My nostrils are bitten
by the brisk scent of pine,
invigorating, enervating in the rain.
I follow my nose
to two freshly felled stumps
and marvel that death can smell
so very much alive.
poem-lily August 2, 2014
The scent
wound around the room
burrowed up the nostrils
and drained out eyes.
Set away
from sensitive noses
the lily’s petals have fallen
and still its heavy scent
fills the heated air,
present in death,
like warm memories
of you.
poem- winter wind January 13, 2014
Wafting on the cool wind
as I plow through the snow to the car
comes the heavy scent of roses.
I look for the source without success
as the air is saturated with summer
in frosty winter:
Perfumed paradox.
Shawn L. Bird 