The 5 Senses Poem Challenge

[Guest]

Personally, I'm on a dry spell and need a little muse goose so I thought this could help. I can't think of anything clever to start this challenge thread so I'll just state guidelines. Write a poem that includes the five senses. Use any form, any length. That's it. Easy enough, eh? Here's the kicker. You have to use the five words assigned by the poster before you then you write your poem and assign another five senses words to the following poet. However, if the poet so chooses, they can use any form of those words and if they don't particularly like the chosen word, they can use their trusty thesaurus.

Let's go...

Taste: Pomegranate
Touch: Sand
Smell: Sandalwood
See: Red
Hear: Breathe

 

[champagne1982]

Taste: Pomegranate
Touch: Sand
Smell: Sandalwood
See: Red
Hear: Breathe

She rests on her sandalwood scented
sheets plump as the flesh of pomegranate
with sweet ripeness those globes hang
pendulous and fertile with seeds
as plentiful as the sand that moulds
to footsteps on the shore and lips
stained red with the juice she tempts
with words like kiss me on her breath.
_______________________________

write this poem:

Taste: grapefruit pith
Touch: vinyl chair
Smell: bleach cleanser
See: stained formica
Hear: a radio program

 

[Guest]

Taste: grapefruit pith
Touch: vinyl chair
Smell: bleach cleanser
See: stained formica
Hear: a radio program

Salty Dog

More sour than a grapefruit is
its bitter pith and her anger.
Though she is spent, her sweat
and skin, her memory is blood, is mine.
Her matter stains the formica
and sticks to me like cheap pleather,
her vinyl chairs.

I mix her with Stolie over cracked ice
while practing a neat freak OCD
but, there is no scrubbing that clean.
Nothing, nothing gets that smell out
it just reeks bleach,
death and dissappointment.
It lingers like golden oldies on KILU radio,
an Unchained Melody, broken.



Taste: dead fish
Touch: seaweed
Smell: low tide
See: sundog
Hear: silence

 

[champagne1982]

Taste: dead fish
Touch: seaweed
Smell: low tide
See: sundog
Hear: silence

Sea Dog

Chase me to the coast
east to west that bright
spot hounds my shadow
dogs Apollo in his race
to end the day.

Silence before the storm
as waves disdain the breakwater
and the tides rush away
beyond the querolous quest
of seaweed tendrils.

I taste the dead fish oiliness
that lingers on the air
with the stench of ebb tide
gull shit and rotten crustaceans.

Yet, still we marvel at our lives
that cycle with the sun and moon
playing gods with tide and menses
and tomorrow I shall ovulate
proof that nature runs its course.
______________________________

Let's get clichéd this time:

Taste: honey
Touch: breezes
Smell: clover
See: blue sky
Hear: drone of bees

 

[Guest]

Taste: honey
Touch: breezes
Smell: clover
See: blue sky
Hear: drone of bees

After Yule, It's Me

Baby it's not you or all that commitment shit
it's those humming bees.
I'm allergic, remember?
She laughs.

Lest she does forget. Wiccan woman
is drunk on heavy clover, touched
by Eastland breezes
and so am I, seduced by her honied lips.

We love out loud as purple clouds
skid across our blue sky until eventually
it rains. Her spell is broken.
I'm not so powerless, after all.



Taste: copper
Touch: icy rain
Smell: cigarette smoke
See: darkness
Hear: foot fall on sodden leaves

 

[Vampiric_Mirage]

Taste: copper
Touch: icy rain
Smell: cigarette smoke
See: darkness
Hear: foot fall on sodden leaves


Darkest Fantasies

The feel of the icy rain prepares me
washes away my shame and doubt
as I walk towards my destiny
I can not resist
he is my strength and my weakness

Oblivious to the world
my feet struggling through the sodden leaves
I stumble forwards -
always forwards
to where I know he is hiding

The alleyway looms ahead
I know he is there
waiting for me
even though I try to pretend otherwise
and refuse to look towards it

The smell of stale cigarettes
alerts me of his presence
yet still I am surprised
when I feel his arms grab me
bruising me with their strength

"You're late"
his voice is steel
as he yanks me against him
I'm surprised at how well he plays his part
before his hand connects with my face

The coppery taste of blood fills me
shocking me, pleasing me
drawing me deeper into the game
"I'm sorry" I whimper
engrossed in the part I begged to act out

We said we wanted to spice things up
try new things...my thoughts disintigrate
as his kiss dominates me
my world narrows only to him
as he helps me fulfill my darkest fantasies...



