Smell recollection runs deep
goes right down to my core
muscle memory scents frame
my backstory timeline lore
Some I recall by name
others by their fragrance alone
shrouded but diamanté clear
as if embedded in my bone
a few boisterously noisy
stay robust to the root
like the used car salesman
in a loud checkered suit
other scent reminisces
hide in subconscious hem
Try as I might to reach
I always just miss them
Been haunted since 5 by
a primordial memory cologne
smelt in Alaskan swamp where
a moose and me played alone
I see burnt tree cremains
in my young eye of mind
from ancient forest fires
their skeletons left behind
we are told that from
purgative fire, ash and rain
come new plants and creatures
old growth swamps live again
What I smelled in play
such magnificent perfume
I have vague recollections of
bear and baby whale plume?
(but how could whales be in swamps. They couldn't BUT I did see them in the bay and I WAS ONLY five, so reminisce-ories get jumbled..)
It was a berry I guess
whose scent told me deities
on Olympus dined quite well
upon scrumptious orbs like these
Never smelt such heaven
since then until this day
my bog bear, moose, whale
and Alaska went away
But once, I think I caught
whiff of my beloved scent
oh frabjuous day to nose
food of angels, heaven sent
Where did I smell it and
from whence did I get traces
of my vermillion goddess globes
at Ikea of all places!
Alas there's no mystery to
my tantalizing fruit so lush
In Sweden as in Alaska
grows the lingonberry bush
I will say it loses a lot in
Ikea's cardboard carton of juice
as opposed to ripe'ning in swamp
all wild, unboxed and loose
And I prefer mystery to
some prosaic marketing ploy
Forget Ikea's Swedish-ish shtick
I'll go back to me old bog with joy!
Here's a short tale of the
girl who sniffed out a berry
the nosy parker and swamp
live only in my faded memory
Maybe I got it wrong
it wasn't even a lingon
but it's my story and to
that party line I'm clingin' (don't judge! you try finding a rhyme for lingon!)
What I know for sure is
to that bog again I'd go
in a heartbeat just to smell
my berry of red Day-Glo
This verse began about scents
the forgotten and the known
funny how the half-recalled
stay mine and mine alone
The teacher in me can't
help asking you each and all
what glorious smells can
your ownsie self recall?
Reach deep, it's so important
and I know that you will find
mythical magic reminisces in
an ambrosia state of mind
Love you all,
Teacher Omi (who believe it or not was once five. In a bog. With a moose. This reads like Dr. Seuss. My next poem?)
Posts
