My nose is not with me
even as I felt for it
on my face, it is not there
yet I see the gore putrefying
under the noonday sun,
all around the busy square
without the putrescence
it seemed somewhat appealing.
In the place where I stroll
at the cobbled city hub,
by the banks of a viscous river
unsightly with scraggly lilies,
among urban fecal flotsam
yet without the redolence
my mind anticipated
it looked lovely.
It had an insistent charm,
that I was seeing, feeling
but not smelling,
life couldn't be so bad
without having to smell
the sordid realities at the
edges of our existence.
So true Eddie. My husband doesn't have a good sense of smell, and I often say to him he is lucky to smell certain things that are not at all nice. Great concept and title and great writing too! 10 Karin Anderson
i think this is very true. if we couldn't smell each other, then probably we'd all be nicer to each other. or at least we wouldn't overreact whenever someone farted.: D very good poem!
the beauty of the senses is that we have them, and it's a gift to be treasured, such as your words are to be treasured.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
hmm...good