Alabaster
LIKE this alabaster box whose art
Is frail as a cassia-flower, is my heart,
Carven with delicate dreams and wrought
With many a subtle and exquisite thought.
Therein I treasure the spice and scent
Of rich and passionate memories blent
Like odours of cinnamon, sandal and clove,
Of song and sorrow and life and love.
poem by Sarojini Naidu
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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
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Dreams
I HAVE been dreaming all a summer day
Of rare and dainty poems I would write;
Love-lyrics delicate as lilac-scent,
Soft idylls woven of wind, and flower, and stream,
And songs and sonnets carven in fine gold.
The day is fading and the dusk is cold;
Out of the skies has gone the opal gleam,
Out of my heart has passed the high intent
Into the shadow of the falling night—
Must all my dreams in darkness pass away?
I have been dreaming all a summer day:
Shall I go dreaming so until Life’s light
Fades in Death’s dusk, and all my days are spent?
Ah, what am I the dreamer but a dream!
The day is fading and the dusk is cold.
My songs and sonnets carven in fine gold
Have faded from me with the last day -beam
That purple lustre to the sea-line lent,
And flushed the clouds with rose and chrysolite;
So days and dreams in darkness pass away.
I have been dreaming all a summer day
Of songs and sonnets carven in fine gold;
But all my dreams in darkness pass away;
The day is fading, and the dusk is cold.
poem by Victor James Daley
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The Roundel
A roundel is wrought as a ring or a starbright sphere,
With craft of delight and with cunning of sound unsought,
That the heart of the hearer may smile if to pleasure his ear
A roundel is wrought.
Its jewel of music is carven of all or of aught--
Love, laughter, or mourning--remembrance of rapture or fear--
That fancy may fashion to hang in the ear of thought.
As a bird's quick song runs round, and the hearts in us hear
Pause answer to pause, and again the same strain caught,
So moves the device whence, round as a pearl or tear,
A roundel is wrought.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cinnamon Street
Growing up on cinnamon street. everywhere you look there are lots of people to meet, its seven oclock, the breakfast treat. now the schoolbus is here, hurry up and grab a seat. all the dreams
Iny ones, another week has just begun on cinnamon street.
There was a girl on cinnamon street, the same age as me, we shared the curiosity. I won her heart cos I could play guitar. I promised her heaven at once and later all the stars. but it all remai
He same cos things can never change on cinnamon street.
I can hear my heartbeat the very first time we made love, life was a lazy rest in the sun. later we went dancing, staying up all night long - playing all our favourite songs, cinnamon songs: oh
Na na na na.
I say goodbye to cinnamon street. springtime is here and the air is so dry and sweet. I walk in a cloud, the smell of cinnamon bread, its in my blood since the day I was born til I wake up...
And the sun is smiling gently, a funny shade of red, cinnamon street.
I still feel my heartbeat the very first time we made love, life was a lazy day in the sun. later we went dancing, hanging out all night long - singing all our favourite songs, cinnamon songs: o
Na na na na na na.
song performed by by Roxette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cinnamon Street 2
Growing up on cinnamon street.
Everywhere you look there are lots of people to meet,
Its seven oclock, the breakfast treat.
Now the schoolbus is here, hurry up and grab a seat.
All the dreams are tiny ones, another week has just begun
On cinnamon street.
There was a boy on cinnamon street,
The same age as me, we shared the curiosity.
He won my heart cos he could play guitar.
He promised me heaven at once and later all the stars.
But it all remained the same cos things can never change
On cinnamon street.
I can hear my heartbeat the very first time we made love,
Life was a lazy rest in the sun.
Later we went dancing, staying up all night long - playing all our favourite songs,
Cinnamon songs:
Oh oh na na na na na.
I say goodbye to cinnamon street.
Springtime is here and the air is so dry and sweet.
I walk in a cloud, the smell of cinnamon bread,
Its in my blood since the day I was born til I wake up... dead.
