The 5 Senses Poem Challenge

todski28 said:

Sight: something that inspires hope
Sound: sex
Touch: toes
Smell: fabric softener
Taste: leather

Click to expand...

Not Stockholm


A proper ball-gag must have
been outside the budget,

it's the idle thoughts, mental
randomness, that stick with a
person after something traumatic,

Have my toes always been this
much in need of having their nails
clipped? I can practically feel them
leaving little piercing slashs wherever
I flex my feet.

After a while, even wadded up leather
apron tastes pretty good as it sits in
your mouth and makes intimate friends
with your tongue and lips. Friends
that they won't be becoming anytime soon.

Not that there's been any abandonment,
mind you, or neglect--outside of limited meals,
limited bathroom breaks, and oh-so-very limited
space with in which to lie...or it it lay?

Whatever.

Other than my being here, it seems to be just
another day. I can smell the Downy as laundry
gets done. I can hear the muffled panting of
bodies in heat, and that special sort of squeak
bedsprings make when someone is thrusting
into someone else over and over again.

Or maybe she's riding him?

I lean back and try to do something other
than sleep, taking heart in the smallest of
things.

They asked me what I wanted for dinner.
My music tastes seem to mesh well with theirs.
The last time I was taken through the work room,
I could see that all the assorted knives, drills, and
unidentifiable (but nasty looking) tools has all
been put away.

That's got to be good, right?
~~~~~
sight: cats
sound: squeaking
scent: wet dog
taste: stale water
touch: something woolen

Remec said:

Not Stockholm


A proper ball-gag must have
been outside the budget,

it's the idle thoughts, mental
randomness, that stick with a
person after something traumatic,

Have my toes always been this
much in need of having their nails
clipped? I can practically feel them
leaving little piercing slashs wherever
I flex my feet.

After a while, even wadded up leather
apron tastes pretty good as it sits in
your mouth and makes intimate friends
with your tongue and lips. Friends
that they won't be becoming anytime soon.

Not that there's been any abandonment,
mind you, or neglect--outside of limited meals,
limited bathroom breaks, and oh-so-very limited
space with in which to lie...or it it lay?

Whatever.

Other than my being here, it seems to be just
another day. I can smell the Downy as laundry
gets done. I can hear the muffled panting of
bodies in heat, and that special sort of squeak
bedsprings make when someone is thrusting
into someone else over and over again.

Or maybe she's riding him?

I lean back and try to do something other
than sleep, taking heart in the smallest of
things.

They asked me what I wanted for dinner.
My music tastes seem to mesh well with theirs.
The last time I was taken through the work room,
I could see that all the assorted knives, drills, and
unidentifiable (but nasty looking) tools has all
been put away.

That's got to be good, right?
~~~~~
sight: cats
sound: squeaking
scent: wet dog
taste: stale water
touch: something woolen

Click to expand...

We brought you in
some old dog, discarded
and forlorn soaked to the skin
from where you'd crawled
under the porch
to escape a late Summer downpour.
In payment you shook
stale water over the kitchen,
the cats hissed and swore
and squeaked a protest
as the intruder
now warmly wrapped
in an old sweater
hungrily ate their dinner.


sight: boys fighting
sound: ice cream van jingle
touch: gravel
smell: curry
taste: tea

sight: ground
sound: gasps or moans
touch: teeth
scent: alcohol
taste: vomit

Click to expand...

Vantage

It's a brisk wind,
surprisingly so, since
there never seems to
be much evidence of
breezes up here.

I look about, all the ants
massing on the ground
below, with their flashing
blue lights and scurrying
about debating whether
safety airbags would be
helpful or not.

Amusing, to be sure.

A second surprise is the
way I can still taste regurgitated
remnants of the night's meal,
my tongue slowly caressing each
tooth in a drying mouth, but
my shirt smells more of weak
tequila and strong rum instead
of hours-old puke. Good thing,

I'd hate to be smelling of
a Last Supper like that one.

