The 5 Senses Poem Challenge

[Lyricalli]

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

Thank you for the senses you provided. It was Springsteen that made me feel like it was something I had to write.

The compliment is more than I ever expected, and I really appreciate it.

 

[Angeline]

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

Time melts like a clock draped
on a branch and minutes
are invisible, ticking out
of focus as if hours and days
inhabit a watery depth.
Such is this

fuzzy world where intervals
of life are sealed in separate
bubbles that float just
out of reach. My God

I only dream

of reality, of places where life is
tangy and rich as buttermilk
fresh air birdsong something
more persistent than memory.

sight: sparrow
sound: wind
scent: rain
touch: something soft
taste: water

 

[UnderYourSpell]

sight: sparrow
sound: wind
scent: rain
touch: something soft
taste: water
.
.
What better way to convalesce
than a gentle canine head
beneath my fingers,
watching Sparrows just beyond
the door, bathe and drink
after a shower? As the wind
sighs in my tall trees
I echo the sigh and am at peace.
.
sight: banana peel
sound: sneeze
scent: sweat
touch: stubble
taste: cheese

 

[Rogueslady]

sight: banana peel
sound: sneeze
scent: sweat
touch: stubble
taste: cheese


As I walked into my cabin in search of something to rid my mouth,
of the latest blue cheese tasting cum that was still in my mouth,
Upon opening the door I stumbled back as the strong scent of body odor,
like someone who had been working up a sweat pounding someones ass,
Determined to get to the bottom of what was going on that I walked in the door,
only to find that my ass is about to be kicked,
So I found my razor still has the rough stubbly edges.
I was so focused that I slipped on a banana peel that brought me to a sneezing halt.

 

[Trixareforkids]

I'm bumping with a list as the last challenger forgot to leave one...

Sight: odd trees
Sound: wind chimes
Scent: mint
Touch: something itchy
Taste: metallic

 

[Lyricalli]

Taste: success
touch: oak
sight: headlights
sound: music
scent: smoke



Smoke drifts from
autumn chimneys
fills the air
floats through my car
as the lights
lead me home

That song
now our song
echoes against the windows
pulses through my veins
clenches my hands on
the steering wheel so
firmly with the memory
of your oak
headboard

Was the victory mine
or yours?
Bittersweet is the
flavor du jour
I like my
chocolate dark



Taste: blackberries
Touch: liquid
Sight: insect
Sound: conversation
Scent: rain

 

[KatieJones]

Taste: blackberries
Touch: liquid
Sight: insect
Sound: conversation
Scent: rain

Still

I am liquid against the hammock shores
hoping to remain without thought
but instead the train is fueled
by my stillness and arrives unbidden
to the station. It takes off down the tracks
when I hear a wordless argument
between a red squirrel and a chipmunk
that ends when the hickory nut in question falls
into the raspberry bushes silencing
the locusts who otherwise announce the obvious
heat in a one-sided conversation that reminds
me of the older ladies who stand by the produce
in the grocery store while their loneliness rains
down around them so hard that people can smell it
and put up invisible umbrellas to avoid
being splashed by stories
about long-dead husbands who once dropped
baskets of bitter blackberries on their toes.

As I search for myself
amongst the passengers I wonder
if I should let more chipmunks pass
to share in the bounty of the trees
and avoid looking for what I have lost
in the brambles. To patiently listen
to the locusts and older ladies
and revel both in what is and what was
because the question is not actually
for whom the bell tolls
for there is no sound beneath the ground.
Better to ponder as to when
your train will stop and slowly drift
backwards and when time will trade
your umbrella for the rain.

Taste: birch bark
Touch: sap
Sight: sails
Sound: sea gull
Scent: dried salt

 

[Black13]

Sight: two people
sound: sounds of hammering
Taste: poison
touch: smoothe
scent: water

Abruptly, he wakes to the jarring sound
Of hammering on metal, wood, and stone
That shakes his fading vision with each pound.
Beneath him, he sees two men stand alone,
Watching a vial of glass fall and then crack.
The hammers crash inside his head with each
Shard, scattered on the bleak shore. In the back
Of his throat, a taste just within his reach,
The sweet and bitter poison which just woke
Him out of his own self. His gaze now locks
From above, as his failing body chokes,
Then falls like hammers on the smoothened rocks.
A glimpse of each other, mind and soul destroyed.
The absent scent of water forms the void.

