Does your Hero Smell? He Smells like a Memory #poetry

Ironically, this wasn't a cologne worn by anyone I ever knew, but I remember finding a sample scent in a magazine and I tore it out and slept with it under my pillow for a while and then placed it in my underwear drawer. It just smelled so good!

I guess, if I really get down to the nitty gritty of the matter, all the heroes in my novels probably smell like Safari or some equally raw earthy aroma that reminds me of my youth, of young love and the way your heart expands and your stomach pitches when you see that guy who makes your palms sweaty...who you'd recognize simply by the fragrance of him. The thing that makes him "smell like a memory." Our sensory perception lays the foundation for what we're attracted to, what we love, and the type of hero/heroine we're drawn to.

I don't often share my poetry here and I'm honestly not sure if I've shared this poem before or not, but I thought today I would because for me, scent does set off the most vivid of memories, and therefore it opens the door to the things we carry with us, no matter how far we've coming from where we once were to where we are now.

He Smells Like A Memory

HE smells like a memory
A hint of the past

Wrapping itself around my senses 

Jerking me back to a time I had forgotten
I feel the quickening of pulse
The deep vibrations in my core
Rising to roar in my ears
Drawing me to him

He smells like a memory
That makes my mouth water and my palms go damp
My heart aches and my loins tremble
As the visions of a life I once had
Flash through my mind
I catch my breath…

He smells like a memory…
Where has time gone?
It seems I forgot him so easily…
But I haven’t…
Not really
He has always been there
Ever-present in my heart
Waiting for some small detail
To set off the rushing river of emotions
That still tie me to him forever-
Be it an object or a feeling
Or even a scent
Yes, that’s it!

He smells like a memory
Like sensuality and sex
He smells of urgent need
And burning passion
And a love I tried so desperately to release
Still desire flickers and smolders beneath the surface
Yes, he left me…
Left me to face the days and years that came
Without him
Left me to reminisce of what once was
What should have been
What could never be
Yes…
He left me to pick up the pieces of my heart
Each time HE smells like a memory…

(copyright 2009 Taryn Raye)

I'll leave you with a few songs from one of my favorites- Ben Taylor.

#Writerly Wednesday- Shattered #poetry #writing

This morning's Writerly Wednesday will be just free flowing thought/poetry because I need an outlet for some built up emotion.

Peering through the darkness
My mind stumbles over
A sliver of yellow light

Dust motes swirling, teasing
So distant, yet so tangible
That I reach out, grasping at a shadow

A shadow of what once was
That slips through my fingertips
I follow it down a long gray hall

The golden fragment
Twists and spirals
Beckoning me with a seductive ripple

Taunting me to remember
That time, that life so long ago
That love that once was mine
 
I come upon a pane of glass
Transparent yet tarnished
A window on my past

Wipe away the dust and time
I see his face, his smile, his eyes

 I catch my breath
I taste the salt
A heart arrested in my chest
Unbidden tears demand to fall
 
Fingers skim the icy surface
A pop, a crackle, then
Shattered!

A desperate cry escapes my throat
Air forced from lungs
I breath again
 
The heartache just too raw
The fractured images splinter out
Left with only reflections
Staring back

Shards of memories
Frozen
In moments trapped forever
In my heart

(copyright Taryn Raye August 2012)



Have a great Hump Day!
I can see the weekend from here!

#MemoryLane Mondays- #Poetry & #Mother #Daughter Time

 My copy of The Best Loved Poems of the American People-

Yes, after the dust cover wore out, I created my own with plastic canvas crafts.

 

Some of my favorite memories are the times spent with my mom and sister, laying on my parents' bed on rainy spring or summer afternoons. It was quality time that, though it has altered, is not something we get to share very often nowadays. When I do go up to visit, sometimes when we have down time and are just lazing around the house, my mom and I or sometimes my sister and I can sit and chat.

The last time I was up my mom and I had a morning like that. After my darling daughter had shoved me against the wall as much as my poor old back could handle all night long, I retreated the the living room sofa around 6 or 7 am. My mom, who usually sleeps in later than that, got up and lay on the futon and we just talked. Those moments are never enough for me because I know someday I won't have them anymore and that's one of those mid-life scary thoughts that makes you yearn for just a few more of those "mother/daughter" moments- the kind you'll be able to look back on as you get older and life moves onward.

I have a book of poetry called "The Best Loved Poems of the American People" which we used to lay on the bed and read from. Every Christmas, my mom would read us A Visit from St. Nicholas, but there were other times this thick tome was hauled from the shelf and it was on those rainy afternoons that my mom would read us poetry that was not exactly politically correct and oftentimes very gruesome and violent portrayals of life, love and death.