Leaning forward, I am tempted
to fling arms wide and proclaim
myself King, but forbear to enact
the cliché and glance back at the
the gasp of the first responder
to make the climb. She's cute,
but much too young for this.

I hope she gets over it.
~~~~~

sight: people united by their clothing
sound: chanting
scent: potpourri
taste: sweat
touch: slimy

Remec said:

Vantage



sight: people united by their clothing
sound: chanting
scent: potpourri
taste: sweat
touch: slimy

Click to expand...

Aunt Gladys said she never
had so much fun
as when huddled
in an air raid shelter
with Yankie Airmen
where they sang and chanted
ridicule of the bombs
crashing overhead.

Emerging to shattered houses
the sweet smell
of potpourii in an abandoned parlour
and firemen slimy with sweat
battling over broken lives.

Sight: flooded fields
sound: ticking clock
scent: furniture polish
taste: peppermint
touch: bubble wrap

UnderYourSpell said:

Sight: flooded fields
sound: ticking clock
scent: furniture polish
taste: peppermint
touch: bubble wrap

Click to expand...

Setting Up Home
----------------------
Moving in together
Our first home away from homes,
Parents told us, "No!", Forbade us,
But what did they know
We were seventeen for fuck's sake!

That little house
amongst those fields,
How cheap it was?
That winter We found out why,
When our house became an island.

The few things we'd packed
we treated carefully,
Covered in bubble wrap
Which, we later used in place of a TV,
Oh! the fun you can have going pop!

First we unwrapped the clock
Its ticking driving us insane,
Then we unwrapped the tea set
Cheap, from Woolworths,
Finally, we unwrapped each other
Frequently, and with gusto!

You became, much to my surprise
A domestic goddess, polishing so much
That Mister Sheen, and my nose,
became personal friends,
For all of a week.

You smoked back then
And I hated the taste during sex,
So you sucked Polo Mints
Oh, the taste of second hand peppermint
And sight of your tongue and that hole!

And here we are
Twenty five years later
One mortgage, four jobs, three kids,
One affair, and couple of moves,
And I still can't forget
The ticking of that clock.

Sight: Blue Sky
sound: A creaking door
scent: Sweat
taste: Banana
touch: Leather

Open

Fingers of heat harvest
bananas from the trees
and scatter them along
the shoulder. Split skins
release the smell
of readiness. Blue sky
paints the open roof
of a car crowded
with sunlight that leaves
a wet kiss between
thigh and leather.

The door complains
as it opens, an arm
waiting for embrace
and for you
to come inside.

Sight: a screen of some kind
sound: pages turning
scent: something breaking
taste: something sweet
touch: bark

todski28 said:

Sight: sand
Sound: fireworks
Scent: fire
taste: hamburger
touch: something that excites you

Click to expand...

Under the pier
where the sand is hard
but dry, we lay.
Firework celebrations,
hamburgers and bonfires
melt into insignificance
as your tongue sinks
between my legs.
Only the roving gull
echoes back
my keening cry.

Sight: pineapples
Sound: Aircraft
Scent: Wet earth
Taste: Milk
Touch: Hair

todski28 said:

Stepping in close
my hands grasp
petite shoulders
rasping on your shirt
like bark
blushing up at me
breathing quickens
pupils dilate
your thoughts,
screened by words
"we mustn't"
I can hear what you really want.
like the crisp sound of a turned page
opened to me
you try to hide it but you can't
I can smell the scent of you
breaking between your thighs
I crunch down on the cough drop
I have been working in my mouth
as it cracks you start
I can sense your resistance failing,
as you lean in
I step away
smile cruelly

Click to expand...

this is a good 'un, todski, especially strong in the second half.

UnderYourSpell said:

Under the pier
where the sand is hard
but dry, we lay.
Firework celebrations,
hamburgers and bonfires
melt into insignificance
as your tongue sinks
between my legs.
Only the roving gull
echoes back
my keening cry.

Click to expand...

you should have entered this for the summer poetry contest, annie. it's a cracker!

When I Got To The Hawaiian Islands

UnderYourSpell said:

Sight: pineapples
Sound: Aircraft
Scent: Wet earth
Taste: Milk
Touch: Hair

Click to expand...

It was after I woke to the sound of aircraft
Zooming across the sky above my raft
That I must be nearing one of the Hawaiian
Islands where I could tell someone that Alan
Blunden was able to use all of his crafts
To survive a tsunami that cost the lives of every
Man aboard a boat known as the Tom And Jerry.