Taste: champagne
Touch: cold
Smell: sweat
See: the universe
Hear: crashing

 

[colddiesel]

Uni-verse'd poem

Cold Champagne
sweats beads on glass
crashing smashing party.

Taste flesh
Touch heat
Smell you
hear silence
see darkness

 

[RhymeFairy]

After Yule, It's Me

Baby it's not you or all that commitment shit
it's those humming bees.
I'm allergic, remember?
She laughs.

Lest she does forget. Wiccan woman
is drunk on heavy clover, touched
by Eastland breezes
and so am I, seduced by her honied lips.

We love out loud as purple clouds
skid across our blue sky until eventually
it rains. Her spell is broken.
I'm not so powerless, after all.

This is hottttttt !!

- jus sayin'




Edit to add:::

and after reading down the others,
I feel I must take a shower, Grr.
Everyones is great !!

..

 

[UnderYourSpell]

The silence reaches deep into my heart
as I bury my face
into the pillow
where our love was young
flesh on flesh
your heat reached for me
all things die
but not my love for you
even in the last goodbye.

Taste chocolate
Touch snow
Smell blossoms
hear babies
see dishes

 

[CeriseNoire]

The silence reaches deep into my heart
as I bury my face
into the pillow
where our love was young
flesh on flesh
your heat reached for me
all things die
but not my love for you
even in the last goodbye.

Taste chocolate
Touch snow
Smell blossoms
hear babies
see dishes

Even my favored chocolate
can't
erase false memories
of a future that never was.

We never did
play in the snow
of my childhood castles
or smell cherry blossoms
as we wandered side by side.

All that remains is the cry
of babies forever unborn
and unwashed dishes
that remind me of you.

---
Taste: wine
Touch: rough
Smell: burning
Hear:singing
See:water

 

[Remec]

Taste: wine
Touch: rough
Smell: burning
Hear:singing
See:water

Everything about the
trip had been sour,
Rough winds rocked
every mile of the flight

until I was sure we
would be forced into
landing on the water,
bluer than blue, but

obscured like peering
through the glasses
our merlot had come in
during the dinner where

I discovered that rare
had no meaning when
speaking of blackened
steak. But the aroma of

charcoal had blended quite
nicely with the overly
sweet wine and kept me
mostly unaware of the

tinny, indulgent torch
singer working the room.
She even looked sexy,
viewed through moist eyes.

---------
Taste: chicken
Touch: silk
Smell: vanilla
Sound: bells
Sight: schoolchildren

 

[Guest]

Taste: chicken
Touch: silk
Smell: vanilla
Sound: bells
Sight: schoolchildren

Sister Habits

Church bells bring back weekdays
Sundays, and sometimes Saturday too
entombed in Sister Lena's class.
Other schoolchildren behaved
and unsurprisingly, I did not.

It's that nun habit that started way back then.
The one complete with her in traditional,
old-fashioned, coif and veil,
though really, underneath she wasn't.

Sister would walk by where she punished
me, down on my knees, nose to the stone floor
with the rosary in my mouth, tasting
forgotten prayers that seemed to taste like chicken.

I dared once to feel the silk at her ankle
and catch vanilla and self-denial in her wake.
Not so traditional, not so old-fashioned,
making acting out oh so worth it.

It wasn't because I was so bad she had
me. I think it was more Sister having
a slick dirty little habit herself:
Domina and her weak/7 days a week
or at least that's how my jack-off fantasy plays.



