to make fun of
So go get a life
And please some knowledge
So take moment to think about your life
I really suggest that u change your life
poem by Amro Beige
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Who goes near soot smells of soot, and who goes near musk smells of musk.
If Only I Could Go
If only I could go
travel back to when
life was oh, so simple
then.
I'd walk a country lane
watch geese fly overhead
life was so much better
then.
I'd stand again beside
my grandma as she cooked
life was so much easier
then.
I'd sit and watch my grandpa
as he sharpened up his saw
life was so much happier
then.
I'd touch the clapboard wood
of their old house just once more
life was oh so peaceful
then.
I'd walk through all the rooms
and smell beloved smells
life was so much calmer
then.
I'd lay myself right down
into their featherbed, I'd sink
life was so much safer
then.
If only I could go
travel back to when
life was oh, so simple
then.
2003
poem by Julie Dant
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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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Your kiss is delicious
Baby I know
Your kiss is delicious
It smells sweet so
I am not suspicious.
Baby I know
Your kiss is delicious
Hoo Hoo Hoo Hook
Your kiss is delicious.
Your eyelashes painted with collyrium
Is something to stare at, they are so awesome!
Your long black hair is like Jamuna River
It smells sweet so I want to be its diver!
Your smile is like new moon of spring
If you love me let’s dance and sing!
poem by Asif Andalib
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Swing Shift Blues
What is better than leaving a bar
in the middle of the afternoon
besides staying in it or not
having gone into it in the first place
because you had a decent woman to be with?
The air smells particularly fresh
after the stale beer and piss smells.
You can stare up at the whole sky:
it's blue and white and does not
stare back at you like the bar mirror,
and there's Whats-'is-name coming out
right behind you saying, "I don't
believe it, I don't believe it: there
he is, staring up at the fucking sky
with his mouth open. Don't
you realize, you stupid son of a bitch,
that it is a quarter to four
and we have to clock in in
fifteen minutes to go to work?"
So we go to work and do no work
and can even breathe in the Bull's face
because he's been into the other bar
that we don't go to when he's there.
poem by Alan Dugan
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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