En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Favourite smells

Freshly cut grass
home made bread
sweetness of jam and honey
just washed sheets on the bed.
Tarmac being laid on the road
Brylcream on my fathers hair
the aroma from coffee
leather of a brand new sofa or chair.
Talcum powder on a baby's body
smell coming from a flower
the pages of old and new books
and the air after a heavy shower.
Scent that was worn by my mother
the aroma of a Sunday roast
candy floss at the fair
and Cheddar Cheese on toast.
Just some of my favourite smells
aromas that just make me feel good
as they can evoke moments in time
and take me back to my own childhood.

poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Sweet emotion

The taste of raspberry on her lips
Green apple candy
And fruit with strawberry dips

Aroma of lavender after a shower
Basil on pizza
Put there just to tease ya

Licorice sticks with sweet vanilla swirls
A beautiful girl with long golden curls
Cave into the emotion

A brand new puppy with big brown eyes
His aroma is lovely and pungent
I think I'll call him cinnamon

The smell of cloves on a freshly baked ham
And the taste of sweet candied yams

Make me drool like cinnamon
And the fool that I am.

poem by John Shea
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Bread & Butter

I love bread and butter
and jam upon hot toast
and flowers in the summer
but I love you most.

I love the red spring tulips
and cold strawberry mousse
and I love chocolate pudding
but I love you most.

I love bread and butter
and honey for to spread
though honey is but nothing
to your warm caress.

I love bread and butter
but egg with chips will do
although they only half compare
to my love for you.

I dare not feign indifference
I love a red, red rose.
Their scent is ever fragrant
but I love you most.

You know I love my mother
and sumptuous Sunday roast,
I love her home made puddings
but I love you most.

poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Smell Of Money

The smell of money
Like flies and honey
Appeals to something
More immediate than mere foreplay
And now if you're hungry
This one is on your mind
The aroma takes my will away
Who does this young man think he is?
Who needs this turgid love he gives?
For though he strives to please me
He can't hit the spot like fifty g's can
How can i help but notice
The smell of money
It makes me runny
I want a man whose been endowed
And is preparing to pay
And if you're tipsy
It even smells like love
The aroma takes my will away
It takes my will away
The aroma takes my will away!

song performed by by Utopia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Babies, Moms, Memories and Aromas

Babies, Moms, memories and Aromas

Young baby, helpless and wee
Head reposes on mom’s shoulder
Nestled in soft arms comfortably
Smells the hair of the one who holds her

Mom’s fresh shampoo scent, becomes imprinted deep
A comforting, soothing essence… in
The child’s vast, and unfilled memory keep
Takes up permanent residence

Small, chubby fingers twirling ringlets of hair
While the singular scent of her mother…is
Being tucked away, with loving care
Memories and scents stacked atop one another

Sweet baby powder is the smell on the palm
Of the hand That gently pats the child’s back
The odor re-enforcing a reassuring calm… and
Promptly being added to the child’s memory sack

Mom’s own smell, sweat mixed with soap, sweet and pungent
By the child is inhaled and sequestered forever within
Memory’s medicine, to be used as an unguent
And in her memory, applied by her mother’s hands once again

Baby oil and baby powder, a heady mixture...
An olfactory delight to store in a child’s mind
Another memory to sequester and treasure
Mixed with mothers scent, unique and sublime

Many years in the future, this child now all grown
Will be reminded by scents of the present, and will measure
Her mom’s sweet scent, mixed with her own
And locked in her mind’s vault, to treasure….
Forever and ever

poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Aroma

The aroma of coffee,
The aroma of cocoa,
The aroma of tea,
Sleep, asleep!
Wake, awake!
Pace, apace!
Bode, abode!
Long, along!
Range, arrange!
Row, arrow!
And of the way things are done,
And of the way love is made;
This psychological problem,
This psychological war! !
But, let us shape this world with the aroma of love.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Shes My Baby

Shes got her pudding in the oven
And its gonna be good
She better not leave me
And go out to hollywood
She got the best pudding in the neighborhood
Shes my baby
She can drive a truck
She can drive a train (my baby, ma-ma my baby)
She can even drive an aeroplane
Shes so good to look at in the rain
Shes my baby
Shes comin down the sidewalk
Shes stumblin through the door
Shes coming home from places shes never been before
She sits down on the sofa
She poors herself a drink
Says, honey, honey, honey aint no time to think
My baby
My baby
My baby
Shes got a body for business
Got a head for sin
She knocks me over like a bowling pin
She came home last night and said
Honey, honey, honey its hard to get ahead.
My baby
My baby
She can build a boat
She can make it float (my baby, ma-ma my baby)
She can play my guitar
Note for note
She likes to stick her tongue right down my throat
Shes my baby
My baby
My baby
My baby (repeat and fade)

song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Simple Pleasures

In our lives, there are many little pleasures;
Little moments which we love to treasure.
Things which, on your face, put a smile,
Even if only for the very briefest while.

