The 5 Senses Poem Challenge

[KatieJones]

sight: grave stone
sound: clicking fan
scent: honeysuckle
taste: tart apple
touch: damp soil

clicking ceiling fan counts the seconds
that confirm that time still moves
forward despite the fridge full
of lasagnas and tart apple pies
carefully wrapped with expiry dates
in case the fan stops
and he is stuck in the moment
where he hears the fall
of damp soil into a six foot hole
and stares at the jewelry spread
across her dresser, gravestones
of memories he’s afraid will fade
like her honeysuckle perfume
so he never touches the pearls
and leaves the fan alone

sight: newspaper
sound: keyboard clicking
scent: fresh laundry
taste: lemon
touch: tile floor

 

[Angeline]

sight: newspaper
sound: keyboard clicking
scent: fresh laundry
taste: lemon
touch: tile floor

cold squares lineal lined
press into my knuckles
as I lift her hips to slip down her panties
that moments earlier were pulled from the line
scented with berry and the tell tale fragrance
of fresh arousal

shhhhhh, exhaled in husky whisper
the sounds of a keys tell tale tap
an alarm that her room mate was awake
I shake my head, teeth slide down her thigh
her face scrunched as if she had eaten fresh lemon
trying not to make a sound

I whisper in her ear
Headlines Read,
kinky room mate about to take massive manhood
as her friend listens on in jealous longing

or she could join us.....

sight- traveller
sound - fax machine
scent- fresh rain
taste- sour
touch- fabric

I am a traveler
a silent ghost in your machine
I haven't got a message
but I'm clear like rain,
damp and then elusive.

I'm sour and sweet
and I live for the times
when I can't tell
the two apart--
that and my soft bed,
my comforting silk.


sight- water (in any form)
sound - click
scent- bread
taste- something bitter
touch- leaves

 

[Trixareforkids]

sight- water (in any form)
sound - click
scent- bread
taste- something bitter
touch- leaves

Removed




Sight: caged animal
Sound: crying
Scent: hay
Taste: cotton candy
Touch: warm metal

 

[champagne1982]

I am a traveler<snip>

sight- water (in any form)
sound - click
scent- bread
taste- something bitter
touch- leaves

Yesterday, burnt toast scraped
char onto a white plate, an odour
stung sinuses like the wet smoulder
of slick leaves fallen early in the rain.

Ironic, only clear water can wash
the bilious burn from a throat snicked
shut, firmly clicked against the taste
of bitter, anger-infused memory.

Trix beat me to it so I post this one in answer to Ange and my list follows my answer to Trix.

 

[champagne1982]

Sight: caged animal
Sound: crying
Scent: hay
Taste: cotton candy
Touch: warm metal

She hissed a wet finger
against the hot iron
and pressed the uniform
that locks her patterns
into a restless back and forth.

Like a tiger pacing, caged
and furious until she wakes
from the sobbing trance,
and moves to look out
over the shorn fields,
deeply inhaling the fresh mow
of hay and sweet grass.

She pinches a vanilla
pinkness of spun sugared
fluff saved from the visit
to the fall fair and wonders
again why she goes each day,
in service of a government --
ignorant of duty and honour.

sight- v's
sound - honk
scent- smoke
taste- cider
touch- itch

 

[Desejo]

Bairro De Ajuda

Bairro De Ajuda

They jump over gutters
where corn cobs and plastic bags
Float defeated in monsoon spit

Climb uneven steps to Tia Rosa’s
beaten down mud veranda
To enjoy the city’s evening show

Drinking sweating cold beer
On cracked chinese plastic
chairs while

Rosa fans fish over the grill
brown haunches bulging
in a low squat
charcoal chokes out coughs

in a sudden syncopation with
car horns on the main road
Where three girls cross

Blond extensions slapping
Burnt off ends against taut backs
Grazing the naked line
Between cut off shirts and
Jeans, slapping that gleaming

intersection
Where nylon Tangas
Creep up over maximus
And mark elastic Vs
Under too tight jeans

Here then, another urgent itch
to scratch

Sight- darkness
sound- public transport
scent- cake
taste- milk
touch- plastic

 

[Desejo]

Yipes, I just realized I used the wrong set of words! Use Todski's not mine!

