The 5 Senses Poem Challenge

[Rogueslady]

Yuletide Wake

The Christmas tree was still up.

I stood in the darkened parlor,
although, I suppose he used it
for a den since the decor was
all wood and leather,
and the inherently pleasant
smell of old paperbacks.

The scent of decaying pine hung
over that of anything else, though,
and I sipped generic punch,
left over from last week's party,
and idly munched on cut-out
reindeer and snowmen gone stale
with nothing but their sugar encrusted
outer layer having any real flavor.

Music wafted in from the big room,
someone had switched up from more
traditional carols for bluesy, Gospel
covers and I smiled at how he would
have reacted to that. Smiling prompted
me to lift my red Solo cup to an old
photo on the shelf--black and white,
trooper's hat on but no smile, and all
the promise of a life spanning so many
generations visible in those eyes,
merry and mischievous,

You'd think he'd chosen this time
of year on purpose.

~~~~~
sight: fire of some sort
sound: laughter
scent: rosemary
taste: bacon
touch: powdery

As we sit around the campfire,
the morning after,
cooking eggs and bacon for breakfast,
the scent of sex and rosemary still lingering,
our laughter filling the air,
as we joke and catch up,
we spend the day together,
walking through the powdery sand,
making love in the water.

sight: water
sound: waves
scent: incense
taste: fish
touch: silky

 

[Rogueslady]

sight: water
sound: waves
scent: incense
taste: fish
touch: silky

*after dinner*

fish and chips abandoned on the bench
remnants of dinner

nag champa, cloying smoke
obscures the view fills the nostrils,
waves roll in a rippling quiver,
you wash my face in your water
a silky touch to reassure you,
you can sing acapella for me,
no judgement,
I'll happily tap out a silent beat
for your piercing falsetto.

sight: far horizon
sound: favourite band or song
scent: something freshly washed
taste: pastry
touch: callouses

sight: far horizon
sound: favourite band or song
scent: something freshly washed
taste: pastry
touch: callouses

As we set sail on the cruise ship,
we stand there looking out over the ocean,
watching the sunset over the water,
seeing the waters dance in the far horizon
dancing with each other our favorite song Everything I do playing,
your strong muscled arms and your working hands with callouses on them around me,
you smell my freshly washed hair smelling like roses
kissing you as we dance tasting the morning pastry that you ate this morning lingering on your breath.

sight: water
sound: birds
scent: roses
taste: cinnamon
touch:soft

 

[FlyAwayFromHere]

i really like the poem above

my first attempt as an "artsy" poem... i pretty much just go for the basic poems... but i thought i would give it a try. i know it sucks but i dont know, i guess i assumed the imagry might give me credit haha.

Its set in a post apocalyptic world...


Sight: clear skies
Sound: wind
scent: petrol
touch: hot
taste: cream



I dream of a day when clear skies
fill my eyes
again.
the hot sun beats harder than my heart
wind starts.
burnt taste on the tongue
petrol smell
just as well
remembering the taste of clotted cream.
a foolish dream.

Sight: rising sun
Sound: screams
scent: sweet
touch: wet
taste: dry mouth

 

[Rogueslady]

i really like the poem above

my first attempt as an "artsy" poem... i pretty much just go for the basic poems... but i thought i would give it a try. i know it sucks but i dont know, i guess i assumed the imagry might give me credit haha.

Its set in a post apocalyptic world...


Sight: clear skies
Sound: wind
scent: petrol
touch: hot
taste: cream



I dream of a day when clear skies
fill my eyes
again.
the hot sun beats harder than my heart
wind starts.
burnt taste on the tongue
petrol smell
just as well
remembering the taste of clotted cream.
a foolish dream.

Sight: rising sun
Sound: screams
scent: sweet
touch: wet
taste: dry mouth

Sight: rising sun
Sound: screams
scent: sweet
touch: wet
taste: dry mouth

Watching the rising sun on the sunny beach,
being with you from the night before when we made love,
feeling the feeling of your wet tongue on my pussy,
smelling in the deep fragrance of Sweet Honesty,
hoping that no one heard my screams of ecstasy as we joined as one,
with me sucking your cock to rid my mouth of its dryness.


Sight: fire
Sound: cooing
scent: ocean breeze
touch: soft
taste: strawberries

 

[Desejo]

Harlequin Love ...

..the curl of flames on flushed cheeks
Pigeon coos and bird kisses
muffled in velvet soft mounds
Forest strawberry taste of feminine essence
pink moist clefts scented by
the breath of the ocean

Our version is different

Gropes in dark corridors
the jagged music of gasps
hardness that stretches, opens
Salt and semen drip
Off my tongue
And the smell?

The smell is of sin

****
Sight: a plant
Sound: workers
Scent: paint
touch: sticky
taste: lukewarm coffee

 

[Desejo]

sound: alarm
Sight: sign written van
Scent: something delicious
touch: something slightly textured
taste: cake

Scooby Doo gets Horny too

Velma’s cinnamon rolls
sold directly from the back
of the Mystery Machine
Have Scooby and Shaggy
wildly sniffing the air
moaning
While
Fred whets his appetite
nibbling the nubby elastic leg openings
of Daphne’s pink panties

Trails of crumbs
Moist as velvet cake
the final clue.

Sound:humming
Sight: crow
Scent: old perfume
Taste: skin
Touch: softest blanket

 

[Remec]

Sound: back ground swearing
Sight: snow
Scent: pine cleaner
Taste: ice
Touch: something gliding on skin

Watch

The words are unclear,
oddly so, since McKeown was
usually so direct about how
well his vocabulary embodied
proverbial sailor-speak, but once
I roll out of my rack and see how
the porthole is covered in white,
it all makes sense.
I yawn as I dress, too late a night
before a duty day, the smooth feel
of the deodorant and its smell usually
get me alert enough, but today
my head is closed tight, which isn't
helped by Mr Coffee is on the
fritz and me waking too late to hit
the galley before reporting to
the quarterdeck...Palmer has my back,
though, and hands me a steaming
mug...the scent of the freshly
swabbed deck overwhelms the coffee,
and I sigh...pine always make me
think of my first gin and tonic and how
I downed it so quickly to get past the gin
that it left my tongue tasting
nothing but the ice left in the glass. I sigh,
and drink it anyway.
~~~~~