Sight: A tarantula
Sound: A train horn
Taste: Mint-flavored antacid tablet
Touch: Poison Ivy
Smell: Earthworms after a rain storm

 

[Angeline]

Sight: A tarantula
Sound: A train horn
Taste: Mint-flavored antacid tablet
Touch: Poison Ivy
Smell: Earthworms after a rain storm
~

Aftermath

I take the steps oh so
careful of parts I can't
feel just trying to get on
the good foot and wary
of the tarantula

hawk wasp who lives between
the azalea and the poison
ivy. He's bright poison blue
and orange and can take down
the biggest spiders I see:
big old redneck mountain
spiders. One sting? Buh-bye.

I make it unscathed
to the mailbox, past puddles,
through damp harbinger air
gloomy and worms drowned
like ten miles of loam,
worms you can almost read.

Bedtime is Pillsapalooza
with a Maalox chaser. Lay
me down pray listen
to the neighbor's car
and the fading whistle
of the 2:14 into Raleigh.
Everybody's going some
where but me.
~

Sight: Overripe banana
Sound: Wheels on gravel
Taste: Bitter pill
Touch: fruit peelings (your choice of fruit)
Smell: smoke

 

[Piscator]

Sight: Overripe banana
Sound: Wheels on gravel
Taste: Bitter pill
Touch: fruit peelings (your choice of fruit)
Smell: smoke

Overripe

He takes his quinine tablet
with club soda
but no alcohol
these days,
opens his balcony
to inhale the morning smog
and lights a fag
to add his bit
while listening to
Lucinda wail
Car Wheels on a Gravel Road.
Back in the kitchen,
he shoos the fruit flies
from the almost
black banana
and mashes it
on top of the peanut butter
tops it with another piece
of Wonder White
and tosses the slippery peel
to the sidewalk
for another
cartoon character
to flip/slip on.
HaHa


Sight: distant rain cloud
Sound: drum roll
Taste: fullness
Touch: slime
Smell: vinegar

 

[champagne1982]

Overripe


Sight: distant rain cloud
Sound: drum roll
Taste: fullness
Touch: slime
Smell: vinegar

Cloud Burst

Perched on precarious ground above a precipice
scoured by sand, and time, and weather blown
in by wind; harsh as the bite of old wine aged
in a barrel softened with age and pickled
vintages soured to vinegar. The suspense
of thunder rolls off the black horizon hammering
an urgent call punctuated by lightning glares
across the sky until we climax. I taste
the swollen emotion of gratification, self-
satisfaction expressed in the slippery traces
of you, left on my thighs, while I lean over the edge.

Sight: blue
Sound: slap
Taste: malt
Touch: sting
Smell: dust

 

[Neonurotic]

Horseplay

The blue light of a smart, dumb phone
disturbs my sleep but it is the mix of
barley, malt wheat and bitter hops
that satisfies the deprived in a less
fitful slumber, temporarily, as it is
an untimely reprieve, interrupted.

Slap! and sting of the crop,
she wants to play horsey again
and of course, I am that horse
with a butt-plug tail and whinnies
into the hateful, dusty stall, wrecking
my hay fever, as she wrecks me.



sight - traffic
sound - hiss of a espresso machine
taste - salted caramel
touch - fur
smell - coffee

 

[Angeline]

Sight: gloss sheen
Sound: text message beep
scent: perfume or aftershave
touch: writing implement
Taste: sauce

Little Wing is stubborn
as a morning glory bound
by glossy kudzu: it still
lifts a purple face
beyond the green vine.

Wing blinks at the world too,
natural and undaunted
by buzz or beep of our great
big beautiful tomorrow.

Adaptation is survival.

Oh she still wears the beach
in her perfume and late at night
sniffs your pillow for the lingering
scent of patchouli skin, dreams
the taste of you still on her lips.

Adaptation is survival:
keyboard taps over fountain pens,
words that don't bleed into yesterday
or chase the tales of tomorrow.

Little Wing is trying right now.



