The 5 Senses Poem Challenge

[Lyricalli]

Sight: Lace
Sound: Purring
Scent: Orange Blossoms
Taste: Nectar
Touch Electricity

Stormwind gusts
drown the sound
that rumbles low
in his throat
when they blow

Fingers laced
in my orange-blossom hair
its scent swirls
with the smell of rain
and him
while the lace curtains billow

Crackle of lightning
echoes the static spark of
skin connection
current completion
as nectar flows
over my tongue


Sight: something seen with blurry vision
Sound: breath
Scent: skin
Taste: apples
Touch: a rough texture

 

[Piscator]

Sight: something seen with blurry vision
Sound: breath
Scent: skin
Taste: apples
Touch: a rough texture

A long exhale fogs the glass,
obscuring the waning moon
as she closes the window
against the cool night air.

Another sip of Riesling
savouring the apple and pear
which she would gladly trade
for a whiff of his aftershave
and the rasp of his stubble
on the back of her neck.


Sight: bright light off water
Sound: Kingfisher's rattle
Scent: approaching rain
Taste: sharp cheese
Touch: stinging nettles

 

[mLa2123000195]

No News Is Good News

A splintered frame with sprinkled glass is even more exciting
when you see my lips match the hue that sits on the edge of the letter I'm writing
A serpentine squeal breathes life into the distance
enough to never take you with me
The light on my side is hard to hide and finds a potion you insist is a mystery
Yellow 6 licks through the smoke in the air to rest in the vacuum of space
Four walls and a brain is enough to contain your last day and move in my grace

Sight: grey
Sound: ticking
Scent: pineapple
Taste: water
Touch: wood

 

[KatieJones]

Sight: grey
Sound: ticking
Scent: pineapple
Taste: water
Touch: wood

The North Shore

Fingers spread across
the palm tree’s grey wood.
Palm to palm
pulses connect and coincide
with the quiet tick
of morning dew drips.

She inhales the humid air
perfumed with pineapple
and holds her breath
for the next ten years.


Sight: blue
Sound: city noises
Scent: water
Taste: lemon
Touch: wood

 

[Piscator]

Sight: blue
Sound: city noises
Scent: water
Taste: lemon
Touch: wood

Fraser

As we put putted out
into the estuary, the
sounds of the city
receded, the water
turned from brown to
aqua and the tang of
sea filled my nostrils.
Joe put out the downriggers
but all was quiet so I
whittled a piece of spruce,
letting the shavings drift
in our wake, as I sucked
a hard yellow candy
waiting for my sockeye.

Sight: snake slithering on a path
Sound: geese overhead
Scent: cloves
Taste: salt
Touch: a hard nipple

 

[badkitteh]

Sight: snake slithering on a path
Sound: geese overhead
Scent: cloves
Taste: salt
Touch: a hard nipple

Outside this home we built together
Now it is in shambles
A furtive snake slides over the cracked paving stones
And overhead, a gaggle of geese sound calls that echo in the stillness
I taste my tears, in sorrow and remorse
I can barely recall the sweet smell of apple pie that you used to make on sundays
Because once you lose a child, the home is haunted
Heavy breasts that I cupped so lovingly never to fill a babe's belly
There's nothing here but a tiny grave, and stagnant memories

Sight: Fireworks
Sound: A cat purring
Scent: Vinegar
Taste: Metallic
Touch: Leather

 

[badkitteh]

If I keep looking at this Im just going to delete it

Sight: train
scent: anything nostalgic
sound: announcement
Touch: mobile phone
taste: mint

"The next train to bowdoin arrives in ten minutes"
(They had to make it male)
Naseua sways me in my heels
My breath it tastes so stale
I chew all the mints but even still
I'm exhaling chlorine
And too many cigs, too much swill
I think about my bed (the one I made)
And only get more chills

Compulsively I check my screen
And wipe about the smears
Only God knows if that is puke, I don't
But it's too soon for tears

He lit a candle, how bizarre
Not much about after was romantic
It didn't have to go that far
But he smelled like old spice,
Played us a ballad on his guitar
And I'm a gracious guest

The blue line rumbles and rattles in
The next leg to my destination
It was a long night in neverland
But now its 6am
I'm cold
I'm hungry
I'm tired
I'm sore
I'm bewildered
In time I do find restoration

Sight: A lava lamp
Scent: Fresh coffee
Sound: A car horn
Touch: Rough cotton
Taste: Popcorn

 

[Piscator]

Sight: sky
sound: clock
taste: water
Touch: poison
scent: smoke

The alarm clangs annoyingly
but the sky is still dark.
Such is autumn above
parallel 49 with daylight
savings still in effect.
But even after the change,
things are going to
get darker.

