Ethics, Values, & Sustainability
Environmental Strategy & Sustainability
Systems Thinking & Sustainable Businesses
Last Updated 05/30/2006
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
GROUP 3
Scents of sorrow
longing, needing, wanting
but to no avail
Perhaps twasnot deserved
A short life of living in
Sweet and distant land
Anna Hillary
Whistling, the wind through the trees
Buzzing, the work of the bees
Bubbling, the brook flowing free
Nothing, she whispers at me.
Jeff Mand
Touch
The pressure from her hands,
Gliding from the oils while
Scratching from the salts.
Moving across my back and shoulders,
Following the curves and crevices,
Searching within the muscles.
That spot, the source, the culprit,
She puts pressure,
Kneading, digging,
Intent on releasing the tightness.
She wins the battle with the knot.
With me the only casualty.
Matt Johnston
The songs of birds are beautiful
I try to mimic by whistling, but no birds answer
They know better, I do not speak their language
More than one type of bird sings, I wonder if they can understand each other?
Listening, I cannot tell each voice apart
I wonder what they gossip about
Amelia George
It sings to me
Lying there in bed
The window is open
Music dancing in my head
The sounds from the street
Sirens driving by
Voices raising up
Somewhere a muffled cry
With my eyes closed
I can picture it all
The world outside
Has its own call
The sounds come together
Dancing in my mind
It creates a song
Music of its own kind
Kelly Koenig
"The Last Time We Shook Hands"
When I lasted grasped his hand
to say goodbye
I Felt his stories in his touch
Worn & withered, tired and torn
Wrinkled with time blistered with work
The details of his life laid in his hands
The curves of his knuckles, dirt in his nails
Calloused yet soft, strong yet weak
Courage, wisdom, meaning passed through his palm
Years of hard work written in his skin
Moisturized only by sweat, pampered by dirt
Bronzed by the sun, sculpted by use
I don’t feel that in hands anymore
The stories are soft and supple and weak
I’ll always miss that man and the stories in his hand
Brian A. Bengry
Oft over-looked, it speaks to me
It usually gets dominated by the others
I close my eyes to hone in
Aromas of pine, Earth
A confluence of smell carried by the breeze
Of near and of far
Of new and of old
Blended by cycles
Ever changing
Kevin White
What’s that- apple?
Coconut, Mango and Orange
I detect a trace of vanilla from the left
Chemicals, I know, not the real thing
But still, carefully concocted just to fool me.
Not just me, because the messages I send carry meaning,
Memories, fantasies, images otherwise suppressed.
For just this moment, song of many fragrances
Transport to a tropical market,
To a garden, onto a beach.
Alone, each scent often fails to fool me
But together, the intensity of the shampoos of many
Combine to overwhelm and delight
Rising with the tropical steam.
Julia Glad
First from the spoon
Then to my lips
Sweet on my tongue
Then all of a
Sudden I think
There’s a party
Inside my mouth
Kelly Koenig
Warm and moist, your breath spills onto my neck.
It gives me shivers.
Your hand slowly caresses sensitive skin.
It makes me writhe.
Your words sound steady rhythms within my ears It calms me.
Rachel Ogden
Loud noises
Ring and Ring and Ring
Sirens interrupt my concentration
My ears are buzzing
I hear cries
Moans of people in fear
I want to shut my ears and hide.
I want to escape into silence
I want to escape to waves crashing
But instead I am stuck
In chaos
Ilana Richman
Yoga
I lie on my back
in corpse position
after more than an hour of
lotus, downward dog, chair
after more than a week of"
sleeping too little, sleeping too late,
laughing, crying, dancing, discussing
I understand why they call it
corpse position.
I feel dead yet so alive
My body has absorbed the past week,
it has endured the stress of the past hour
(though I already feel a little sore)
and now I'm ready
for a New Week.
Rebecca Wolfson
"My Little Ones"
I hold you to my chest now that you still fit in my arms
The scent of your hair and yours and yours
It is always the same with each of you, yet I know its you
It smells of dreams and pure, of love and snow
Vanilla and cream and the coos of your voice
An odor of order, the order of life
Of you to me and now to tomorrow
From moment to moment my life to yours
Remembering the smell remembering you
And you and you.
Brian A. Bengry
Baking apple pie
Spicy honey ginger tea
Warm sweet home
Tiny white plum flower
Snowmelts
Sweet spring
Fresh cuts of grass
Cardamom on chai
I smell the seasons
Kozue Nogami
throughout the day
i search
and
search
for my one
true love
crisp clean
breeze
with a
fresh surprise
each
day
Liz Hawley
Trucks haul and brake
Motorcycles roar
As the clock ticks on
Voices cry buy more
A child returns after 9 hours at school
Her body plump, and her brain challenged and sore
Sundee Wislow
I reach out my arms and smell the spring fresh scent,
Feeling the spring wind through my fingers,
The wind is so warm and tender,
just like holding my mother’s hand
I can’t grab it into my palm but
the warm breeze goes right into my heart.
Lok Sze Chan
My mind is laced with thoughts of you.
My mind has traced the situation through.
No mind to what I just might do,
But my mind is made up, I've fallen for you.
Rachel Ogden
It comes about the same time each year
the scent of spring.
A scent so recognizable to all,
one that tells us nature is changing,
the world is again coming to life.
Lindsey Knutson
Your hair is my playground,
And a test of my skill.
With every hug you give,
I take in its heavenly scent.
Its freshness when you’ve come from outside,
Its sweetness after a long hot shower,
Its sugary spice after cooking something good.
With every breath I unlock a secret about you.
Adam Schumaker
breathe in, breathe out
bland
breathe in, breathe out
bleak
breathe in, breathe out
awakened
breathe in, breathe out
familiar
breathe in, breathe out
musky
breathe in, breathe out
alluring
breathe in, breathe out
he sits beside me
Aileen Strickland
Visions dance behind closed blinds
Blurry images of a different kind
They are not real, they’ve been exhumed
From the depths of my memory, their stories resumed
What I see now, I will see again
Reality exists but who says how and when?
With open eyes, I see what light has reflected
But so much more exists undetected.
Laura Muskatevc