Next:
sight: convenience store
sound: buzzing
smell: ketchup
taste: chocolate
touch: sticky

 

[greenmountaineer]

Remec beat me to the finish by a nose

Golbahar Used to Live in Kabul

Last summer she baked like a goose
but this November the snow and ice
taste like gunmetal casings
the Taliban leave in the streets

that smell of death as when Delaram jumped
from the bridge over the Gomal
while her burqa ballooned like parachutes,
revealing a sumptuous body.

Baitullah just sat there, drinking his tea,
swearing "we'll kill them, Brother,
if God wills it," rubbing horseshit
off his boots and his pantaloons.

Golbahar thanked Allah for Pine-Sol
as she enters "the powder room,"
a euphemism Rasa once used
who hurriedly fled to London.

Haunching, she looks at the gap
between her knees and rubs her thighs,
telling herself it's just to keep warm
as she glides there, her fingers wet,

before she closes her eyes and chants
"Where did the love go? Where is it now?
in shā' Allāh, where is the love?
What is it the Prophet said?"



sound: squealing tires
touch: any animal's pelt
taste: hominy grits
smell: diesel
sight: blue sky
(Or Remec's above)

 

[butters]

amazing

 

[KatieJones]

sound: bird call of warning
touch: pint glass
taste: regret
smell: cigar smoke
sight: a beautiful art piece (statue, painting whatever)

Market

A gray hawk screams
above the ceiling-less stores
in the streets of San Jose.
Fingers of smoke from a cohiba
turn her shoulders
in search of the familiar
but find a stranger’s eyes, parting
the two dollar beaded necklaces,
unblinking as he drinks
her in with a slowness
that matches the molasses-coloured ale
in his pint glass. She tastes
him in echoes of the flesh
while her fingers stroke
the smooth rosewood sculpture
of a faceless woman’s curves, absorbing
the contradiction
of being both revered and imprisoned.

They are all coming.

