Bottled Joy
The sounds of children laughing,
The fresh smell after rain,
The new buds in the Springtime,
The clatter of a train,
The buzzing of the bees
As they pollinate the flowers,
The ticking of the clock
As it counts away the hours,
The taste of Summer berries,
The smell of fresh-baked bread,
The memories of days gone by,
The pillows on my bed.
So many joys I'd bottle up
And keep them close to hand
To open when I'm feeling blue -
Oh! Wouldn't that be grand?
poem by Dawn Ferrett
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Related quotes
The Smell of Purple is in the Air
Late Spring, Early Summer
Breeze Blowing Along with the light Misty Rain
Ah.....How wonderful the smell
So Fresh, So Crisp
Reminding Me of Grandma's Homemade Pie
Ah.....That Breeze Blows letting the Smell glisten through the Air
Right into My Window, Soft as a Rabbit's Fur
The Smell of Purple is in the Air
I just lie back on the bed and relax
That smell brings a Calm Peaceful feeling over me
Peace...
Ah....How great that feels...
Wonderful
The Smell of Purple is in the Air
Field of fresh Blueberries...Bushes Full
Sweet, Soft, Spring, Summer
Breeze Blowing, The Mist of Rain
Ah....Bring on the peace...The Wonderful Feeling
Beautiful..... Is that ' The Smell of Purple is in the Air '
poem by Lorene Erwin
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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
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If hope could be a colour.
If hope could be a color
It would be baby blue
As blue as the sky
If hope could be a taste
It would be sweet lemonade
If hope could be a smell
It would be fresh baked cookies right out of the oven
If hope could be a sound
It would be the melody of everyday things
If hope could be a feeling
It would be an indescribable love
If hope could be an animal
It would be a baby bird.
poem by Sarina Parsakhian
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Cornfield
I see the young green buds
and smell the rain falling on fruitful ground
somewhere in the distance there are thunderbolts
that every now and then falls, explodes and branch.
A long forgotten summer still stays with me
and the glow of your bright blue eyes
where in the shade of a big old oak tree
we had a picnic next to this cornfield,
the rain that suddenly falls from a cloudless sky,
lightning bolts that ominous get closer and closer
and you and me running like elated children
in the cornfield
to the shelter of the shed
and like naughty children
embrace against each other
but here life has also passed me
and what I have of you, is only memories,
a grave where I sometimes put flowers
and sometimes it’s as if you
are still invisible keeping near to me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Fresh Graduate With A Scholar Tag
The fresh bread out of the oven,
May smell good, but has to be toasted.
The fresh graduates out of the universities,
May look smart, but have to be experienced.
What knowledge that can be obtained,
Reading through these heaps of books?
What intelligence that can be settled,
Doing all these assignment and paper work?
How efficiently that we are molded,
Attending those seminars and half baked workshops?
How out of world scholars are we,
When the lay man on the sites call us fools?
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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The summer day
On the deck I stand on fine summer day
A drink in my hand, a time to reflect
And sound of children at play upon the wind
The soft and gentle buzzing of a lawn mower,
the smell of fresh cut grass assail my senses.
The beauty of the day breaks down my defenses
And the laughter of children at play
The hot sun upon my shoulder, the water
dripping of my cold drink.
Take me back to my youth back in time I think
And joy of children at play
And You...Now Wish So Much for Spring
After Summer days are gone,
You seem to be lurching in hushed compassion...
For someone to carry on,
Those Summer days...
Time has moved away.
As if from you to pawn.
And then when Fall is welcomed in the midst,
Your mind slowly searches...
What it is you believe is missed.,
From a past now reminisced.
As if seeking through memories,
Those hours missed you wish to revisit.
And the buzzing of the bees,
Impatiently waved away.
When Spring budded flowers...
Were ignored but birthing to bloom.
Had no room in your mind,
To find them enchanting.
And you,
Now wish so much for Spring...
To again come soon,
To revisit the bees...
Flowers and trees,
With scented breezes.
You somehow miss.
But next time you promise,
To explore every bit to devour it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Closeness
your hand
entwined to my hand
your hair under my chin
your head resting on my chest
you smell my breath
there is no sound from your mouth
you close your eyes and see some trees
and ponds and waterfalls
and birds and clouds and flowers blooming
over a field of green grass
and butterflies and bees
the air you feel is as fresh as the scent of our skins
i caress your arms you let my hands go
you touch my face and then you look at me
we kiss and then we both melt
in paradise.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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June Bug
it was june
the flowers were out
the air felt sweet
children came out to play
the smell of cotton candy
the fresh taste of cold beer
the sun warm on his cheeks
suddenly she was there
like a plant now born
smilling and reaching for his hand
he melted inside
his head swirled
he was bitten by the june bug
poem by Yvonne Selase Nyahe
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I am empty, old, poor, but smell good
got a fresh one... everytime we look for food,
vegetable, milk, fish, and even our eyes want
to see fresh beautiful women and handsome
gentlemen... a part of us is something that
tells that we came from fresh origin
remember when the first time we meet our
husband and wife... they were so sweet and
tender.... like a first morning dew, waiting the
early morning to come, beneath the horizon
dawn of the earth and sky
it is the present that tells the past, for today
is the present and it tells that iam fresh until
you lost your appetite of what is today
today is what you saw, in the yesteryear's, for
it does not close my dear, it is only your eyes
that closed, ages... is moment to live....a state
of wisdom to share...a grit.... to hold on too..
