POETIC BLOOMINGS

POETIC BLOOMINGS, a site established in May 2011 and which reunites Marie Elena Good and Walter J Wojtanik to help nurture and inspire the poetic spirit.

DAY 2 – AUTUMNAL P.A.D. CHAPBOOK EXERCISE: AROMAS

There are many smells and aromas associated with autumn. There may be a fire in the hearth, a pie or roast in the oven, leaves burning (in some municipalities it still happens, I’m sure). There’s a musk, a must, a wafting of both pleasant and offending fragrances.

Your assignment is to choose an aroma of autumn and write about it. Be it a favorite smell or a most odoriferous pungency, I’m sure it will inspire. 

MARIE NOSE

CONFESSION STAND

“Buttered hot popcorn!”
Announced through a bullhorn,
“With ice-cold Coke, cocoa, or beer!”

Fritos and Cheetos, and
Nacho Doritos, and
Truly no will power, here.

Corn dog with mustard,
A large frozen custard,
Some M&M s, and Lotsa Fizz.

Smells like concession stand.
Sounds like confession, and
I don’t know — maybe it is.  😉

© Marie Elena Good, 2018

##

WALT SMELLS:

DRIFTING TO PEACE

The smell of burning leaves filled him,
like an aromatic coffee on a brisk morning;
like the dawning of another fresh new day
which comes on the flare of a flugelhorn trill.
The exhilarating breath of Autumn
filters through the screen door
playing tag with his nostrils.
As bright lights fade and shadows creep,
no dodge could free him from its fragrant caress.
But, choosing the familiar scent of his armchair,
he drifts back to sleep in peaceful retreat.

© Walter J Wojtanik, 2018

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135 thoughts on “DAY 2 – AUTUMNAL P.A.D. CHAPBOOK EXERCISE: AROMAS

  1. William Prewston on said:

    AN AUTUMN AROMA

    Wood smoke
    drifts through the town,
    inviting me to sniff
    and savor and appreciate….
    indoors.

  2. William Preston on said:

    Marie, I love your piece, especially that delicious title.

  3. William Preston on said:

    Walt, your poem soothed me, albeit startled a bit by thqt flugelhorn.

  4. William Preston on said:

    RECALLING BURNING LEAVES AND PASSION

    Sniff, sniff,
    the odors sift
    across the old man’s rift
    of old dreams, leaving him adrift
    and miffed.

  5. Pingback: CONFESSION STAND | pictured words

  6. Walt, yours captures sooooooo much, and your final two lines make me smile.

  7. Pumpkin cookies fresh from the oven
    Spiced cider simmering hot on the stove
    Apple, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves
    Sheer aromatic delight for the nose
    Welcoming friends new and old
    In from autumn’s night of rain and cold

  8. Fall-ing

    I don’t always know
    what will happen when I act.
    I know, though,
    what happens when I don’t.
    We all fail sometimes.
    (It stinks, doesn’t it ?)
    We all fall sometimes.
    When you do,
    give me your hand.
    (Ah, the sweet smell of succor)

  9. Connie Peters on said:

    Did anyone else forget about the plan to use a line from the previous poem in subsequent poems and using the September 30th poem as the title poem of the chapbook? Yesterday, I forgot that I’m writing about autumns of my childhood, but I’m back on track.

    Swishing and Scrunching

    We scrunched fall leaves beneath our feet,
    delighting in old, earthy smells.
    Leaf swishing, whiffing such a treat,
    we scrunched fall leaves beneath our feet.
    The pungent smells could not be beat.
    Would cast on us their fallish spells.
    We scrunched fall leaves beneath our feet,
    delighting in old, earthy smells.

  10. Earl J Parsons on said:

    Thanks to Connie for reminding me that we needed to tie each poem with a line from the one before. Hopefully, I won’t forget again.