And the sun is smiling gently, a funny shade of red,
Cinnamon street.
I still feel my heartbeat the very first time we made love,
Life was a lazy day in the sun.
Later we went dancing, hanging out all night long - singing all our favourite songs,
Cinnamon songs:
Oh oh na na na na na na...
song performed by by Roxette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Last Memory
When I am old, and think of the old days,
And warm my hands before a little blaze,
Having forgotten love, hope, fear, desire,
I shall see, smiling out of the pale fire,
One face, mysterious and exquisite;
And I shall gaze, and ponder over it,
Wondering, was it Leonardo wrought
That stealthy ardency, where passionate thought
Burns inward, a revealing flame, and glows
To the last ecstasy, which is repose?
Was it Bronzino, whose Borghese eyes?
And, musing thus among my memories,
O unforgotten! you will come to seem,
As pictures do, remembered, some old dream.
And I shall think of you as something strange,
And beautiful, and full of helpless change,
Which I beheld and carried in my heart;
But you, I loved, will have become a part
Of the eternal mystery, and love
Like a dim pain; and I shall bend above
My little fire, and shiver, being cold,
When you are no more young, and I am old.
poem by Arthur Symons
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I could not forget..............
Sorrow laid by me all nights along
his tears were flowing all along
He cried all nights and never depart
Cause me pain in my heart
I asked him to leave me for a night
but he refused and hold me tight
Sorrow told me he feels so sad
for me cause i treat myself so bad
I told him not to do what he do
because i will never let my love go
Sorrow surprised for my speech
cause he thought he could be the leech
to the deep wound that inside
the heart of me and i denied
But sorry, I could not forget
the one i loved once and get
So leave me sorrow for loving him
Cause no one could ever be like him
About the wound believe me i can endure
because i will do my best to get back its cure
poem by Passionate flower
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Cinnamon
Do you believe that your're dead when you die
Or do you believe in a soul
You have the power to mess with their minds
You've got them under control
Everybody wants a piece of you
To take them higher than they ever were on the ground
(All I wanna say is)
Cinnamon, Cinnamon
Don't let them down
Cinnamon, Cinnamon
Don't let them down
Nobody sees that you smile when you lie
You'll take that mask to your grave
You know what you're doing
God knows you're not blind
You just don't want to be saved
Line'em up and knock'em down
You've taken everything and still keep coming around
Cinnamon, Cinnamon
Don't let them down
Cinnamon, Cinnamon
Don't let them down
You have the power to mess with their lives
They're under your control
Everybody wants a piece of you
To take them higher than they ever were on the ground
Cinnamon, Cinnamon
Don't let them down
Cinnamon, Cinnamon
Don't let them down...
song performed by by Tiffany
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Delicate Flower
I love you
I love you so much
You're the reason for me being so happy
You're the reason I feel so blessed
My love
You're my delicate flower
Just let me love you
Just let me take care of you
You and I can count the stars
Or we can frolic in the grass hills
My love
My delicate flower
Let's enjoy our time together
Rolling down the hill in each others arms
Like birds of a feather
I'm not sure how things the way they are can get any better
Let's lay down beside each other in the flower garden
Just let things settle in where they are
Happiness won't be much too far
I love you
I love you so much
My delicate flower
poem by Justin Gildow
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My Flower
A scent lingering in the
room
has led me to this very bloom.
A scent so fragrant,
A scent so grand,
A scent so strong it could
spread across the land.
A shade of golden-brown
is something that will not make me frown.
A flower so beautiful,
a flower that's for me
makes me bend on this very
knee.
The allure, scent, and attraction
is enough to control my very
action.
Don't worry, she's not only your flower,
she's my flower.
poem by Casey Jarrell
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Sorrow’s Importunity
When Sorrow first came wailing to my door,
April rehearsed the madrigal of May;
And, as I ne'er had seen her face before,
I kept on singing, and she went her way.