The water tastes of chlorine,
I know it kills
bugs that might
kill me
but I still long for well.

As the scent of Gauloises
drifts through the bus stop,
I still long for a cigarette
and you
even though I haven’t
had either for twenty years.

Sight: frost
sound: smashing pumpkins or Smashing Pumpkins (your choice)
taste: barnyard
Touch: dog fur
scent: oiled leather

 

[mLa2123000195]

Shotgun Wedding

10 gauge in your teeth treats a sweet tooth that's begging
to find time to unwind but you're thoughtful and patient
Hazy loops find their roots in a faucet's displacement
Metal skies tag your thighs; you're soliloquy's agent

Sight: blue
Smell: pine
Touch: raindrops
Taste: thirst
Sound: wind

 

[greenmountaineer]

Insight

They're all young adults now
in different parts of the country.
Elizabeth had such solemn blue eyes,
and Harry Jr. that cheeky grin.

Gabrielle and Jeremy, two toddlers then,
I wonder what they look like
as I listen to the wind in the trees
when I open the sash to drink the air in

and smell Mrs. Brewster's lone scotch pine.
Why, I can even smell the cypress trees
at St. Gertrude's planted by the graves,
and the air tastes heavy with dead leaves today.

It's time Margaret put storm windows up,
for the morning rain feels like ice to me,
and the man in the moon, if he's up in the sky,
is behind a cloud that no one can see

as in the dark the 6:15
whistles by with suits and skirts
"some eyes front and some eyes shut"
I say to mine in the back of my mind.


Sight: bosom
Smell: perfume
Touch: skillet
Taste: orange juice
Sound: "Michelle, ma Belle"(Beatles' song)

 

[Piscator]

Insight
Sight: bosom
Smell: perfume
Touch: skillet
Taste: orange juice
Sound: "Michelle, ma Belle"(Beatles' song)

Outasight

Sunday morning after a Saturday night,
which I don’t remember all that well
as I wake up to the aroma of bacon,
Chanel on the pillow and that
Beatle’s French song playing.

I meander into the kitchen to sip
the fresh squeezed OJ and savour
watching you with that thin T-shirt
pushing against your dark nipples
and your ass cheeks showing while
you grip the cast iron as you fry the eggs.


Sight: autumn afternoon light
Smell: thyme or time
Touch: warm wind
Taste: crisp apple
Sound: blue jay (preferably the bird)

 

[Lyricalli]

Sight: autumn afternoon light
Smell: thyme or time
Touch: warm wind
Taste: crisp apple
Sound: blue jay (preferably the bird)


The sun sets quickly now
as summer fades to fall
shadows lengthen
in the early evening

Garden chores have changed
more clean-up than harvest
but the herbs still remain
the timeless scent of thyme
rosemary, lavender, sage
travel on the Indian summer breeze

Inhaling deeply, the earth feels
almost still, if not quiet
blue jays natter at each other
prance around the patio
collecting the peanut treats
and bits of apple scattered
to entice their company

Braeburn lingers on my tongue
and I contemplate another
perhaps to share with
my fair-feathered friends
and the watchful squirrel
perched on the fence

But to move might break the idyll
so I savor the rare content
as the sun takes the day
to give back to tomorrow


Sight: scar
Smell: fresh wood
Touch: something cold
Taste: burnt
Sound: telephone ring

 

[mLa2123000195]

Tiny Little Closet

Two hands stagger through a thick mane's
splatter and seize at the weight of a stone.
No fire is lit when bells glare at an epithet's chip
that only fills with the rays of the sun.

Eyes climb through the trees where the wind seeks its peace and snap at the drops that are thrown.
Hands tighten like vices while a slick glides through slices
but won't know when the damage is done.