But that was before I came upon this one island
And detected the scent of wet Earth on the land
Before I got off the raft and was able to carry
Myself up this hill and to the most beautiful house
That I ever saw aside from the one of Mickey Mouse.

And when I stepped into the house and felt the silk
On the living room couch, I poured a glass of milk
In the kitchen and it had a taste that would arouse
Even the strongest man and give him a large dick.

Of course, that left me with one hell of a trick
To pull off which was to find any woman on that island
Who would be able to let herself be in such demand
To be fucked in the ass and pussy by such a large dick.

That was before I stepped out of the house to discover
A beautiful brunette swimming in the pool without her
Wearing a swimsuit to cover her body and not a care
In the world before she got out and dried her hair.

And when she saw me, the first thought inside her
Mind was to call the police and accuse me of stalking
Her in order to steal some formula she was working
On to cure mankind's dependency for that Viagra drug.

But when she got a good look at the body of this thug
And saw that my cock was not even shrinking,
She stepped back into the pool and I went in after
That babe in order to place a gentle hand on her
Hair and plant one hell of a kiss on her lips.

Then, after I laid both of my hands on her hips
And fucked her in the ass, she allowed me to turn her
Around and pump my fingers deep into her pussy before
I started sucking her tits which was no longer a chore.

And after we climbed out of the pool and I drilled my
Cock into her pussy so hard that it made her cry,
We had finally allowed a tidal wave of cum to pour
Right out of us before we fell asleep next to that pool.

That was before she told me something that was so cool.

She said that her name was Doctor Loretta Gregory and
She was hoping that her formula would be so grand
That nobody would ever again call her nothing but a fool
Before I saw her take a bite of a pineapple.

Sight:comic book store
Sound:music from any heavy metal band
Scent: pancakes
Taste: orange juice
Touch:soft skin

butters said:

this is a good 'un, todski, especially strong in the second half.


you should have entered this for the summer poetry contest, annie. it's a cracker!

Click to expand...

Thanks but I only wrote it this afternoon

She’s Already There

While you eat peanuts
with the alacrity
of a circus elephant
and wonder if she’d kiss
you the pipeline of scotch
supplied by the bartender
has long ago diluted
any trepidation she carried
with her. It’s tucked
safely into her clutch
with her just-in-case condoms
and fuck-me-hard lip gloss.

You assume she’s had too much
when she leans back
and closes her eyes
but without the burden
of light she sees you
delivering on the promise
she applied to her lips
earlier. One hand twisted
in her hair, at once breaking
the gravity of earth
and commitment
while you both reduce
and raise her to a body
designed to erase
conscience and consciousness
of anything beyond
this taste of the tangible.

When she opens her eyes
they are coloured
with a hint of promise
and it’s clear
she’s not had nearly enough.

Sight: menu
Sound: chair scraping the floor
Sent: spices
Taste: lemon
Touch: ice

todski28 said:

Sight: menu
Sound: chair scraping the floor
Sent: spices
Taste: lemon
Touch: ice

*a la carte*

a menu of enchantment
chair bound, blind folded
I stand over her
shadow casting a phantom
she can sense, but not feel

her body bare before me,
tingling, quivering, I select
my delicacy. the only sound
her panting breath
I leave her suspended

the rattle of ice cubes
she starts, as it drips
coldness, blindness mingle
a keening cry at the icy drop
on her fragile exposure

a shiver as it trickles
from nipple, down
the hill and lost in
the cleft where breast
attaches to body

twisting the knife of
anticipation, I drag her
chair backwards
startled cry garners no attention


gently tug her hair back
tilting it over the chair
a mouthful of
icecold fresh lemonade
trickle it from my mouth to hers
passionately kiss

rise and fall of chest
sweat smells of spices
tounge tastes of lemon
flesh, texture of polished marble
her panting gasps
a smorgasboard of senses

we both
long for her release
but not from the bindings

Sight: Longing glances
Sound: radio sports commentary
Scent: fresh paint
Taste: dirt, or saw dust
Touch: a struck blow

Click to expand...

Grandpa escaped to his shed
whenever possible.