Sleeping between freshly laundered cotton sheets.
Breakfast in bed is an experience, which can’t be beat.
Discovering that you’ve at last lost a few pounds in weight.
Going to the cinema to see the latest film with a good mate.

Browsing around a second hand bookshop.
Making the bubbles on bubble-wrap pop!
Sitting, browsing through your old photos.
Playing about in the freshly fallen snow.

Singing your heart out to your favourite song in your car.
Meeting up for a drink with your friends at a local bar.
Curling up on the sofa with a hot drink and a good book.
Someone paying you a compliment on the way you look.

Waking up, thinking it’s a workday, and then discovering it’s the weekend.
Having a relaxing, girly night in, with your all of your close girlfriends.
When you make someone’s face light up with a big smile.
Catching up with old friends, you haven’t seen for a while.

Discovering a tenner in you pocket, which you forgot was there.
The odour of freshly cut grass filling the summer air.
Finding yourself in the quickest supermarket queue.
Having a relaxing massage or getting a new hair-do.

Getting all dressed up for a great, fun night out.
Eating your Mum’s Sunday roast, without a doubt.
Reading a good book on holiday by the pool.
The side of the pillow, which is lovely and cool.

When a random person smiles at you in the street,
Or when a person on a bus or train, gives you their seat.
Excitedly watching the very first snowfall of the year.
After work, sitting relaxing, sipping a nice, ice-cold beer.

Seeing a small baby clap their hands and joyfully laugh.
Lying back and relaxing in a luxurious, warm bubble bath.
When, from a friend, you receive a colourful, news filled letter.
When something happens, which makes everything feel better.

Different things bring different people pleasure,
So it can be difficult to calculate the exact measure.
But I suspect that at least one of the above,
Describes something which you really love.

poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cry Baby

Cry baby, cry baby, cry baby,
Honey, welcome back home.
I know she told you,
Honey i know she told you that she loved you
Much more than i did,
But all i know is that she left you,
And you swear that you just don't know why,
But you know, honey i'll always,
I'll always be around if you ever want me
Come on and cry, cry baby, cry baby, cry baby,
Oh honey, welcome back home.
Don't you know, honey,
Ain't nobody ever gonna love you
The way i try to do ?
Who'll take all your pain,
Honey, your heartache, too ?
And if you need me, you know
That i'll always be around if you ever want me
Come on and cry, cry baby, cry baby, cry baby,
Oh daddy, like you always saying to do.
And when you walk around the world, babe,
You said you'd try to look for the end of the road,
You might find out later that the road'll end in detroit,
Honey, the road'll even end in kathmandu.
You can go all around the world
Trying to find something to do with your life, baby,
When you only gotta do one thing well,
You only gotta do one thing well to make it in this world, babe.
You got a woman waiting for you there,
All you ever gotta do is be a good man one time to one woman
And that'll be the end of the road, babe,
I know you got more tears to share, babe,
So come on, come on, come on, come on, come on,
And cry, cry baby, cry baby, cry baby.
And if you ever feel a little lonely, dear,
I want you to come on, come on to your mama now,
And if you ever want a little love of a woman
Come on and baby baby baby babe babe baby now
Cry baby yeah.

song performed by by Janis Joplin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Scents... ' (or) Tea - Baby

S
C
E
N
T
S
I So, Love The Scent, of A Fresh, Cup Of Tea
Like, I Love The Smell, of A Fresh-Bathed Baby
Both, Are So Very Delicate, Soothing & Sweet
Both, Are A Unique, Fragile-Moment Complete
And With Rose Petals and Soft Lavender Scents
And Apple-Blossoms, Honey and Fresh Peppermint
All Come In Lotions Or Talc-Powder For Baby
And In My Teacup, These Aromas Are Tasty
I So Love The Scent of Steeped-Leaf Tea
And A Fresh-Bathed, Gurgling Baby
Come, Sip A Cup of Tea With Me
While I Hold & Sniff The Baby

poem by MoonBee Canady
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hulk

You are very beautiful my love and,
We are meant to be on this love;
And, your sweet scent of aroma baths me all year round.
I am Hulk and your flower of love is all that matters to me,
But, with the 63 degrees of euphoria to meet your love;
For, your sweet scent of aroma baths me all year round.
Deeper contractions in the kingdom of love,
And of the sensations ever felt before;
But, the angle of your elevation is to unfold your precious petals.
it is never too late to learn from you always,
So bring forth the beautiful bud out from you!
Form you are blossom fair flower of love.
Pleasure and satisfaction always comes from you my love,
And like the muse of your love which elevates your sexual wellness;
For, i am now sailing across the ocean blue like Oliver Twist.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Carcass Mouse

Below Under mango tree
which me plant three last year
carcass of mouse
shot [by] hunter
of aroma three-day
have the of current,
stinking [of] body of disseminating everywhere
late to each and everyone refrain from

my neighbour sniff that aroma
search for where that aroma come [in] moat,
below/under the tree
of him make cannot sleep
the the hunter pass with the him of impressing
do not do something

poem by Prasetya Utama
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Lovely Flower

I thank God for my lovely flower
For there are millions who are ignorant of her existance,
The enchanting aroma that is with her,
Or her charm that makes me to always keep thinking,
I am fascinated that she was wonderfully made,
Then just kept for me to find one day.