She sees the horizon
despite closed eyes and waits
like a thousand grains of sand
to be shaped by whatever wave
hits her first.


Taste: ginger
Sight: snow
Sound: voices
smell: evergreen
touch: ice

 

[greenmountaineer]

Final Hearing

Cooperation without trust,
friendship without affection,
they lived too long in Legoland

with his and her bathroom sinks
and a sea of warring chemicals,
pretending to smell like evergreens,

but then the voices turned to ice
in whiskey eyes once ginger ale
on a bed you could bounce a dime upon

staring all night at her snow globe
reflecting cold blankets of anger,
shaken a year ago last December,

while he in his one room studio
eats what would sicken a cockroach,
lights a second from the end of the first,

and downs a bottle of Rémy Martin
between remember's sunset and sunrise
to have all his courage tomorrow.

Taste: Apple pie
Touch: flannel
Sound: Christmas caroling
Sight: something pink
Smell: gasoline

 

[greenmountaineer]

Domesticated

In the melancholy pallor of midnight,
she wishes she had a tongue-glove compartment
for cyanide where the wisdom tooth was,

except for Heather's paper mâché
thingamabob on her dresser
next to the first bottle she warmed

when midnight was a lullaby
instead of a hush that amplifies sound
from the scuff of a leather heel.

She scratches the latest scab away
that was a welt a week ago Tuesday
as he opens and slams the door Shut!

Up! like a jackhammer up her ass
for the grease stain still on his pants.
Madeleine's seen it all before

but not as much as Heather did
with a handful of tiddlywinks last week
who knows, who knows, Dear God! who knows!

Taste: fried eggs
Touch: felt
Sound: radio playing any kind of music
Sight: photo of a dead relative
Smell: perfume

 

[Desejo]

Dinner: the unspoken truth

Bottles sweat on the bamboo table
Condensed drops threaten
to burst like unspoken desires

to ruffle his hair
oh, to plow my fingers in it
like strands of silk in a loom

to taste his fingers
overtures of green chili
aching in unseen afterglows
in the darkness of my mouth

Burnt sugar and vanilla
Frangipani and jasmine
drip perfume on my tongue
like votive candles
over dessert

a child’s bamboo whistle,
the kind that plunges
in and out
in and out
shatters my inchoate reveries

a drop of water falls on the table
explodes
then

we drink our beer
_________
Touch: foil
Taste: fruitcake
Sound: swords or knives clashing
Sight: fruitcake
Smell: skin

 

[Remec]

Touch: foil
Taste: fruitcake
Sound: swords or knives clashing
Sight: fruitcake
Smell: skin

Found Dessert

The smooth, shiny surface
of Reynolds Wrap always
feels so unique once it's
been used to wrap something,

the small block could have been
almost anything, but my hope
for last week's lost meatloaf is
dashed by the sight of yet
another fruitcake. Or is it?

I peel things back and ask for
a knife, sighing at the sound
of metal on metal as a simple
request becomes a duel for
the right of cake conquest,

A slow, steady slice reveals the
expected mix of green and red
candied fruit, a few things that
might be raisins--maybe currants or
cranberries--and I mentally cross
my fingers for Porter cake as I
bring a chunk to my lips.