Sight: weather (you choose)
Sound: yawn
scent: gasoline/petrol
touch: leaf
Taste: citrus

 

[butters]

Sight: weather (you choose)
Sound: yawn
scent: gasoline/petrol
touch: leaf
Taste: citrus
_____________


she leafs through their memories -
still dawns and storm-lit skies
faultless blues that yawn
endless invitation to fall
up into forever
beyond the pall of petroleum
that ugly buzz of industrialised man

in her eyes
the deep ripeness of blackberries
skin re-calling
the hot ghost of his touch
and on her lips
ah
yes
his citrus kiss



ok, maybe i cheated a little with 'sound' and stretched 'touch' but *shrugs*

Sight: pink sand
Sound: reversing beeps of a lorry
scent: loam
touch: splintered wood
Taste: chestnut mushrooms

 

[Remec]

Sight: pink sand
Sound: reversing beeps of a lorry
scent: loam
touch: splintered wood
Taste: chestnut mushrooms

Taking a break


Afternoon lunch was late,
bordering on tea,
and his reading of travel
brochures kept being
interrupted
waitress with his burger,
lorry in the loading zone
outside his window seat,
alarm bleating through the glass
as it backed into place,
he sighed and put aside
images of pink sands
to take a bite and try to visualize
medium-well hamburger,
even though all he could taste
was the fancy chopped
chestnut mushrooms the
would-be gourmet used.
They still smelled of the
loam from which they were
plucked.
~~~~~



sight:bats
scent:sawdust
sound:carpentry
touch:sweatpant material
taste:candlewax

 

[Angeline]

I cheated a little on "sauce." Any writer who claims to never cheat (or steal), even a little, is a cheater AND a liar!

 

[butters]

rem - you missed 'splintered wood' but did great with the rest which were stinkers

angie - uhuh

 

[todski28]

I cheated a little on "sauce." Any writer who claims to never cheat (or steal), even a little, is a cheater AND a liar!

I never cheat, steal or lie........
I'm a perfect saint I tells ya.........

 

[Trixareforkids]

Sight: flying insect or insects
sound: river
scent: water
taste: milk
touch: wet




Removed




Sight: clothes on the line
sound: barking
scent: honeysuckle
taste: berry
touch: smooth wood

 

[Angeline]

Sight: clothes on the line
sound: barking
scent: honeysuckle
taste: berry
touch: smooth wood

Wheels
rust
squeaky
on Second
Avenue. High lines
wear socks. Below, barkers sell fish--
street cats creep. Honeysuckle thrives
in Jersey where sweet
blueberries
droop from
smooth
wood.

Sight: neon sign
sound: siren
scent: sex
taste: your choice
touch: metal bars

 

[greenmountaineer]

The Note Left on the Dresser

A neon sign bleeds $39 and up

but it's down
if it's just for an hour
and music's the sound
of the desk clerk,
playing spoons
to the harmony of
a squad car two blocks down.

She can taste you,
you better not her,
but you can have her
panties to smell
for 10 more bucks an hour.

Dear John,

When did fuck
no longer mean love?

Jessica


sight: chimney
sound: bus accelerating
scent: dead leaves
taste: coffee
touch: doorknob

 

[Remec]

Sight: neon sign
sound: siren
scent: sex
taste: your choice
touch: metal bars

Firebombing

The glass crunches
beneath my feet; a small,
constant counterpoint to the
steady scream of late-comers
bringing flashing red and blue to
the blinking white of still working
strobes and the steady,
mesmerizing, glow of neon on the
wall behind what remains of
the bar.

Moving to the back, I find
that smoke, charcoal, and retardant
foam have made little headway
against the usual scents. There's
stale mint, incense, and that lingering
aroma of blended tobacco mingled
with less legal inhalants, but nothing
overshadows the sex--semen, sweat,
and small smears and drips where a
"dancer" really got into what she
was doing.

I run a hand along the surprisingly cold
metal rod that locks the emergency exit
in place and then push open the door,
sunlight blinding even in its indirectness,
and I pop an Altoid to clear my mouth
and my brain and sigh.
~~~~~


sight: blacksmith's forge
scent: fresh seafood
sound: popping
taste: sugar (not sweet, actual sugar)
touch: grime


Ah, green moutaineer slipped in while I was writing,
their list is:

sight: chimney
sound: bus accelerating
scent: dead leaves
taste: coffee
touch: doorknob

Feel free to choose from either

 

[Piscator]

If time was a person then 4am would be
the loneliest person on the planet

Damn that is a great line

 

[greenmountaineer]

"Poverty and Wharf living"

Down goes the last mouthful of tepid coffee
..............

Headlines read
Unknown man pulled from
River
no known family or relatives
have come forward

The last caption
of 4am

Great poem, tod. A comment intended to be thought provoking if you do something more with it: I think the last couplet makes a great title and by removing it, I think the stanza above it is even more powerful.

 

[Trixareforkids]

Sight: fog
Sound: back ground noise
scent: wet fur
touch: skin
Taste: dissapoinment



Removed




Sight: marble stairs
Sound: humming
Scent: lemon
Touch: damp fabric
Taste: something burnt