Sight: a puddle
Smell: sour, warm garbage
Taste: bubblegum
Touch: asphalt
Sound: birds

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Two hands stagger through a thick mane's
splatter and seize at the weight of a stone.
No fire is lit when bells glare at an epithet's chip
that only fills with the rays of the sun.

Eyes climb through the trees where the wind seeks its peace and snap at the drops that are thrown.
Hands tighten like vices while a slick glides through slices
but won't know when the damage is done.

Sight: a puddle
Smell: sour, warm garbage
Taste: bubblegum
Touch: asphalt
Sound: birds

Wondering why you're not using the senses given by the poet before you.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

I'll bet you know. What? Tell me. You're saying you don't. like The Lion King

Annie: why'd you do your stretches? You're not going anywhere. Me: get your three-hole punch and meet me in the break room. I'll re-write it. Unless someone beats me to it.

Why don't you ask one of your former Alts to do it? You've got plenty to chose from and they might understand the rules.

 

[Piscator]

Sight: scar
Smell: fresh wood
Touch: something cold
Taste: burnt
Sound: telephone ring

Taking Sides

A trace of peat and scorched malt lingers as he dawdles over his drink and ignores the incessant phone. He runs his thumb across he cold steel of his knife, noting the faint white line between thumb and forefinger, testament to an earlier slip. He breaths deeply relishing the scent of fresh shavings as he returns to sculpting the basswood.

Sight: Venus bright in pre-dawn sky
Smell: coffee
Touch: something warm
Taste: butter
Sound: Lost Boy

 

[HarryHill]

Sight: a puddle
Smell: sour, warm garbage
Taste: bubblegum
Touch: asphalt
Sound: birds

Sight: Venus bright in pre-dawn sky
Smell: coffee
Touch: something warm
Taste: butter
Sound: Lost Boy

face down on the road
drizzles of acid rain
puddle my pool of thoughts
breath of garbage and manure
the birds sing background vocals

I feel dirty
scrape of skin and start again dirty
somwhere last night I pocketed
some hubba-bubba
better taste better than the
ashtray-mouthed and licked-ass chapped lips
I got goin on now

If I knew anything more than
the gutter is a shit place to sleep
I might recognize that light
as Venus
the second planet from the Sun
it's the second brightest object in the night sky
after the Moon
but who remembers second?
Who rembers facts like that
when they were marijuana melted during
plato's planatary alignment and astrology class

coffee always smelt like adulthood to me
avoided it like the plague
because me and peter pan
were having fun hanging out
in neverland

Buttered bread is all we can afford
because the next high
is easier
than the warm touch of
Love or life

Ruth.b, says it better
but here captain hook has a gun
and neverland never looked so
faraway

Sight: a clouded dawn
sound: running engine
scent: off milk
taste: sugar
Touch: glass

love this in color, but easier?

 

[todski28]

love this in color, but easier?

Easier than detoxing, easier than trying to get clean, easier to stay addicted than to fight to be clean.

Easier isn't always better and those that love addicts or are loved by addicts get vaught in the crossfire of self and addiction more often than not is what I was trying to get across

 

[HarryHill]

Easier than detoxing, easier than trying to get clean, easier to stay addicted than to fight to be clean.

Easier isn't always better and those that love addicts or are loved by addicts get vaught in the crossfire of self and addiction more often than not is what I was trying to get across

..
try cheaper (well think about it)

 

[Lyricalli]

Sight: a clouded dawn
sound: running engine
scent: off milk
taste: sugar
Touch: glass



An everyday morning
much like the one before
glaring at the grey
through raindrops
turned to sheets
pouring over the windshield
louder than the engine roar
drowns the growls
stomach on empty
out of cereal
for the too-old milk
just enough change to claim
a nectar-sweet coffee
to start a day
even the drowsy sun
seems to frown upon



Sight: blank screen
sound: clinking
scent: fire
taste: chocolate and chili
Touch: stubble

 

[rawsilk]

A Little Drop of Haiku and American Sentence

Sight: blank screen
sound: clinking
scent: fire
taste: chocolate and chili
Touch: stubble

My life a white board
So free to write some poetry
or draw smilie face

Money makes the world go round, that clinking clanking sound, such a good song!