Work worn hands smoothed over
wooden toys he crafted lovingly,
ankle deep in shavings,
where they sat waiting
for their red and blue paint.
Half heard cricket commentary
droned on in the background
as he cast longing glances
at the six packs
he dare not open
for fear of a stinging blow
from Grandma.
"You old fool, remember
your health, do you think
I want to lose you now?"

sight: autumn leaves falling
sound: burglar alarm
scent: Chanel No 5
taste: toothpaste
touch: sticky fingers

todski28 said:

sight: autumn leaves falling
sound: burglar alarm
scent: Chanel No 5
taste: toothpaste
touch: sticky fingers

*No next time*

what are we doing here?
shouldn't, wouldn't, couldn't
help it and now, the alarm
is raised loud, unending,
flee.
a loud crack revebrates
ducking I turn to you
eyes glazed, you fall
with the grace of
autumn leaves
wouldn't, couldn't, shouldn't,
and yet you managed to
persuade me, I was
always your pushover
kneeling in tears
fingers sticky with
your life, I gag
on the taste of toothpaste
and the cloying scent
of knock off chanel no5
shouldn't, wouldn't, couldn't
Can't anymore

Sight" juggelers
Soud: a monotonous speech
Scent: fresh tea
Taste:Something unexpected (e.g. bottle labelled coke, but lemonade etc)
Touch: ink, or something that leaves fingerprints

Click to expand...

Squeezing his balls
between my hands
stops him droning on about
an entirely innocent
text conversation.
Already fed up with tea
too strong and sweet,
this was one annoyance
too many. He stays
slumped in his chair,
seemingly uncaring
of spattered bloody
fingerprints on the white
shirt he prizes so much.
I walk away.
still squeezing
and juggling.

sight: Carnival
sound: motorbike
scent: fresh linen
taste: nicotine
touch : a rash

Tavern to tavern on a rainy night

sight: Carnival
sound: motorbike
scent: fresh linen
taste: nicotine
touch : a rash

The Pike, 10 PM,
lit in neon that seems to drip
bright colors in the pouring rain,
splashing, running, crazing over concrete.

Outside the bar, Ol' Pan rumbles to life,
echoing in the tourist trap canyons by the sea.
She climbs on behind, leans close, holds tight,
only too willing to trade a ride for a ride.

Fish tail away, "which way?" "Not far."
Fifteen miles later, dry on fresh sheets,
a nicotine kiss examining a tattoo and owie,
fried eggs over fried eggs,
road rash from Atlantic and Pine.

sight: A pole in a topless bar
sound: J. Geils (freezeframe)
scent: a crowd
taste: Disante
touch : fingers

Sidewalk Scene

In your take she’s without
eyes. A plastic doll
just flexible enough
to wrap her legs
around a metal pole
but without the ability
to run due to over-inflated
breasts and a lack
of brains. With a crooked
finger she begs you to come
closer for her open mouth
to suck you in and swallow
a stream of lines. The irony
of “freeze frame” leaking
into this decade from a nearby
car radio is lost
on your film-covered eyes
that peer between the slits
of your director’s chair
painted with pigeon crap.

You're reels away
from the reality of a blue-eyed
lady fully dressed and drinking
deeply from her water bottle
while she leans against
a parking meter
on the sidewalk and waves
beyond you
to her kids on the swings.


sight: snow bank
sound: engine
scent: pine
taste: cherry
touch : ice

todski28 said:

Sight: a gun
sound: train
scent: mould
taste: oranges
touch: your own forehead

Click to expand...

just a job

The stone is cold underfoot,
even through my shoes,
the whole church is one huge draft
wafting indiscriminately along my
ankles, wrists, and neck. I slip into
a confessional, taking a moment to
peek under the jacket and make
certain I haven't lost my piece.

I've long since gotten use to its
weight as it hung along my torso,
so much that I tend to feel it
even when I've taken the holster
off for some reason. I pop a piece
of hard candy to avoid smoking--
I actually stopped a while ago,
but you know how nerves can be.

The sweet, but tangy, orange taste
in my mouth helps sooth a throat that
the moldy smell of the abused leather
and carpet in the small booth has been
taunting. A change in lighting tells me
the priest is here, and when he asks
what he can do for me, I tap out a
sign of the Cross against my forehead

"Bless me, Father, for I am about to sin,"
I say before finishing up the evening's
business and heading out the grand foyer
and down the wide, steep steps out front.
Just in time, too, as I can hear the brakes
and whistle of the train arrived to take
me back into obscurity. Until next time, that is.
~~~~~