 

[Remec]

[QUOTE
Sight- fruit
sound- a sigh
scent- leather
taste- rich food
touch- something hard

Sight- darkness
sound- public transport
scent- cake
taste- milk
touch- plastic[/QUOTE]

Crossing

The soft glow holds steady,
but the darkness is what fills
my vision--funneling everything
inwards to where the blue awaits.

I hesitate, checking my supplies,
taking time to for a taste of the night's
meal as it sits still upon the abandoned table,
rich and expensive, but cold, and the
milk beside the plats clears my tongue,
even though it has grown lukewarm.

The search has been tiring,
day after night after week after month,
just room after room,
stumbling feet kick something unyielding
that honks like a city bus or the trashman,
but is just a child's plaything,
all plastic covered in soft padding that
smells of leather,

I'm never getting out of here, am I?

I reach the blue edge and carefully lean over
it's beaming rim, spotting a table not too different
from where I am--another design to the cloth,
chairs that don't match, bowl of apples in the center,
Without pausing, I take aim across from it and
release the yellow, and step through.

The place is bland and uninteresting,
but it smells of cake. sigh
Damn it.




sight: elf
sound: lightning
scent: pine
taste: candied fruit
touch: velour

 

[playcatch]

sight: elf
sound: lightning
scent: pine
taste: candied fruit
touch: velour

Slim Tim caped
patchouli enough for us all to sail
or trail in his wake

Pagan protagonist ladled cider
to those he'd not much miss
48 hours after the storm

struck his velour and robbed its burgandy.
Blindly we held his hems
as he deeply bowed bowls of salt
and soil and slipped kisses
across solemn carpets--silhouetted against
sharp pine paneling which even now
sets every imagined travesty.

Tim lifted hands, eyes, everyone up
to the hanging belly of solstice
which we plucked like lint
on majesty--reverent fingertips mine and

Darling Michael's--my stunning accessory
who shone against the moon--high
fine bones and blonde
enough to sacrifice
beneath an unremarkable shower.

Six months later
Michael told me he finally knew
that good sex doesn't sever
loyalty from need--doesn't sign
its night in blood.

We held hands and dearly
breathed relief.

sight: metal mesh
sound: whistle
smell: petrol
Feel: lips kissed raw
taste: mob thrill

 

[playcatch]

taste: poison fruit
Touch: wet paint
sight: light
sound: barking dog
scent: incense

Snatched tomatoes mine!
Nightshaded mesh gate too much
temptation for an afternoon stride.
Two steps back obey

lips' red loving whose
robber runs up stoop,
ignoring the sign, smearing the super's
afternoon green from the door.

Robber leaves a trail
documenting the call of a sharp knife,
lust for salt, and dream of a succulent wedge--
this season's stolen fruit
spills hundreds of seeds over china.

It is a big plate, generously
bouncing back the afternoon window,
echoing back the adorable bitch next door
who barks when she's ignored,
while the precious center slices
rise pangs of homegrown slaughter into rare
air wafting sandalwood all the way from
Ethiopia on the back of a lion.


Sight: splayed fingers
Sound: held breath finally released
Smell: candle blown out
Touch: granite
Taste: blood

 

[Angeline]

Sight: splayed fingers
Sound: held breath finally released
Smell: candle blown out
Touch: granite
Taste: blood

Smokes curls to air and I
am waxen as if out and
out this candle too brief

sputtered away from me
even as I held your splayed
fingers to my chest, kissed

their cold tips, breathed
I love you always, you
who course in my blood

and are spun in my bones,
your sad eyes somehow
still with me, the fallen

sparrow shattered on this
granite reality lifting
a wing heavenward

toward the possibility
of you, wondering if I
still know how to fly.


Sight: shadow
Sound: glass breaking
Smell: grass
Touch: feather
Taste: wine

 

[champagne1982]

Sight: shadow
Sound: glass breaking
Smell: grass
Touch: feather
Taste: wine

I hold the gift of brother eagle
his feather fallen beneath
his nest, giving me strength
to resist the need to keep
you with me when it is time
for you to fall and rest

I smell the sweet
grass burning as the shaman
cleanses this air, the gentle
cloud protects my soul
as you entice me to follow
where it is not safe to go.