Nope, just fruitcake.
~~~~~


sight: plastic Santas
scent: peppermint
sound: Salvation Army bell
taste: blood
touch: concrete

 

[Angeline]

sight: plastic Santas
scent: peppermint
sound: Salvation Army bell
taste: blood
touch: concrete

Christmas in Bangtown chump
change for the kettle do not
ask for whom she tolls but stroll all
ye to Wal-Mart where elves
look mighty tired, rush, slump
and smile ka-ching ka-ching.

Spiritus Sanctus somewhere I
have never traveled, holy host
of blood but it's so damn cold here
the very air is peppermint we
slide on the concrete bridge and
Whip-Me Santa is tied to a tree
with black electrical tape.

sight: blizzard
scent: rosemary
sound: song (your choice but use a name)
taste: ice
touch: something hot

 

[Neonurotic]

sight: blizzard
scent: rosemary
sound: song (your choice but use a name) Settle Down - Kimbra
taste: ice
touch: something hot

Melting

The door wide open, we let in a flurry
from the fury, dusting her and I
in a cold white confection
that tasted like ice on her lips.

"Baby there's no need to run,
I'll love you well.
I wanna settle down." ¹

Words flee me on the frozen wind,
but really, there's no need for them now.
A hot kiss from temple to nape is enough.

Buried there in her rosemary curls,
I'm melting, not knowing
if the run-off is snow or tears.



¹ Settle Down by Kimbra




sight: snow
scent: pines
sound: wind
taste: blood
touch: metal

 

[greenmountaineer]

Damn! Late again!

But it is what it is. Use mine or Neo's 5 senses for the next.

Caroling by Rosemary's Bedroom Window

It's snowing like hell outside
and Harry smells like peppermint schnapps
when Jimmy says Rosemary should
and what he would do to her if she would
down a bottle of peppermint schnapps.

"Damn! She's hot," Jimmy says
who's as icy as Frosty the Snowman
"but let it snow, let it snow, let it snow
because her parents went to the movies
and won't be back soon! Rosemary said."

sight: sausage grease in a frying pan
scent: coffee
sound: AM radio news
taste: orange juice
touch: solidified sausage grease in a frying pan

 

[Desejo]

sight: writing
scent: death
sound: dripping tap
taste: Chinese food
touch: plastic

Endings, Taste of Chinese food omitted.

The writing is on the wall
in dry-erase
Next of kin. Duty nurses: Kelly,
James, Suzie

The first time I meet
Sauer, Otto
Father of
Sauer, Sondra
(my friend)

He is unconscious
Open-mouthed gasps
gurgle like coffee through his lungs
sometimes stop ping

then Hhhhhhhlluuuuuusssss

another gasp
torturous drips of a lifefountain
freezing loudly in the winter

In loopy youthful writing
Kelly, James or Suzie
Estimated the “discharge” date
They got it right.

The second time we meet
Otto Sauer is quiet. No more
Gasp ing
He does not protest as
His estranged daughter strokes his hand
mummers words in German

His hand is still warm
On the plastic couch we sat
looking at him
me trying to navigate her minefield
of bitter memories to find the
too few good ones

He never knew me.
How odd I should be there
getting to know him at a grave
smelling only of hospital.
********
Sight: magazines
Sound: gnawing
Scent: orange
Taste: joy
touch: warm cup or mug

 

[Remec]

Sight: magazines
Sound: gnawing
Scent: orange
Taste: joy
touch: warm cup or mug

Gingerbread Prisoner

"Nibble nibble, like a mouse,
who is nibbling on my house?"

The echoes of her words still
gnawed away as I kicked back
and flipped through ancient
periodicals--things even a doctor's
office wouldn't try and keep around,

I tried to ignore the foods she
kept slipping through the bars, but
her cooking was so exquisite, like
tasting joy in every bite, a joy I
hesitated to want to indulge in,
now that I knew something of her
favorite menu items.

She must have something special
planned for the holiday, the entire
space reeks of orange--sometimes
zest, other times freshly squeezed
juice--I would worry about what else
was being juiced, except my sister
still manages to slip little items to me
now and then. A toothbrush...clean
clothes--one item at a time, mind you,
this morning she managed to bring me
an entire mug of still warm cocoa.

"I have a plan, let her think you're getting
fat enough for her tastes," she told me in
a hushed voice, hoarse from the crying
she would never admit to, even if I had
asked about it. I smiled and pulled her soft
hand into my too-small space and kissed it.

"Good. I hope it's something deadly."
~~~~~


sight: wood
sound: horn
scent: food (your choice)
taste: carrots
touch: couch

 

[Desejo]

sight: wood
sound: horn
scent: food (your choice)
taste: carrots
touch: couch

Away in a Manger

I was a donkey
Penned in behind
Mr. Matice’s brown couch
Knob knee kneeling on cushions
That really felt like hay

We three asses
nibbled baby carrots
in buck teeth communion
of sweet and whole foods

We three witnessed
a wooden star
float down from the sky
heard trumpets of Angels

(The small kids
flew in on wires
which was not fair)

During the applause
I thought about the
devil’s food cupcakes
Billy’s mom made

Chocolate so sweet
you tasted it by smelling it
I bet Jesus would have liked that
better than Frankenstein.