My mind drifts away
Thinking of camp fires and tents
Smells the burning twigs

Chocolate and Chili a new flavor from Lindt, think it tastes revolting!

When I first wake up,
love stroking the rough stubble
stroking my man's cheek





Sight: Shoji Screen
Sound: Stringed Instrument
Scent: Cederwood
Taste: Mandarin
Touch: Cold Cream

 

[AnAngelReally]

Sight: Shoji Screen
Sound: Stringed Instrument
Scent: Cederwood
Taste: Mandarin
Touch: Cold Cream

I would have preferred something else.
A car show, monster truck rally
Anything but that crazy ass ballet

Still, she’s gaga over the thing
And I’m in love with her
So off the theater I went

I look at her lacy bra
Draped casually over the Shoji screen
Warm from cupping her soft breasts

I prefer to watch the orchestra
Always some babe to see there
In the far stringed instruments section

The cellists are best for that
When they bend over those things
Love the gowns with plunging necklines

Cold cream should be classified anew
As a torture substance for sure.
All that gunk on her face.

Why does she need that make-up
To sit in a dark room
Watching men and women caper around

I know she told me repeatedly
It’s for being seen during interlude.
As long as there’s a bar

I don’t mind so much really
She’s always so grateful I behaved
She’ll do me in the car

Tonight the barmaid suggested a special
She called it Fine Mandarin Napoleon
The drink tasted much too good

I admit I wobbled a bit
But it was a subtle excuse
To hold on to my woman

She took the warm winter blankets
Out of the cedarwood storage cabinet
Is it late in autumn already

Here comes my darling my love
Naked clean hot ready to go
Or I should say to come



Sight: Sky blue
Sound: Raspy
Scent: Jasmine
Taste: Garlic
Touch: Silk

 

[AnAngelReally]

Sight: Shoji Screen
Sound: Stringed Instrument
Scent: Cederwood
Taste: Mandarin
Touch: Cold Cream

On cushion Lord sits
The peace of the Zen garden
His heart permeates

Delicate kugo
Stringed instrument played softly
Behind Shoji screen

Accomplished tayū
Performs chanoyu so well
Her skill much praised

Chips of cedar wood
Smoke keeps annoyances far
Harmony must reign

Refined venison
Roasted duck mandarin sauce
The palate’s delight

Culinary treat
Dessert to hold in his hand
Texture of cold cream

Replete and restored
The courtesan takes to bed
Senses satisfied



Sight: Sky blue
Sound: Raspy
Scent: Jasmine
Taste: Garlic
Touch: Silk

(Tempted to go for Rhymes and/or Pentameters)

 

[Piscator]

Sight: Sky blue
Sound: Raspy
Scent: Jasmine
Taste: Garlic
Touch: Silk

November skies, which should be
grey with a cold east wind,
cold rain and sleet
remain disturbingly
clement, azure and sunny.

I venture out to the garden,
to harvest the last of the leeks
and carrots; then to plant next year’s
garlic and maybe seed some spinach.

Too soon the sun will set and as
dark descends, I’ll retreat to my
lonely abode to sip her flowery tea
watching the rising supermoon
while I listen to his rough hewn
voice on scratchy vinyl and run
her favourite scarf across my
flaccid member.


Sight: lighthouse
Sound: children’s laughter
Scent: wood smoke
Taste: salt
Touch: granite

 

[greenmountaineer]

Vanderbillt


He shipped him in later than others
to make the stone lighthouse his Gladys
could play in with her dolls
in the backyard overlooking the sea.

Why, you could even taste salt in the breeze
on a hot summer's day, arriving by train,
to the Breakers, the granite mansion's name,
100 stone cutters built for him,

but only Luigi remained
as he listened to Gladys while she played
by the stove the servants would tend to
when the family visits for Christmas

and Luigi is sent back to Italy
where ninety-nine other stonecutters stare
at the gaunt faces of families
because what stone is left cuts to the bone.


Sight: pine tree
Sound: car engine revving
Scent: pig roasting
Taste: corn fritters
Touch: pet dog