You're not gone yet
this dream not true,
it's not true. I see
the shadow over
your face. Where
has the light gone?

I will not share the bitter taste
of communion wine. No priest
can transmute your blood
and that is all I want.

Your slow death shatters the mirror
held up to our life and the crack
as it breaks is the sound
of my heart losing another piece.

Sight: snow flakes
Sound: diesel engine
Smell: peaches
Touch: chill
Taste: sour

 

[playcatch]

Sight: snow flakes
Sound: diesel engine
Smell: peaches
Touch: chill
Taste: sour[/QUOTE]

Cobblers hammer tiny nails into all 8 sides of October
so it can trek the dark night months to March
under the softest landing possible
heaven can arrange for rain.

Hold out your hand, demands the present!
Miraculous laces fall
and vanish. Every thing, every one changes
into something, into someone else, persisting,
even when it is 40 below
and diesel engines rumble all night
determination to carry sunlicked peaches
unsplit from Atlanta to Alaska.

New boots are hard but soften with walking.
30 blocks down beckons soup heaven. No doubt
worth the blisters for hot and sour. You didn't think
you'd like it, did you?


Scent: cooking tamales
Sound: Spanish speakers
Touch: smooth pine
Taste: smoke
Sight: straw

 

[kitten1964]

Scent: cooking tamales
Sound: Spanish speakers
Touch: smooth pine
Taste: smoke
Sight: straw

We lean against the smooth pine wall
(at least I think it's pine, but who can tell?),
taste of cheap cigarillo smoke
coating my tongue.
I hear the cooks speaking Spanish,
rapidly,
passionately,
as they cook the tamales.
Straw slips under my feet,
strewn about the floor.
I keep sliding down the bench
behind the table I share with you.
Your hand slides up my dress,
not hard to do since it's already
at the top of my thighs.
No panties of course -
you love to see me exposed,
open,
the men crowding around me.
A dangerous game,
but one that you have played so often,
so well.
Moist heat meets cool air
and I shiver.
I know the script
but always wonder
if this is the time
someone decides to
deviate,
improvise,
throw in a spanner
to your carefully imagined scene.
It's why I'm here now.
Waiting for the curtain to rise,
waiting to see how it all plays out.
I always hope to be surprised.


Scent: sweat
Sound: crunching
Taste: metal
Touch: cold
Sight: empty plains

 

[Angeline]

Scent: sweat
sight: water bottle
sound: car passing very fast
scent: dust/pollen
taste: anger
touch: glass

I was glass back then
transparent, not seeing
who shattered what,
only that something
hit the wall hard
and the dust had to
settle, sweat had to
dry.

I needed
nine years of grace
and pure water holy
like a benediction
to wash you off me,
your bloody anger
your breaking rage
drove me away
in a whoosh of wheels
and distance.



sight: cat
sound: train whistle
scent: smoke
taste: meat
touch: something soft

 

[Remec]

sight: fire
sound: guitar
scent: lust
taste: chocolate
touch: heat

Campground Gathering

soft summer breeze
brushes itself across the
warm light raised against
the chill that comes with
nightfall even at this time
of year, I watch as the
flames dance before me,
thinking they are responding to
the strumming and tuning of
the head counselor's guitar,
I finish off a share of s'mores, licking
the remnants of melted Hershey's
from my fingertips and thinking
how much the scent of chocolate
and toasted marshmellow reminds me
of how Shelley smelled when we
burrowed together in her sleeping bag
last night. Hot and sweet. Tasty.

~~~~
sight: multicolored lights
sound: live music
scent: pine
touch: foil
taste: artificial fruit flavoring

 

[TOKUQINN]

Senses That Make No Sense

Taste: Soma Homa
Touch:Ouch
Smell: Hell
hear: Deer
see: Sea

Senses That Make No Sense

I put my eyes
my nose
my ears
my tongue
my hands
my sixth sense
in a cabinet
before I go to sleep
all my senses rest in there
till morning.

TOKUQINN
ISTANBUL/TURKEY.

 

[Remec]

Taste: Soma Homa
Touch:Ouch
Smell: Hell
hear: Deer
see: Sea

Reflection

My hotel room has a balcony,
I sit there sometimes,
sit and let the day roll off me
as the sun sets slowly beneath
the distant sea,

You would think it would be refreshing,
but not as much as I'd like,
I lounge in the fading daylight and let
the sound of does and fawns in the
copses bordering the hotel lull me
to dreaming with the soft swish of
the tree branches and ferns against
the down-like fur,

But dreaming is what got me here to
begin with, letting myself hold out the hope
that Sartre was wrong about Other People,
a wish I know is impossible as their scent
wafts up on the breeze from the pool area,
sweat and sun lotion and stale cigarettes
mingled with sex and lust and all the
underlying anger that is the perfect
hallmark of Other People,

I would go down and try to blend in
with the crowd, but I know being so close
would just make me cringe and draw back
from the pain of being in their proximity,
of the ouches touching them would inflict
upon my soul as much as my skin and body.

Better to sit at a distance and make toasts
with whatever soma homa the hotel minibar
happens to have in stock.

