The scent slid in like evening tide,
familiar as the retriever on the lane,
as remote as linnets in summer grass,
but always it surfaced in the rain.
Apples, cinnamon, freesia. Whitebait kissing
bubbles on the surface of the pool.
Musk, jasmine, sandalwood. Tortoiseshell wings
flowering from cotton crypts.
Citrus, rose, lavender. Gutters giggling
down water in the alleyway.
Always it surfaced in the rain.
The trace of the potion was the pocket of a raincoat,
a tissue rested between the dark spaces. Smells
swelling in hibernation.
I left our past in the tissue, left the tissue in the coat, left the coat in the cupboard.
glynfedwards 
“I left our past in the tissue, left the tissue in the coat, left the coat in the cupboard.”
Fascinated me… so beautiful. Thank you and also Thanks for visiting my blog. I am glad to meet you. With my love, nia
Thanks for the praise and for moving it onto your pages. You take some incredible photos so I’m flattered the poem can reside there also.
Reblogged this on photographyofnia.
“The scent slid in like an evening tide,”
Brilliant opening line, a great read.
Jim
Cheers Jim. All downhill from there though!
Are you unhappy with it then? I like it as it is, the way smells are tied to a physical object. The way you need to wonder whether the coat is ever worn, or is just a dark reminder with its aroma filling the dark space inside a cupboard. Yes, nice images.
Jim
That’s kind. I found it bizarre how, on finding something with a familar but unwelcome perfume smell on it in a chest pocket of a coat i often wore, that i didn’t want to abandon the discovery or the scent. Like driving past a former residence but not wanting to stop or be seen there. Thanks again, Glyn
I’ve just been visiting places from twenty odd years ago, it does raise the ghosts of old friends.
http://notyethere.wordpress.com/2012/10/25/ghosts/
The smell of the North Sea, walking around old perimeters. Just seeing the names of towns on signposts, all created a melancholy that stayed for the visit.
Jim
Did it stay melancholic or bloom into nostalgia? I really like the final lines. Tried a few times to comment on your site but my phone or I are struggling. Will try later…maybe when the baby tries harder to appreciate daylight saving.
Ah children, gift of the gods or grandparents revenge, take your pick. We are looking after grandkids at the moment for half term. I forgot what it was like – now I remember.
I’m afraid it stayed melancholic, I have quite a few notes and photos to go through and assemble a series of poems. I’m hoping it will make an interesting longer piece of work, not a usual style for me.
Brilliant poem, with wonderful imagery
Thank you.
Super piece of work, resonates here.
Put me in mind of a piece I had written earlier, although nothing like it (funny how the mind will jump if you let it),
it’s at
http://mucktwineandthinker.wordpress.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=34&action=edit
if you want to take a peep.
Yours is much deeper, more poignant and I really enjoyed reading it.
Thank you for the praise, I tried a couple of times to follow the link but it kept bringing me back to the same ‘you have no right to edit this post’- if you put it on again, I’ll try again.
I loved upturning the Ted Hughes poem there though. Glyn
Lovely. Wonderful concluding line.. and I very much like this imagery:
“Tortoiseshell wings flowering from cotton crypts.”
thanks john, when you see your lines scissored out like that and represented to you it can take you by surprise…i suddenly like the line far more than i did previously.