A few examples that sticks with me are- Love's Philosophy, Loyalty, Outwitted, Annie and Willie's Prayer, The Owl and the Fox, Judged by the Company One Keeps, The Walrus and the Carpenter, A Scandal Among The Flowers. Those are just the few that really stuck with me, along with this one, which never fails to bring me to tears-

The Little Cat Angel

by Leontine Stanfield in
"The Best Loved Poems of the American People"

The ghost of a little white kitten
Crying mournfully, early and late,
Distracted Saint Peter, the watchman,
As he guarded the heavenly gate.
"Say, what do you mean," said his Saintship,
"Coming here and behaving like that?"
"I want to see Nellie, my missus,"
Sobbed the wee little ghost of a cat.
"I know she's not happy without me,
Won't you open and let me go in?"
"Begone," gasped the horrified watchman,
"Why the very idea is a sin;
I open the gate to good angels,
Not to stray little beggars like you."
"All right," mewed the little white kitten,
"Though a cat, I'm a good angel, too."
Amazed at so bold an assertion,
But aware that he made no mistake,
In silence, Saint Peter long pondered,
For his name and repute were at stake.
Then placing the cat in his bosom
With a "Whist now, and say all your prayers,"
He opened the heavenly portals
And ascended the bright golden stairs.
A little girl angel came flying,
"That's my kitty, Saint Peter," she cried.
And, seeing the joy of their meeting,
Peter let the cat angel abide.

This tale is the tale of a kitten
Dwelling now with the blessed above,
It vanquished grim Death and High Heaven
For the name of the kitten was Love.

 ****

 Whatever you do on this 1st day of the week...don't forget those you love dearly and let them know.

Don't wait to tell them you love them until all you have left are the memories.

Memory Lane Monday- Birthdays

My birthday will arrive before I do another Memory Lane Monday, so I think today I'll reminisce a bit about the birthdays I had growing up. I never had birthday parties with friends- well, not the kind my parents planned, though in my teens I did things with friends, but when I was much younger I do remember my grandmother (my mom's mom) always made sure to get me a store bought cake from the grocery. The ones with the shortening frosting and rose buds and fancy piping and the little plastic "Happy Birthday" sign in cursive.

She always tried to make sure she got a "black & blue" cake. For some reason, I deemed chocolate worthy of that distinction, even with the mixed vanilla and chocolate creme sandwich cookies that were always in the cookie jar at my grandparents' house- you know the ones, the grocery store versions that were sort of like Oreos.
I honestly don't know where I got the idea, but it would seem that "Black & Blue" have been following me for the better part of my life and ironically, I realize now that the majority of my color scheme for this blog, my website, my Twitter profile, my tattoos, are in shades of black and blue as well. Perhaps that is significant in a way I cannot comprehend, but I digress...

What do I remember about birthdays, most vividly? Whether my parents bought me a cake or my mom baked one- almost always chocolate, if my birthday were on a school morning, my mom would get me up and make me blow out the candles and make a wish before I got on the bus. And I got to eat CAKE for breakfast. (*Flash* to Bill Cosby's "Dad is great, he let us have chocolate cake!)

I remember sharing my "birthday" with my sister, and vice versa—being it was just us two girls, she would get a small gift on my birthday and I would get one on hers in July.

At my grandparents, someone generally gave me birthday spankings, with "one to grow on." I remember the year my parents got me Olivia Newton-John's Greatest Hits Volume 2- I WORE that record out. It skips so bad, especially on the last song- Xanadu. I so wanted to be Olivia when I grew up. LOL I remember my grandparents on my dad's side getting me Sleeping Beauty on Disney VHS and we watched it together and I was SHOCKED beyond measure when Maleficent cursed.

When I was 14 or 15 my grandma on my dad's side presented me with a beautifully bound collection of classic novels, Alice in Wonderland, Little Men, Robinson Crusoe, to name a few, but I believe it was a 10-12 book collection (and perhaps I'll touch back on this set of books in a later blog). I believe that was also the same year she presented me with these two beautiful iridescent cat figures.


Also for my 15th birthday, my parents got me a book of poems called To My Daughter with Love on the Important Things in Life by Susan Polis Schutz. My parents wrote a little something inside the book to me and I intend to follow below them, with a note to my daughter and give her that same book on her 15th birthday.

That was also the same year that my father gave me an autographed copy of In Country by Bobbie Ann Mason as a late Christmas present when the construction company he works for built her house. (More on that in a later blog as well.)

I'm sure every birthday has some significance- something more than just aging another year. Each are special in their own way and each either teach us something new about ourselves as we grow, or they gift us with treasures of the heart.

What do you remember about birthdays you've had?
Are there any that stick out more than others, or that hold a special place in your heart?
Please share!