When next came Sorrow, life was winged with scent
Of glistening laurel and full-blossoming bay:
I asked, but understood not, what she meant,
Offered her flowers, and she went her way.
When yet a third time Sorrow came, we met
In the ripe silence of an Autumn day:
I gave her fruit I had gathered, and she ate,
Then seemed to go unwillingly away.
When last came Sorrow, around barn and byre
Wind-carven snow, the Year's white sepulchre, lay.
``Come in,'' I said, ``and warm you by the fire.''
And there she sits, and never goes away.
poem by Alfred Austin
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Rich and Full
There’s a taste of fall
A hint of earth
A dash of October
In you
But you smell like November
Rich and full
Like cinnamon on top
And spice below
And when loving you is done
Your smile chases away
My lonely Decembers
And I feel February
Closer than the months
Its behind
When your lips reach mine
I feel the heat of summer
Warming this body
As white as snow
And in the glow of a love
Rich and full
I know that I could lose
Track of my life
Loving you
Endlessly
poem by Alejandro Torres
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A Restaurant Of Dreams
one day if you really wish
desire too live your dreams
you will open the restaurant
of your innermost dreams
meanwhile all first restaurants
you will work in cook in
dream first you fledgling own
will be experience inception skills
training necessary to soul growth teach
you all you need to beginning learn
a treasure later in life of memories
a treasure of memories to bequeath
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Love Cannot Die
In crime and enmity they lie
Who sin and tell us love can die,
Who say to us in slander's breath
That love belongs to sin and death.
From heaven it came on angel's wing
To bloom on earth, eternal spring;
In falsehood's enmity they lie
Who sin and tell us love can die.
Twas born upon an angel's breast.
The softest dreams, the sweetest rest,
The brightest sun, the bluest sky,
Are love's own home and canopy.
The thought that cheers this heart of mine
Is that of love; love so divine
They sin who say in slander's breath
That love belongs to sin and death.
The sweetest voice that lips contain,
The sweetest thought that leaves the brain,
The sweetest feeling of the heart--
There's pleasure in its very smart.
The scent of rose and cinnamon
Is not like love remembered on;
In falsehood's enmity they lie
Who sin and tell us love can die.
poem by John Clare
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To Fiona
Dear little child, whose very speech
Gives me joy beyond my heart's measure,
However far my years may reach,
Life can offer no greater treasure.
Loveliest flower in my garden of dreams!
Mine have been sweet like fairy stories ---
But of all that have come true, it seems
Your babyhood brought the greatest glories.
All my life long I have tried to make
Dreams in a perfect song go winging;
I knew the wonder when you spake,
And your life went a lyric singing.
poem by William Stanley Braithwaite
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LOVE without love - WAEL MOREICHEH
love love love without love but love
love in midnight love in any time or place without any place
love through light and heart of the nymphs of the sea
love and some of realism also existence
love and storm of leaves with papers of love
love in bed of love who need more divine lady
love dreams through love
FOR Love from UNITED LANDS
.......... LOVELY song
from the seas OF passionate love TO THE PACIFIC OCEAN
and LOVE WITH BROKEN HEART
can say take my heart
for sonata SUN LIGHT
FROM......... dream land
TO MY life are not poor OR RICHNESS WITH COLOSSAL
an ODE
enough AND OUT..........liquefaction
not rich enough not poor enough
LOVE like LOVE
out of OUR wreck economic.......without rest?
Psychological - War
yet only I CAN`T love more
are my love can stay for MY LOVELY LADY
by providence
WHO FEEL BY
MODERN AGES AND STONE AGE IN FOG OF POETRY
AND ' BED OF SEAS '
BED
OF
LOVELY
TIME?
WHAT`S.......... FROM TEN YEARS AND
PEACE COME WITH THE DREAM milky way
BEFORE ANY SONG
ARE YOUR BEING FOR
LOVE FOR EVER? ?