sight: turtles
sound: laughter
scent: marshmellows
taste: pizza (your choice of type)
touch: scratchy

Across the embers
he watches
as she blows
on the accidental
marshmallow torch, groaning
when teeth pull golden skin
between lips and her tongue fails
to catch the melted white
that leaks from the core.

Laughter reminds him
he is only alone in his thoughts
so he mumbles something
about more pizza inside
and needing to feed
the kids’ turtles while pulling
her toward the door confused
since she ate the last slice
of Hawaiian and fed all the pets
this morning but when he turns
the lights off instead of on
as they enter and she feels
weekend stubble graze
her neck with a low growl
she knows
why they have come
inside.



sight: forest
sound: airplane
scent: moss
taste: skin
touch: leaf

Only Green

“Green,” she thought
with an air of finality as she gazed
down from the low airplane
hovering noisily above primeval forest.

“Green. Not like the saharan tones
of my arizonian youth
or the raw saggy skin
of the last dismal uncut lover
I had.
Or is it right to say have? --- ”
she asked herself as the plane swung lower
and the tops of the trees rushed up towards her
and she could almost feel their leaves
brushing against her
and she could almost sense the union
of the smell from between her thighs
and that from the moss on the forest floor
and in that final tailspin
as life crashed from within her
she could almost see the flash that
would soon blind her.



sight: smoke
sound: rattle
scent: rose
taste: honey
touch: jelly

sight: drink container
sound: phone ringing
scent: strawberry daquiri
taste: cigar
touch: glasses