with you
as you steer at me...iam old....rotten...broken...
yet so sweet to smell... like as years gone-by,
the smell remind you the fragrance you want...
is yourself that lives in me......it is in me that.....
is in you.... we smell
poem by Antonio Liao
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A Lemon Sunshine Day
To float among the new summer clouds
and under a new full silver moon I can
see the shadows looking back down at me
to smell the night time fragrance from
the first Honey Suckle trees to bloom
to feel the new summer winds blowing
through my hair, whispering new
summer secrets in my ear.
And on the first new dawn of summer
to smell new smells, and natures old
forgotten familiar ones to stop and
hear a Robins babies peeping from
their nest hidden sunggled among
the Honey Suckle flowers, and branches.
The crickets are performing their first
concert of the summer.
With the smell of fresh summer
dirt comes Gods creatures so
small their emergeing from
cracks and crevasses of the
ground after their winter slumber.
Grandmas tulips are no longer
sleeping, their begining to stretch
looking up to that lemon summer sun,
to warm their new tips that have
started to emerge up through the ground.
Each new summer day some thing
new awakens to show its beauty..
New sounds, forgotten sounds
my garden has slept far to long.
Now the lemon summer sun has
started to do her job winter blankets
are no longer needed the blooms
have yet to be born, their in their
embryo stage.
But it will not be long until Gods
color pallette will explode and
the flowers will stand up and dance
in their dresses of beautiful colors.
The fragrance will fill the garden
all of this under the lemon summer
sun.
And on this the first day of summer.
GAYLE GOFF
JAN 2009
poem by Gayle Anne Goff
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The Joy Of Their Laughter
The children are playing football in the park off of the street
The joy in their laughter it does sound so sweet
'Tis true youth is such a marvellous thing
Like the flowers of the fields that bloom lovely in Spring.
The joy of their laughter bring back memories to me
Of happy boyhood days of any cares free
In the Town park on Summer evenings we kicked the football
Such wonderful memories are good to recall
The years went so quickly and time did not wait
And I've grown grayer and slower and I'm putting on weight
The future belongs to the youth of today
Though they too will grow to learn that time quickly ticks away.
Some of those I went to school with now with the dead lay
And some are grand parents and their grand children play
The games they themselves played they run up and down
In pursuit of the football in the park by the Town.
As I walk to the bottle shop for to buy beer
The laughter of the children playing football I hear
Their best days approaching and mine in the past
But time keeps on ticking and nothing does last.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Waiting For Hours
Not a clock heard ticking with a tock,
Is doing it slower at one's advantage...
To block the stopping of procrastination.
However...
Nothing prevents a hand to reach out,
For a muffin to stuff a mouth.
OR a burger with a side order of greasy fries,
To find its way to satisfy taste buds.
And people can be seen waiting for hours,
Patiently...
To get their hotdog topped with sauerkraut.
Not a clock heard ticking with a tock,
Is doing it slower at one's advantage...
To block the stopping of procrastination.
And yet...
People give more time in the doing of it,
But will stand in line for days without a single complaint...
To pay to entertain themselves with an array of nonsense.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Spring
Buzzing of the bees –
Flowers of spring are in bloom
And emits sweet smell!
poem by Asif Andalib
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Smelling The Flowers
(8/17/12)
Always looking at the clock, wondering about the hour
Never stopping to smell the flowers.
There was a time that life was at a slower pace
Now it seems we're always in a race.
The one thing that I know is that we don't
Spend enough time to watch our children grow.
I saw my marriage failing because I was
Too busy running around, as she looked at me
Without making a sound.
You can keep quite to a certain point in life
then she explodes, and it's not very nice.
The closeness that you knew seems to be
Fading away -and with you she doesn't want to stay
That is when you realize that your fires have to be rekindled
No ashes will you see - for this love will not be a faded love
In the books of history.
We then reaffirmed it in our minds
That this love would last for a very long time
And when our bodies became entwined
It was like sharing a bottle of wine.
We savored the juices as they flowed
For we had become connoisseurs
this much we know.
I started to smell the flowers as I did
In my younger years, as for losing my wife
I no longer have that fear.
SLOW DOWN AND SMELL THE FLOWERS!
poem by Louis Rams
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About Flowers And Trees
I
Why did the chrysanthemum wait long
to open it's quivering twisted rays?