    Tears

    He shed a tear
    As he realized that
    The stench of hell’s fire
    That had filled his dreams
    And haunted his days
    Had instantly changed into
    The sweet smell of salvation
    A smell that he would now enjoy
    For an eternity on high

    He shed a tear
    As he told others
    Of what had happened
    How the winds had shifted
    And how he now knew
    His soul was secure
    Forever

    He shed a tear
    As family and friends
    Believed what he told
    And followed in kind
    As they shed tears too

    They all shed tears
    Tears of joy
    Tears of truth
    Tears of victory
    As the sweet, sweet fragrance
    Of forever overtook them

  11. Fall’s essence
    Said in scents
    Through which lens
    Although dense
    It makes sense

    Best of fall
    When food calls
    Portions small
    Taste so tall
    For us all

    Cinnamon
    Cardamon
    Gingermen
    Spice in tins
    Make none thin

    Drink cider
    Eat cobbler
    Prayers offer
    With elders
    Thanks- Givers

    Darlene Franklin

  12. Marjory Thompson on said:

    Marie – your Confession Stand was so real I could smell it!
    Walt – your Drifting… Was peaceful and well done.

    Staying with the form Hay(na)ku … my goal is to end up with one “story” blended from all the prompts.

    Campfire’s
    sudden burst
    of diamond sparks

    Enliven
    the somber
    screen of smoke

    offering
    some light
    to sad memories

    as
    spices add
    to dinner’s menu.

  13. A Shared Harvest

    The aged apple tree is barren
    As days become shorter, colder
    The sweet aroma of cider from
    The remaining windfall fruit floats
    On a chilly breeze that ruffles
    Through the brittle leaves still
    Clinging to gnarled branches
    I have gleaned all I can, leaving behind
    A harvest feast for deer who visit nightly

  14. Both, wonderful odiferous offerings , Walt and Marie. Who nose what we will come up with?

  15. Having forgotten the challenge–duh–I borrowed some words from Marie Elena’s and Walt’s poems to give myself a kick.

    Autumn Aromas

    To lose my sense of smell was carelessness.
    Tea kettle left on the stove when the dog
    battered the screen. I’d stand, staring at fog
    that rose like hot breath from the frozen grass.
    Not that, but like that. A flare of fever,
    ignored because one will find something more
    interestingly urgent than familiar
    pains. Red leaves. Ass of a wide receiver.
    Don’t ask if I’d trade one satisfaction
    to retrieve coffee mixed with hickory smoke,
    pine needles, baking bread–smells that evoke
    emotions. I’d have to say distractions
    like those have been filtered out by absence.
    Yet the smell of wet wool sweaters, I miss.

  16. so much great reading here! Began with Marie and Walt’s (Both made me smile), then just kept right on reading!! hope to be back ‘play in the poem leaves someday’! drenched in feel-good autumnal aromas right now!

    • Hi Janet!! How lovely of you to drop in, grab a cup of hot coffee and a piece of still-warm apple pie, and soak in the autumn scents! Even your “hello” adds much to the warm atmosphere here. Consider yourself hugged and welcome to contribute your always-uplifting poetry whenever time allows!

    • You know our address, Janet. Come on down when you have the moment or two. You know we love your poetry as much as any!

  17. Late to the party, today. Computer issues…Windows 10 – the bane of my existence!

    Marie – the the playfulness and rhyme in your poem. I could smell and taste it all!

    Walt – so many lovely lines in this one. I especially liked “playing tag with nostrils.”

    OK…So here is my donation to the “re-scent” prompt. (Hehehe – couldn’t help myself, been one of those days!)

    RECOGNITION

    Spice rises in layers, like last seasons clothes
    slowly removed from the cedar trunk to be sorted.
    Cinnamon…and something else…bay rum?
    I breathe in deeply, eye shut to this time and space.
    My mind reels back to ancient times
    to aromas – rare and costly – Ah, yes!
    Frankincense! That’s it and maybe a little mint.
    Suddenly, your face appears in my mind –
    young, smiling, forever eighteen – I hold the image gently,
    knowing it will fade, as will the fragrance,
    the moment I open my eyes.