~~~~~
sight: unicorn
sound: banshee
smell: Chanel No 5
touch: chill
taste: Swedish fish

 

[Trixareforkids]

Removed


~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sight: toothless grin
Sound: cat's meow
Smell: cedar
Touch: rough hewn wood
Taste: moonshine

 

[Piscator]

Backwoods

The aroma of cedar
permeates the closet.
Outside the cat meows
as we swig moonshine
that tastes of petrol
but works.
Your give me
that toothless grin
as you hand touches
my rough hewn wood
and your mouth opens
to suck it till
I cum.



Sight: bare trees in snow
Sound: silence
Smell: wood smoke
Touch: piercing cold
Taste: maple

 

[Angeline]

Sight: bare trees in snow
Sound: silence
Smell: wood smoke
Touch: piercing cold
Taste: maple

They are hands that reach
from the Underworld. Up
from the ground they tremble,
fingers on wrists thin or stout.
They shiver in silence shiver
when the wind speaks.

They don't know acrid
smoke when it slips blue
with the wind nor errant
drops of sap froze to bark,
inherent sweetness no more
than a promise in amber.

They just reach
their supplicant fingers
to the sky, to Olympus
begging please
bring Persephone home
to mama again.

~~~

Sight: carnival
Sound: whisper
Smell: liquor
Touch: skin
Taste: cotton candy

 

[Lyricalli]

sight: dancing
sound: creak
scent: something delicious
touch: sticky
taste: cheese


Rain dances
down the window panes
pelting beat mixed
with the creak of the bed
you twist in your sleep

The spicy scent of you
twirls in the humid air
finds harmony with
notes of sweat
and sex
and me

Rain's rhythm
plays a sleepy tune
holds me in its sway
the pick-up line
that began our pas de deux
so cheesy it still lingers
with the taste of you
on my tongue


sight: shadow
sound: a distant hum
scent: newly dug soil
touch: something prickly
taste: basil

 

[greenmountaineer]

Northern Latitude

The ground's too stiff for maypoles,
but two weeks later peepers hum
whose toe pads dig deep in the mud
on behalf of one thousand eggs
to breed more life, what isn't feed
for other prickly creatures.

It seems like May is just two weeks
you say to the blood red setting sun
while in the shadows June bugs make
more sounds seeking love with their wings
that with the distant drumming from gullets
treat you to a symphony

as you inhale more heat, maybe musk,
something sweet, something like basil
that blooms in July but all too soon
turns the erstwhile pungent leaves
a wilted yellow next to the fallow
under the chill of a harvest moon.



taste: cookies
touch: satin
smell: perfume
see: a baseball
hear: Bruce Springstein

 

[Lyricalli]

taste: cookies
touch: satin
smell: perfume
see: a baseball
hear: Bruce Springsteen


It was our summer
beach days
baseball games
that damned cap
took years off your face
Did I look twice your age?
It was only one little decade

Smooth satin sheets
(bought for me?)
perfumed with sunscreen
didn't stand a chance
against the sand
or the gingersnaps
you'd reach for after

It's a little hazy
like the sun
that filled those days
glorious
thundering
down the road
speakers blaring
"She's the One"
my hand on your thigh
you sang along


sight: bubbles
sound: clock ticking
scent: fresh air
touch: something fuzzy
taste: buttermilk

 

[greenmountaineer]

Amazing how on such short notice you wrote something so remarkable.