BEING OF LOVE
WAEL MOREICHEH
poem by Wael Moreicheh
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Song be Delicate
Let your song be delicate.
The skies declare
No war — the eyes of lovers
Wake everywhere.
Let your voice be delicate.
How faint a thing
Is Love, little Love crying
Under the Spring.
Let your song be delicate.
The flowers can hear:
Too well they know the tremble,
Of the hollow year.
Let your voice be delicate.
The bees are home:
All their day's love is sunken
Safe in the comb.
Let your song be delicate.
Sing no loud hymn:
Death is abroad . . . Oh, the black season!
The deep — the dim!
poem by John Shaw Neilson
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Half a Poem
I laughed. The other option was to cry,
But she was looking so I had to laugh
Or show myself as weak - I cried inside,
Where only I could see my many tears
That poured like fountains of my sorrow,
My joy, my pain, my peace, my hate, my love.
I thought she was the pinnacle of love:
A flower that comforts the ones who cry,
A beam of light that ends the worst sorrow,
A joy that causes chuckle then a laugh
That then explodes and ends with lovely tears.
This girl, she made me feel these things inside.
I never told her what I felt inside
My silly dreams of life with her in love
With me, I thought one kiss would seal the tears
Which spread throughout a heart that bled to cry,
Recalling not the day of sharing laugh-
ter: friends became a mist in the sorrow.
And there was my downfall- in my sorrow
Copyright © 2010 Leslie Alexis
poem by Leslie Alexis
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A Fresh Flower Blue
It's a fresh flower blue.
I wrap it in a sheet.
I love its scent, it's hues.
It sips the mist, the dew
and leaves an odor, treat
It's a fresh flower blue.
Its pets, the bees and crew
they meet, they greet, they eat.
I love its scent, its hues.
From dawn to dusk they woo
and bask in rain or heat.
It's a fresh flower blue.
There's a flower for you
There's one for me. A treat!
I love its scent, its hues.
The day I say adieu
I send you one so sweet.
It's a fresh flower blue
I love its scent, its hue.
poem by Agatha Lai
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The wind
(THE TALE)
Cometh the Wind from the garden, fragrant and full of sweet singing--
Under my tree where I sit cometh the Wind to confession.
"Out in the garden abides the Queen of the beautiful Roses--
Her do I love and to-night wooed her with passionate singing;
Told I my love in those songs, and answer she gave in her blushes--
She shall be bride of the Wind, and she is the Queen of the Roses!"
"Wind, there is spice in thy breath; thy rapture hath fragrance Sabaean!"
"Straight from my wooing I come--my lips are bedewed with her kisses--
My lips and my song and my heart are drunk with the rapture of loving!"
(THE SONG)
The Wind he loveth the red, red Rose,
And he wooeth his love to wed:
Sweet is his song
The Summer long
As he kisseth her lips so red;
And he recketh naught of the ruin wrought
When the Summer of love is sped!
(AGAIN THE TALE)
Cometh the Wind from the garden, bitter with sorrow of winter.
"Wind, is thy love-song forgot? Wherefore thy dread lamentations?"
Sigheth and moaneth the Wind: "Out of the desolate garden
Come I from vigils with ghosts over the grave of the Summer!"
"Thy breath that was fragrant anon with rapture of music and loving,
It grieveth all things with its sting and the frost of its wailing
displeasure."
The Wind maketh ever more moan and ever it giveth this answer:
"My heart it is numb with the cold of the love that was born of the
Summer--
I come from the garden all white with the wrath and the sorrow of Winter;
I have kissed the low, desolate tomb where my bride in her loveliness
lieth
And the voice of the ghost in my heart is the voice that forever
outcrieth!"
(AGAIN THE SONG)
The Wind he waileth the red, red Rose
When the Summer of love is sped--
He waileth above
His lifeless love
With her shroud of snow o'erspread--
Crieth such things as a true heart brings
To the grave of its precious dead.
poem by Eugene Field
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