Seeing her is like waking up at dawn to bath in the Sun's rays
She has harmless attraction like a colorful butterfly,
Or a bright flower always sort by the bees for it's beauty,
Not forgetting it's sweet nectar also!
That is my sweet Sweetie.

The flower is far from me and I cannot smell the aroma now,
Last night I went to dreamland where I hoped to find my flower Then I woke up this morning to melodious sounds,
Sounds of chirping birds in the nearby tree as if to praise her,
Thinking about my flower.

I want to tend and care for this flower,
So that she may produce more flowers like herself,
O flower! Remain that lovely forever.

poem by Nyota Yasulwe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In The Air

Like fresh blossoming flowers on a spring day.
Her scent is in the air.
Like the smell of rain right before it pours down.
Her scent is in the air.
Like the aroma of a hot apple pie cooling on the window seal.
Her scent is in air.
I try to cover my nose with my shirt
but her scent seeps right through it.
It is in the air.
I try fanning it away
but the more I fan the stronger her scent lofts in the air.
I decide not to fight it anymore and I inhale her scent.
It first suffocates me but then it sustains me.
To me her scent is love and it is
In the air.

poem by Lore Me34
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Come Back As A Flower

The starngest thought came to me on this morning
As I awake to greet the coming dawn
The sun was hardly peaking through the garden
It felt that with everything I was one
Then I wished that I could come back as a flower
As a flower
As a flower
How I wished that I could come back as a flower
As a flower
To spread the sweetness of love
To spread the sweetness of love
The dew had finished making love to many
A rainbow smelling sweet was in the air
I envied all the silence I saw growing
So unmoved by things outside themselves
Then how I wished that I could come back as a flower
As a flower
As a flower
How I wished that I could come back as a flower
As a flower
To spread the sweetness of love
How I wished that I could come back as a flower
Oh as a flower
As a flower
How I wished that I could come back as a flower
As a flower
As a flower
To spread the sweetness of love
To spread the sweetness of love
(background)
Wished that I could come back as a flower
Flower
Flower
Wished that I could come back as a flower
Flower
Sweetness of love
How I come back as a flower
Flower
Flower
How I come back as a flower
Flower
Sweetness of love
Sweetness of love

song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Books

The universe (which others call the library). . .
-Jorge Luis Borges

Books which are stitched up the center with coarse white thread
Books on the beach with sunglass-colored pages
Books about food with pictures of weeping grapefruits
Books about baking bread with browned corners
Books about long-haired Frenchmen with uncut pages
Books of erotic engravings with pages that stick
Books about inns whose stars have sputtered out
Books of illuminations surrounded by darkness
Books with blank pages & printed margins
Books with fanatical footnotes in no-point type
Books with book lice
Books with rice-paper pastings
Books with book fungus blooming over their pages
Books with pages of skin with flesh-colored bindings
Books by men in love with the letter O
Books which smell of earth whose pages turn

poem by Erica Jong
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Sonnet XIII:The light that rises from your feet to your hair

The light that rises from your feet to your hair,
the strength enfolding your delicate form,
are not mother of pearl, not chilly silver:
you are made of bread, a bread the fire adores.

The grain grew high in its harvest of you,
in good time the flour swelled;
as the dough rose, doubling your breasts,
my love was the coal waiting ready in the earth.

Oh, bread your forehead, your legs, your mouth,
bread I devour, born with the morning light,
my love, beacon-flag of the bakeries:

fire taugh you a lesson of the blood;
you learned your holiness from flour,
from bread your language and aroma.

poem by Pablo Neruda
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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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My Honeysuckle Baby

My honeysuckle, baby.
Baby, you’re my honeysuckle.
You’re my Honeysuckle Baby.
My Honeysuckle Baby, baby.
From the bush I pluck you,
Put your tart body to my lips,
And draw your sweetness in with my mouth.
My Honeysuckle Baby—that’s what you are.
The baby from whom I get delectable honey.
What fine sweetness through that nice honey.
Fine, fine sweetness, my Honeysuckle Baby.
The honey is you, baby.
The sweetness is yours, honey.
You’re my honey, but you share your sweetness.
And that’s why I keep going to the bush.
And sucking it in: your great sweetness…

poem by Micheal Valencia
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