The Meeting
~~~~~~~~

I sit opposite you,
Wanting you to hear,
To hold you,
To take you back to before.
In this crowded bar,
Cheap, and full of sweat,
The atmosphere foggy
Tasting of cigar smoke.

The bar man, careless,
Leaves your drink and hovers for his tip
Believing surliness worthy of reward.
What the fuck? I pay him off
Handing you the strawberry daiquiri,
Or imitation thereof.
A garish pink facsimile
And memento of your previous taste.

How did you come to this?
Once you were proud,
Smart, clean, cared about yourself.
Now you mix here,
Trading your body for pennies.
I pick up my warm, beer?
It's glass container hard, and dirty,
I pick up the photo of our child, your daughter
And I turn to leave.

Your phone rings and you answer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
sight: a border crossing
sound: foreign voices
scent: car fumes
taste: stale bread
touch: clenched fingers

Sight: mist. or sea spray
sound: loud bass
scent: paint fumes
taste: a favourite treat
touch: a wallet


The fog so thick on the bayou
feel like water on the skin
casting a lure toward that loud splash
where Mr. Bass eat some critter
tryin to swim across the slough

Then I let it sit
while Mr. Bass finish his breakfast
put the rod down in my fresh painted boat
fumes keeping away the skeeters
have a little breakfast of my own

finaly I give that old Rapalla a twitch
see if Mr. Bass want a biscuit
to go with those frog legs
he do and we at it again but not long

I reel in my slack line
paddle back toward the dock
check my wallet to see if there's enough
for beer and a lure
.....................
Sight: something alarming
sound: loud sax
scent: paint splatters
taste: free
touch: something untouchable

Why, I do not know why
the taste of freedom is ever elusive
‘though birds circle in a liberated sky.

why the last notes of a sax float languidly by
and feelings drip derivative
Why, I do not know why.

why mornings are drenched by memories dry
and by the sight of sex abusive
‘though birds circle in a liberated sky.

why our limbs are seldom spry
and the air is often oppressive
Why, I do not know why.

why the splatter of paint voices a distant sigh
and a constant dirge resounds plaintive
‘though birds circle in a liberated sky.

why the touched and the untouched lie
like souls together, primitive
why, I do not know why
‘though birds circle in a liberated sky.

-----
sight: airplane
sound: groan
scent: freshly washed clothes
taste: caviar
touch: calloused hands

Women in dresses swirl around,
music plays in the background.
I don't hear a sound.
Silk brushes my bare legs,
the sway of my gown.
People laugh.
I don't hear a sound.

Her hair is soft
and glows in the faint light.
The scent of wet concrete
permeates the night.
She tastes sweet
like cherries
picked when ripe.
This feels right.

But I don't hear a sound.

Scent: something burning
Sight: flower blossoms
Feel: wet
Hear: vinyl record
Taste: gingerbread cookies

Scent: something burning
Sight: flower blossoms
Feel: wet
Hear: vinyl record
Taste: gingerbread cookies

Such a proper house
an elegant foyer, slender legged
writing desk, the Ming vase
the pussy willow tender
and green an empty stage
but for Spring wavering
at a screen, forsythia brushing
insistent fingers, Spring wavering
in me from the gilt mirror,
pupils wide, mouth shocking
bright in the pale face
and the burning inside glowing
on my skin, making me shiver
when the record hisses pops
and flows Vivaldi like a million
blossoms to herald your arrival
all rough hands and urgency
mouth at my neck the storm
breaks and we fall
with the inevitable rain.

Later we share gingerbread
cookies. You teach me
to drive a stick shift.


Scent: coffee
Sight: cityscape
Feel: leather
Hear: singing
Taste: lemon whatever

Scent: coffee
sight: cityscape
feel: leather
sound: singing
taste: lemon whatever

I sip my coffee
wrapped tightly in a blanket
looking out over the city.

The wind brush through my hair;
Like the fingers of a lover.

From the car, Porter croons
carried on the wind.
You're singing along.

I use your voice to track you
as you approach from behind.

I can picture you in my mind;
Tousled, stubble, sleepy eyed
Smelling of sleep and sex.

I turn into your arms,
Leather jacket pressing against my face.
You kiss me.
You taste of lemons.

Scent: cinnamon
taste: honey
Sound: Children laughing
sight: forest
smell: forged metal

PrincessLeigha said:

Scent: cinnamon
taste: honey
Sound: Children laughing
sight: forest
smell: forged metal

Click to expand...

I think you missed touch so I will use forged metal for that

Breakfast in Bed
~~~~~~~~~~

The breakfast smells wake me
The coffee brewing in the pot,
My eggs being scrambled,
The aromas of your soap
And of our recent congress.

That's cinnamon in your coffee.
As distinctive as your footstep,
Or that gasp you yield
As I enter you, initially.
When you are ready and demand me.

The picture you took of the bluebells
In the dappled forest shade,
Hangs framed on the wall.
We crushed a few of those,
On our first time together.

I reach out, and grasp hard cold.
The forged metal bedstead,
To which I was recently tied,
Now provides needed support
For stretching sleepy muscles.

And the morning squeal of our kids!
As they watch mice hurt cats,
While enjoying honey sweet toast,
Lets me know that on this Sunday,
All is right with the world.

Smell: chlorine
Sight: clear water
Touch: ceramic
Hear: muffled human sounds
Taste: citrus