hortus conclusus

Greetings once again, and it’s time for another perfume riddle. The gods have decreed it. Prepare yourselves, and make way for yon riddling perfume bottle, come from on high to challenge your wits. Which heroic reader will throw down the gauntlet and guess, at her peril? what I am I will not tell, for if you do not know me well, you cannot guess, and that is good for I’m obscure. I’m partly food, brilliant, luscious and so sweet, the red topping on an ice cream treat. Then tobacco, smokey, round, and almond, bitter and profound. My name is made of classical references, Latin, Greek, whatever your preference is. I struggle and emerge victorious, Name my name; I am notorious.   Since I am away on vacation, I cannot tell you if you’re right, so I embedded the house name in the labels below CREDITS: Darius’s sphynx, currently in the Louvre. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

  Happy Sunday all, and happy riddle day! Here, just flown in, an enigmatic flacon of perfume awaits your sharp brains and swift typing fingers…Who will be the first to guess which bottle wraps her real name in a veil of mystery? I’m on a fairy tale kick right now, so bear with me! A merry young maid lived in a dark wood, (with a hey and a ho and a hey nonny no…) She lived with dwarves; she made them food. (with a higglety-piggelty pomme-kin) She was so fair and bright and good, (With a ….etc.) she never suffered a petulant mood. (with a higglety-pigglety etc….) Only one weakness had she; ‘twas that she loved to eat sweet fruit low in fat. A pear and a cherry, an apricot too; blackcurrants, redcurrants, blueberries blue. These she loved even more than her life, and these were her downfall--caused the strife that rent their little woodland home, for when this maid was all alone-- the dwarves in the mines--  an old woman...

  It’s that time of the week again, and lo and behold, what do I hear with my own little ears, but a sphinxlike perfume bottle, galloping up to riddle you this and that. Who will be the great hero today, craking the code and naming the bottle who sings to you its siren song? A raging volcano covered with snow, a goddess in white pearls, row after row. A bright smile, a tender glance, a gauzy dress, a twirling dance across a brightly lit studio floor. This lady danced once—she will dance no more. A bright crown and a Barbizon cool, a castle and husband who made ladies drool, A hint of iris, a bit of leather and plenty of roses to remind you I’m clever like my idol—I never whip you too hard, but ever play my graceful winning card close to my magnificent chest. I share part of my name with one of the best bottles in the stable; you could say the same of the second half of my nostalgic name. Who am I? CREDITS: La Granja de san ildefonso, Sphy...

ZUT ALORS! It is time again for a riddling perfume bottle to sing you a little song! Who can it be this time? Kudos to the first to guess correctly: I’m the best of a lot of second rate spinoffs from a first-rate perfume house, I guess that’s the tradeoff when the bee-bottle people must needs pay the bills; they must create potions that give girls sweet chills of delight when they spritz my citrus elixir. They’ll think; it’s like breakfast, or perhaps in a mixer for cocktails, that juice, so sour and so ruby. That’s me indeed; I’m the fruit with the mostest, acidic and pulpy, I please every hostess-- on her skin, in her belly, it is all the same. By now I imagine you have guessed my name. If not, I’ll give you another sweet hint: I come in a bottle with a netting of glints of gold so special you’ll shell out the lucre for me though I’m named for a medieval genre of literature distinctly au passé now. You’ve guessed me, I’m sure, so I’ll take a bow ...

Behold, a venerable and dangerous bottle of perfume is riddling. Who will be the first to name her true name? You should search for me in your dreams: Morpheus is my father, he who pushes at the seams of your consciousness when you are asleep or perhaps when you’re under my red sway so deep. Sunk in your couch, or on a Chinese bed while visions of courtesans dance through your head, inhale me and transport yourself to a land where the texture of silk brocade smooth on your hand Reassures you when you feel you’ve flown too far on the wings of my namesake, floral bliss in a jar; remember the poppies that made me, the resin so sticky and black and heavy as Heaven and know me, for I am more than iconic the scent of the 70’s,  I know its ironic, for nobody used me all that much, they’d all moved on to a heavier touch but I represented a golden time long gone by when respectable gents visited dens to get high and lounged in a s...

Welcome to the fourth installment of my new feature here on Hortus Conclusus , in which a perfume bottle sings a little riddle, and it’s up to you to guess which bottle of perfume is riddling. Hark! The bottle speaks: Although I delight in barroom raunch, I’m not recommended to those with a paunch. You must be quite lean, and perhaps somewhat mean, to wear me; I pack quite a smokey, dark punch. That is the problem, and also the solution, but also, my white flowers suffer no dilution! They swim side by side with the ciggies so snide, I’m retro-ironic-- t’was my author’s intention. Who am I? CREDITS: Franz Von Stuck “Sphinx” courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Welcome to another installment in my new feature here on Hortus Conclusus , in which a perfume bottle sings a little riddle, and it’s up to you, dear readers, to guess which bottle of perfume is riddling. Which of you will be the first to guess this one, I wonder: There once was a girl from the boonies whose antics were often quite loony. and then she made me so others could see taste as childish as the Goonies’ A perfume she made with vanilla and sugar—it was somewhat Godzilla. By that I mean hairy; I’m so sweet it’s scary, SO if I’m a dream, I’m a killah. For reverie is what I’m named after, but you may receive this with laughter, for I come in a bag with a confederate flag and sequins that look even dafter. The girl who named me is not named Candy Or Cindy or Jessie or Mandy but she became famous, then married an anus have you guessed my name? it’s : _______! CREDITS: Ingres’ Oedipus and the Sphinx courtesy of Wikimed...

Welcome to the second installment of my new feature here on Hortus Conclusus , in which a perfume bottle sings a little riddle, and it’s up to you, dear readers, to guess which bottle of perfume is riddling. Which of you will be the first to guess this one, I wonder? This poem is an emulation of Dr. Seuss’s genius rhyme about the Flooboober Babboober bubs in On Beyond Zebra , one of the first poems I memorized as a child: If sometimes you don’t feel like channeling mother, put me on, for I smell like blubbery rubber. I’m no good to eat and I’m kind of a Goth, (If one says that with color that repels the moth) Although I am housed with luxury baubles, I’d prefer an alley where the streetwalker wobbles. I’m green and I’m amber as well as a powder, but my signature note sings considerably louder. If you know who I am, then tell me my name though my brothers and sisters sound somewhat the same, I am quite unique; unlike them, I’m no hack. My name, my dear frien...

I am introducing a new feature here on Hortus Conclusus , in which a perfume bottle sings a little riddle, and it’s up to you, dear readers, to guess which bottle of perfume is riddling. To start us out on the best possible foot, My first poem has an easy solution! Which of you will be the first to guess, I wonder: I’m not a pentangle. I live in a square I bubble like golden champagne filled with air, My obscure beginnings are shrouded in mystery But that won’t stop people from telling my history. I fly through the air, I swim with the fishes. Scientists say I reside in all ditches. I go everywhere, and all know my fame therefore I know that you have guessed my name. I will never die; you keep me alive. By now you have guessed, I’m ________! Image of Oedipus and the Sphinx by Gustave Moreau courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.