    (c) 2018 Linda M. Rhinehart Neas

    • Whoa Linda, what a perfect journey into a heart held moment.

    • In awe here. Echoing Damon’s “whoa” and adding a Marie Elena “wow” to my “wonderful poem!” Such imagery, Linda!

    • So, revised to include the line from the day before per the directions. Thanks, Walt for sending me the link.

      RECOGNITION

      Spice rises in layers, like last season’s clothes
      slowly removed from the cedar trunk to be sorted.
      Cinnamon…and something else…bay rum?
      I breathe in deeply, eye shut to this time and space.
      My mind reels back to ancient times
      to aromas – rare and costly – Ah, yes!
      Frankincense! That’s it and maybe a little mint,
      left to dry as the sun climbed.
      Suddenly, your face appears in my mind –
      young, smiling, forever eighteen – I hold the image gently,
      knowing it will fade, as will the fragrance,
      the moment I open my eyes.

      © 2018 Linda M. Rhinehart Neas

    • The problem is that eventually you have to open your eyes. Lovely poem, Linda!

  18. RJ Clarken on said:

    The Smell of a Day

    “Each day has a color, a smell.” ― Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni, The Mistress of Spices

    I want Tuesday to smell like cake:
    a torte filled with chocolate ganache.
    Confection says, “Such taste, panache…
    …it’s almost sinful, for heaven sake.
    I want to breathe the day, partak-
    ing of a whiff one cannot quash.
    The smell of a day is brown, opaque,

    and leaves a cocoa-scented wake.
    It floods my senses, rich and posh.
    Tuesday is a dense, moist nosh:
    satisfying a longing ache.
    The smell of a day is brown, opaque.

    ###

  19. Finding Solace

    Roses were the first
    to arrive
    and they held
    their blush
    high and hopeful
    until the nurse
    pushed them aside
    finding room
    for daisies, daffodils,
    and lupines
    till the darkest corners
    filled with scents
    and sniffles
    intermingled
    in prayer
    yet she drifted
    too far away
    to smell
    or hear
    and later
    when the room darkened
    and our shuffling feet
    found what path
    they could
    we took only
    the flowers
    with us.

  20. But For Autumn

    Aromas rise,
    they tell the day its age.

    A scent of fireplace dust
    at waking, with a thought to stoke the coals.

    A waft of flavored coffee steam
    at stirring, with a prompt to seize the day.

    A pungent dew-wet-fur
    at dog-is-in, with whines for breakfast kibbles.

    Each season
    has an age, an age that lasts all day, I say.

    And autumn owns
    the morning (not bright spring as you might think).

    It owns it by the rights
    of smell, by odors that can never be denied their time.

    Let other seasons
    claim their time by sight, or sound, or touch.

    But for autumn,
    aromas rise,
    they tell the day its age.

    © Damon Dean, 2018
    (For Poetic Bloomings, Autumn P.A.D. #2 Challenge, October 15, 2018)

  21. RENEWAL

    When I was young
    I loved the smell of autumn leaves burning.
    Then when older
    I rejoiced at the hues they were turning.
    Sure, once I grew
    I rued their heralding of summer’s end.
    But now I know
    As the earth must turn, so the leaves descend.

  22. These are very good prompts. Thank you, Walt and Marie.

    https://wp.me/p7ofDB-TU

  23. Aromas

    Smell those chestnuts roasting on the fire,
    crack and eat with apple cider.
    Scent from oven–gingerbread,
    and pumpkin pie spices
    fill my head. and mums–
    earthy, herbal.
    Chimney smoke
    fills Fall
    nights.

  24. I long to be a fragrant delight,
    reflecting Jesus in others’ sight.
    A savory scent of heaven above
    full of the Father’s aroma of love.
    The smell of heaven’s air to children both far and near
    is the God who loves me, knows, sees and hears.

    Oh, to be filled with His wisdom and grace,
    that others might catch a glimpse of His face.

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