The 5 Senses Poem Challenge

[butters]

scent: a shower
sight: shadows
sound: silence
taste: summer
touch: softness

private library

in the softness of a summer shower
that brings its memories
of ripe peaches to the tongue
and where the silence of petrichor
wraps its own shadows around your thoughts
you sit in your special room
windows open to sights and sound
mind open to the whisperings of books
that line every wall
climb every recess
and fill every table
even as your fingers cross smooth continents
and oceans roll beneath them
round the axis of the faded
fascinating
globe


sight: pale moon in the daytime sky
sound: a woodpecker drilling a trunk
taste: charcoal
scent: old urine
touch: the smooth, organic feel of old oak wood flooring

 

[29wordsforsnow]

sight: pale moon in the daytime sky
sound: a woodpecker drilling a trunk
taste: charcoal
scent: old urine
touch: the smooth, organic feel of old oak wood flooring

~~~

On rue de meaux, it's common law
beneath a smiling cheese-skinned moon
no matter if it's dark or noon
a cat must stride on paw by paw
all ignorance, no sign of awe
for dogs' piss stench right on the ground
a busy beak's jackhammer sound
right next to black suit's constant caw
cars will break for feline chutzpah
crowded streets a catwalk away
the twinkle-toed, dressed in cliche
returns home to Madame Dumas
stairways to heaven, five floors up
first thing to have: a tiny cup
its subtle notes: charcoal, framboise
keeps running down the furry jaw
filtrated first, then eau-de-vie
one drop alone for Aurelie
supplied with taste by grand-papa
Monsieur Leclerc, old, bald, bourgeois
spent, still here, and mostly naked
there's no need to simply fake it
wrists tied with scarfs of black surah
muted by a spoiled matching bra
emptied, he never felt as good
as now, lying on the hard wood
music in his ears as each claw
accompanied by his soft Aah
worms tones out of the stained oak's grain
the audience awake again
his stamina a tragic flaw
and only done when sore and raw
nails sink into the heaving chest
there is no better place to rest
thinks the cat of Madame Dumas.

~~~

scent: salty
sight: umbrellas
sound: heartbeats
taste: something done with lemons
touch: rough wool

 

[XShadynzX]

scent: salty
sight: umbrellas
sound: heartbeats
taste: something done with lemons
touch: rough wool

Breathing in the cold air from the sea
The salty scent tickles the back of my throat
Bringing back memories of summer and sun

Umbrellas brightly coloured line up
Like soldiers on parade
The sun hot and heavy on the sand
Cooling now as winter comes

I close my eyes and remember the
lemonade that you made
the sharp, bright scent of lemons
squeezed to make the drink we loved

Our heartbeats loud in our ears
As my cheek rests on the rough wool
of your favourite sweater
Your arms around me, hold me close
as your warm breath stirs my hair


Sight: Mountains
Sound: Birds
Taste: Honey
Touch: Grass
Scent: Hay

 

[Wordcascade]

Sight: Mountains
Sound: Birds
Taste: Honey
Touch: Grass
Scent: Hay

Touch-a handle
Taste- dirt
Sight - water
sound- ringtone
scent- fresh rain

 

[Angeline]

Touch-a handle
Taste- dirt
Sight - water
sound- ringtone
scent- fresh rain


Penobscot Country Club, July 2004

It was after midnight
when we crossed, no traffic
just an empty ribbon of road,
black and winding in dips
and turns toward Bangor,
streetlights shining on puddles,
glassy and rainbow-hued
beneath a galaxy of stars,
a thousand wishes waiting
to be made.

The air was fresh, clean,
redolent of petrichor and we ran
hand in hand like naughty school kids
sneaking onto the golf course,
sneaking behind the clubhouse
to the 7th green, me holding the handle
of our picnic basket: a baguette,

cheese and a beaujolais,
fruity, sweet and cold.

We made love right there
on that soft bright grass,
mouths tasting of wine
and a hint of dirt too,
from our energetic exercises,
rolling on that wet carpet.

When my phone rang
with its characteristic tone
we ignored it and watched
the Moon instead.






Sight: flowers
Scent: dirt
Sound: bells
Taste: berries
Touch: piano