Taste: peppermint
Touch: warm skin
Smell: snow
Sound: owls
Sight: Northern Lights

 

[CeriseNoire]

Taste: peppermint
Touch: warm skin
Smell: snow
Sound: owls
Sight: Northern Lights

On a crisp winter day,
Northern Lights mesmerize me,
like you did once.
Then, we played the midnight owls,
sharing our make-believe wisdoms. I
giggled like a child
for each one of your peppermint cigarette
kisses on warm skin.
They tickled, you know,
like the smell of first snow
on a crisp winter day.

Taste: soap
Touch: wool
Smell: decay
Sound: laughter
Sight: city

 

[PandoraGlitters]

here is where your ribs
show where I must
leave a trail of tongue tipped
prayers each mouthed word
a version of your name

here is the name of your
skin it is the clean green stripe
of your soap

here is the soft sprung path
scant over your navel
then strong, grown wide

here is the musk of a shed
boyhood ghostly as sneakers
in the corner
thrown behind the door

here is the place that curls
your belly, your fingers in my hair
as I look up, joy and trepidation
spilling from your lips like jellybeans

here is the foothold I find
climb up to you to rock
over you sway
against you, hair falling over
our silhouette cast like a warning
against a wall of glass pressed skyline

which your tower echoes
serenading my spine



Taste: root
Touch: oil
Smell: smoke
Sound: sawing
Sight: bleeding

 

[Unbridled_Passion]

Taste: soap
Touch: wool
Smell: decay
Sound: laughter
Sight: city


twilight in the city is not pleasant;
the taste of soap in my mouth and
smell of decay reaches my nostrils
while hysteric laughter is apparent
in my ears- it feels like steel wool
on my senses. please make it stop!

Taste:strawberries
Touch:fingers
Smell:sex
Sound:moans
Sight:zipper

 

[Remec]

Taste:strawberries
Touch:fingers
Smell:sex
Sound:moans
Sight:zipper

Late night taco stand
and about three too many
cheap beers woke me
from the best time I'd had
in many weeks. While in
the bathroom, I heard the
telltale signs that my roommate's
girl was visiting again, and
then saw the abandoned jeans
by the glint of their zippered
pockets in the fluorescence.

Picking them off the floor to
the safety of anywhere the
cats wouldn't sleep on them,
I headed back to bed with her
panties in hand and laid there,
fingers moving up and down,
flowered cotton against my face,
breathing her in and brushing
the dampness along my lips.

She smelled more of woman than
I would have thought, but she
tasted of strawberries.

---------
Sight: seagulls
Sound: machinery
Taste: butter
Smell: cocoa butter
Touch: sharkskin

 

[Guest]

Sight: seagulls
Sound: machinery
Taste: butter
Smell: cocoa butter
Touch: sharkskin

Desiccated

This used to be Mission Beach
but not anymore. So-Cal is gone,
so are the Mormons and the Oakies too,
all swallowed in The Quake.

Now we lie here on our backs baking
in Memphis sands, stripped dust bowls.

Obsolete oil machinery pump
in the background, serenading us,
sucking up magma clear to China.

Revolted, I bite the inside of my cheek
rubbing her sharkskin with cocoa butter,
dreaming of grass and palms trees.

We are but dried crustaceans skittering
along dead lands as it seems cars
no longer need gasoline,
but still drain our resources.

I see seagulls and tonight I'll fry
them in butter because there is nothing left.




Sight: lightening
Sound: power lines
Taste: a kiss
Smell: rain
Touch: mud

 

[champagne1982]

Sight: lightning
Sound: power lines
Taste: a kiss
Smell: rain
Touch: mud

Remember that night over by the fence
in the mud as it clung to your boot
treads, turning your feet into Sasquatch
print makers? You stole my gum and swore
it tasted like my kisses as the powerlines
overhead hummed a dirge to the transformers
ten feet away behind the barbed wire
hung to keep us out, but not the birds.