When other flowers are gone it grows strong
in these much more colder wintry days
with cups making blossoms like anemones
some seen as feathery, plumed, or spidery
growing big or smaller in shaded tones,
in the winter portraying nature's imagery
in bronze, brown, purple, red, pink and white
with a single or semi-double blossom
growing to man's and the Creator's delight
when ripe makes growing very unwholesome.
Why was it not sprouting, rising, growing
at the beginning of the lovely spring?
II
At the beginning of the lovely spring
in the veldt among big acacia trees
when the first drops of rain are visiting,
drawing new life, flowers and buzzing bees
I find the bulbous hyacinth flowering,
and its appearance, its fragrance
is almost totally overpowering
when it makes its sudden appearance
with pale-blue petals of strings all opening
smelling like a tiny perfumery,
with bell shaped small cups that are hanging
bright among the green and brown scenery
displaying the joys of living and life,
many times have I counted groups of five.
III
Many times have I counted groups of five,
in things making the way that nature is
and have seen five eggs coming to live,
five leaves on flowers with five small bees.
Even on some trees that number is right
but strangely sometimes it might be wrong
and while in nature I walk along,
I see different flowers in a throng,
hear various birds singing their beautiful song,
there's something in all flowers, in each tree
that tells something about its makers will
who makes all things how they are to be
I have seen even five bundles to a sheaf;
the trees are butting in flower and leaf.
IV
The trees are butting in flower and leaf
as if some kind of magic word was said,
in rejoicing without any small grief,
the growing long green stems upwards do spread
as if new life has come to them again
like from scratch they are programmed to do,
after receiving power from summer rain
but like humans sometimes they do die too
carrying more bountiful each summer day
to the custom of their kind and their breed
till the summer suddenly dwindles away,
again they are stripped as if in need
and I like the fragrant fresh smell the best,
while walking through a huge pine forest.
V
While walking through a huge pine forest
a gentle wind like a friend greeted me
and for lingering long moments I did rest,
feeling from the whole big world somewhat free
and it was filled with the catching smell
of pine trees and soft in its embrace
for many moments long did I there dwell,
by songs of twittering birds amazed
and I then longed forever to be
among the flying birds, the buzzing bees
and the soft shadows, the tranquillity
of the peaked mountain, the large trees,
but sometimes lightning falls in a blue-white spark,
when the stormy wind blows strong in the dark.
VI
When the stormy wind blows strong in the dark
and the dark black evening suddenly glows
and the wind whispers with a howling bark
among the waving, rocking trees and throws
branches breaking, snapping, twisting, tearing;
you can hear that great savage strange beast
walking about, awoke from slumber stirring
during winter in the forest, in the east
suddenly coming to its greatest strength
somewhere in the thick enveloping fog
as the long night draws out darker at length
while its breaking, mauling log upon log,
from this windy monster I want to be free,
let me find some peace and tranquillity.
VII
Let me find some peace and tranquillity
at some places where man have never trod,
experience the greatest kind of beauty
that still is spared from the iron rod
with which man rules cities, huge countries
let me see miracles, see nature's joys,
away form buildings and big industries,
far away from the scorn, the manmade noise.
Let me smell some sweet wild flowers and lie
on wild grass to find nature's peace and rest
under a clear blue unpolluted sky,
away from even them whom I love best
and I wonder before the winter comes along,
why did the chrysanthemum wait long?
poem by Gert Strydom
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Lavender
There's something about lavender that excites me
Like driving through Provence in an old 2CV
Roof rolled back, windows flipped open
Feel the sun on my face and smell fresh fragrance of pollen
Arm out and hand feeling the passing air
Trying to catch the essence of what is there
This is not a time, a moment, a second to be missed
When what you see, in mind and spirit, is bliss
So when I came across rows of bluish purple hue
I stopped, opened a bottle and drank a glass or two
And as I watched the sun slowly set in all its splendour
I toasted the one they call lavender
poem by JeanJacques Evendon
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060610E dining with friends
after we emptied our thoughts
we are tired and hungry for food
at far end of the hall a promise
an array of very delicious dishes
almost likes of las vegas buffet
awesome i could smell it already
we twiddle our thumbs in line
contemplating which is the best
me, i go for fresh tropical fruits
sea food is always a temptation
boiled blue crabs and fresh oysters
i can still taste the ocean pearls
poem by Manonton Dalan
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Mind your Indulgence (popular poetry)
Before the game
Is the preparation
After the game
Is the prize ceremony
Do you dare to claim to be a player
Without playing?
The word is a stage
Life is a game
Those are the very old sayings
Do not sit with me
Face to face
Slough your idleness
Mind your useless indulgence
All around
The taste of sweet breeze
The sun
Love and warmth from the east
Birds
Buzzing, chirping left their nest
Bees are busy
Singing the song of diligence
Angelic flowers
Open their petals intoxicating smell
Open your eyes
The day is exotic and very bright
Go to the field
Best of the best wishes
Be the player of the day.
poem by Abdul Wahab
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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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