******
Sound: falling water, like a bath or shower
Scent: bread baking
touch: towel
Sight: spilled liquid
taste: coughdrop

 

[Remec]

sound: happy laughter
scent: something that makes you happy
touch: a friends (physical, emotional etc)
sight: open door
taste: wine

Forgotten Party

The open door had worried me,
not really the time of year
or the right sort of neighborhood
for that sort of thing, but stepping
to the doorway the trailing notes
of the birthday song dissolved into
nothing but giggles and laughter,
the infectious, grin-making sort of
happy sound that we could use so
much more of around this house.
A hand on my shoulder as I finished
entering was backed with a soft,
"Glad you decided to come anyway"
and a follow-up kiss that left a hint
of merlot on my lips and tongue.
Nice to have friends like that.

~~~~~

sight: will o wisps
sound: bird chirping
scent: candles
touch: yarn
taste: sand

 

[Angeline]

sight: cloudy skies
sound: phone ringing
scent: a random smell that makes you hungry
touch: rain drops
taste: ozone

Winter settles into the ridgeline
weaving grey thick as wool tea
cozy for Grandfather Mountain
the drops that spilled down
Bridal Falls make for a brittle
veil a lace of snow scrimmed
along the rock face a cold mouth
full of ozone brrring brrring more
to come sugary night's sweeting.


sight: palm trees
sound: music of your choice
scent: plant of your choice
touch: air
taste: bittersweet something

 

[Remec]

sight: palm trees
sound: music of your choice
scent: plant of your choice
touch: air
taste: bittersweet something

Winter's finally here,
Mother Nature had been
teasing us about it for
weeks, off-and-on, but I
can finally feel it in the very
air--not quite chill enough
for my breath to slip past
my lips in small clouds, but
enough that a quick glance
up the street confirms that
Jungle Golf has renewed
the plastic shielding on
their palm trees. I spend the
afternoon in my favorite
spot on the couch, idly listening
to Journey going on about the
taste of bittersweet while
wondering what might be like,
but all I can taste is the odd
tingle on the tongue when
I breathe in the burning
pine logs on the hearth.
~~~~~

sight: souvenir shop knickknacks
sound: organ grinding music
scent: salt
taste: pineapple
touch: smooth shell (natural or polished, your choice)

 

[Desejo]

~~~~~

sight: souvenir shop knickknacks
sound: organ grinding music
scent: salt
taste: pineapple
touch: smooth shell (natural or polished, your choice)

Coming there was the best thing

Not only to escape
the drudgery of deadlines, but
because My God the place
is a perpetual porn show, from wooden
cocks in the souvenir shops to the
organ grinding techno trance music
that has brown girls grinding up on his
organ so that he can smell the salt
in their thick black hair and taste pineapple
on their tongues, and and
later he sees, the smooth coconut shell sheen
and half round form of their naked asses diving under
him in the moonlit hotel pool.

Coming here was the best thing.

****

Sound: flush
Sight: blush
Taste: slush
smell: pick a smell, any smell
touch: brush

 

[Remec]

sound: phone message
sight: ice
smell: fresh cut grass
taste: a tang
touch: something hot

Somethin' 'bout Summertime

Somethin' 'bout summertime,
know what I mean?
The way you can come home
from work, full-on exhausted
after eight-plus hours on
feet that were already aching
in those nonskid shoes
with the still tough uppers
and the in-dire-need-of-replacing
insoles, wanting nothing more
than the sight of ice cubes
in a glass of not-too-sweet,
not-too-sour, lemon tea--a nice
light tang to the tongue.
And when you hit the playback
for that blinking light on the
answering machine you get
a voice as soft as the weather
is warm purring that you'd
better be home soon, or "I just
may start without you." A threat
you find to be real on entering
the bedroom and sliding your
newly naked form up against
her raging heat. Yeah, jus'
somethin' 'bout that.


~~~~~
sight: wind
sound: frost
scent: cold
taste: cocoa
touch: wool