There was a carcass of a sad little robin,
rot mixed with the rain as it drizzled
down between my collar and my neck. You
laughed when I shivered. Remember how loud
I screamed when the lightning hit that coil
and sent sparks flying to sizzle in the mud
at our feet? It was a measure of intensity.
I found out just how boring you could be.

Sight: white caps
Sound: flags flapping
Taste: cinnamon
Smell: frenchfries
Touch: wind

 

[Angeline]

Desiccated

Sight: lightening
Sound: power lines
Taste: a kiss
Smell: rain
Touch: mud

Lightning snakes the sky.
The ground shakes thunder
inside we buzz, then flicker
in darkness. Nothing else
shakes me as the power
of your kiss blurs the lines
of our joining, the taste
of your mouth on mine.
We are wetter than rain.
We ooze like mud.

Sight: hayrick
Sound: meow
Taste: wine
Smell: sex
Touch: skin

 

[Guest]

I'm blown away. I haven't written anything in months then suddenly a few words for inspiration and I've got several poems to play with. Everyone has got some for very different and creative poems going on in this thread.

I think since it has happend twice that if two poets post on the same sensory word list that the next poet after them can decide on either previous poet's new suggestions? Or write two poems?

 

[champagne1982]

Sight: hayrick
Sound: meow
Taste: wine
Smell: sex
Touch: skin

First cut was good, the hay
landed in long windrows, farm
hands followed the rake,
tying sheaves until the truck
belched exhaust stink and noise
up and down the field. Stacked
so high it seemed the rick
would fall and undo all
that gospel singing gathered
out in the barnyard where new
wine wet the gleaner girls'
lips and took them on daydreams
to the loft and the hired
hand. The yeasty smell reminiscent
of sex and fresh bread, their
tongue licks, the sensation
of skin on skin makes them forget
the barn cat's fleas
as she meowed for her kittens
and they fucked through lunch.

Sight: white caps
Sound: flags flapping
Taste: cinnamon
Smell: frenchfries
Touch: wind

 

[Tzara]

Sight: white caps
Sound: flags flapping
Taste: cinnamon
Smell: frenchfries
Touch: wind

Jasper's Angry Gestalt

I see whitecaps
I hear flags flap
I feel wind's slap
Smell French Fries capped
With sugar and sweet cinnamon. This

Goddam better be a poem.








We done with that? OK, good.

You poor next one. Here you go:

Sight: Cow.
Sound: Kapow!
Taste: Kung Pao.
Touch: Kick. Ow!
Smell: Oh, perhaps, mint. Whaddaya all think?​

Now be nice and stick to the rules.

 

[champagne1982]

LOL! But I feel like I did all the work .

Sight: Cow.
Sound: Kapow!
Taste: Kung Pao.
Touch: Kick. Ow!
Smell: Oh, perhaps, mint.

skinny cow kicks maid
chicken head sits on block, kung
pao for dinner, axe kicks
hard, Kapow! Livestock dead
tomorrow, minted lamb
or beef and greens?

Sight: Birch bark
Sound: Splash
Taste: acrid
Touch: sting
Smell: smoke

This challenge reminds me of a poem on my list, that I should be working to improve, but I've been lazy...

Artwork

What a wonderful work you are,
a piece of art, stirring my senses!
Each one of texture,
colour,
flavour,
scent
and sound,

making a soft brilliance
out of a savoury, perfumed noise.

I want to touch you,
to see you,
to lick you
and to smell
your sweet delight
as you let me hear your love.

A treasure found though never lost,
just hidden behind your cloak of humanity

 

[UnderYourSpell]

phawwwww and other unladylike noises of appreciation ...

 

[unpredictablebijou]

I'm blown away. I haven't written anything in months then suddenly a few words for inspiration and I've got several poems to play with. Everyone has got some for very different and creative poems going on in this thread.

I think since it has happend twice that if two poets post on the same sensory word list that the next poet after them can decide on either previous poet's new suggestions? Or write two poems?

good idea, j. i almost had one in the other day and then someone beat me to it.

LOVING this thread. what an excellent idea, and it's really working nicely.

bj