The 5 Senses Poem Challenge

[Neonurotic]

Smell: chlorine
Sight: clear water
Touch: ceramic
Hear: muffled human sounds
Taste: citrus

the Upside Down - a nod to Houdini

Open eyes to an artificial blue,
though the water stings, the view is clear
Clear down to the bottom.
where the key winks and is not easily retrieved.

With half a breath, I fumble with the fetters.
Only one is unlocked but it is enough to be free.
Water filled ears pop to
her and him speaking in a vacuum,
surface breaks to their delight.

I slip from the pool with chains a-jangle,
jingling, leaving footprints behind on
the smooth tile to sizzle in the sun.

Chlorine is overridden by the drunk
and I drink. Suck her lemon laced kiss
while his is tequila with salt on the rim
of his ear where I exhale, "your turn".



sight: lightening
sound: power lines
taste: rain
smell: rain
touch: mud

 

[champagne1982]

the Upside Down - a nod to Houdini

sight: lightening
sound: power lines
taste: rain
smell: rain
touch: mud

Yummy poem and I do admire how you put the triggers together. I haven't had tequila shots in a while... Makes me think my next weekend off will be a little Cabo Wabo time.

The anxious hoppers buzzed
in afternoon heat, harmonic
with the hum of power quenching
the endless thirst of dehumidifiers
in the concrete towers down the line

where cloud-soaked lovers kiss
and taste the salt of rain-
mixed purity on lips and shoulder
slaking the need to swallow

and market garden farmers sniff
the air for rain and ozone as they dig
the last of sweet carrots free
of damp earth and clinging mud

then you turned and I saw the lightening
ladder of a stairway to heaven spark
your blonde hair while off in the distance
lightning sparked brilliance in front
of the congregation of crowded nimbus towers.

sight: iridescent blue
sound: magpies
taste: raspberries
smell: caramel
touch: teddy bear fur

 

[Wintermute01]

sight: iridescent blue
sound: magpies
taste: raspberries
smell: caramel
touch: teddy bear fur

An Unwelcome Reminder
----------------------------

The fat, six-legged jewels
Fly here and there, fast and with precision.
Their buzzing is almost as intense
As the iridescent blue and green
Of their bodies.
As they feed on the decaying rabbit.

The rabbit lays under
A memorial of plump raspberries,
Rouged by fertile soil and sunlight.
I pick one, how easily it comes.
I bite it, and the sweet taste
is swamped by that of earthy maggot.

One for sorrow,
And two for joy, is that how it goes?
Three for a girl, well we had four.
Briefly, those four magpies
Delivered on their promise,
And he lit up our world, with smiles.

I keep 'Likill' Ted with me always,
And the feel of the fur sends me back
To that day, when the smell of
Crushed caramel sweets,
Beneath skidded tyre,
Ended my world, forever.

sight: A Bridge
sound: Fog horns
taste: Salt water
smell: Sea weed
touch: Painted, rusty metal.

 

[Mollie_F]

Sight: Palm tree
sound: creaking
smell: something dirty
taste: rage
touch: a strong wind

---------

Paradise

Salt engrained in
my hair, as the
palm tree,
creaking,
bows a curvature to
the sand; I breathe

something dirty in
the air, as
a strong wind
whips my cheeks, forcing the
rage through my lips,

bitter on my tongue
I spit, to stop
this spoilt
reeking
paradise from seeping
into my skin.

-------

sight: fading light
sound: whistles
smell: rose perfume
taste: lemons
touch: firm grip

 

[Wintermute01]

sight: fading light
sound: whistles
smell: rose perfume
taste: lemons
touch: firm grip

The White Isle Evening
-------------------------

The box of Turkish Delight, between us
Releases it's aroma
Into the evening breeze.
In the distance, the ravers are getting started
And whistles presage
Their evening rhythm

The setting sun casts a shimmering line
On the water's surface,
Which fading light intensifies,
And as the final taste of limoncello
Slides down my throat
I pull you to me, firmly.

sight: a limestone pavement
sound: sheep bleating in the distance
smell: gorse
taste: energy bar
touch: another's hand.

 

[Remec]

sight: a limestone pavement
sound: sheep bleating in the distance
smell: gorse
taste: energy bar
touch: another's hand.

Walking Tour of the Dales

Camp broke at dawn,
mostly,

I lay in my bag,
eyes open,
the limestone pavement slowly
turning from off blue-grey to
more of an odd white as dawn
worked itself up to being day,

My nose was full with
the scent of the gorse that
surrounded camp, surprising as
sparse and spare as it was,
while my tongue idly wiped itself
along my lips and teeth, using
remnants of dessert's Cliff bar
to override my morning breath,

As things came alive, I was fine
right where I was, cradling your
head to my chest, and leaving
our fingers intertwined for
as long as they could be.

~~~~~

sight: pagodas
sound: sneezing
smell: garlic
taste: disaster
touch: porcelain

 

[Remec]

Sight: lustrous hair
sound: Something crashing into something else
smell: something familiar that you can't place
taste: apple
touch: shrubs, trees, or grass

Crash

Blame it on the hair,

Long, lovely, lustrous locks
that caught my eye and turned
a simple trip to the bodega
into chaos-bordering-on-comedy,

The wheels of my board struck
a groove between sidewalk panels,
pitching me into the neighborhood
garden---green, grassy, growing all
manner of bright flowering thing or
useful herb and tasty root, I land
at the base of the one major fruit tree,
face down among fallen ripeness,
then rolling over with a mouthful of
apple. Delicious? Not sure, but sweet.

Behind me, I hear the sound of errant
fiberglass hitting flesh, metal, then
sidewalk and refrain from raising my
head to look at the mayhem building
as Goldbergian as anything ever was,
while the hint of something wafted
over to me...not le Fleur, that was Hers
and I would know it anywhere, but a
cetain something-something that I
almost would swear I knew, but didn't.

Yeah, I blame the hair.

~~~~~
sight: pouting
sound: grumpiness
smell: hair needing washing
touch: naugahyde or similar faux leather
taste: envy

 

[Desejo]

Crash


~~~~~
sight: pouting
sound: grumpiness
smell: hair needing washing
touch: naugahyde or similar faux leather
taste: envy

Twenty two hours after slapping the perpetually demagnetizing key in front of the pouting receptionist I turn the key in the door trying not to look at the lawn which obviously has not been cut since I left

why why do people do things or not do things that have to know make others angry dishes in the sink uncut grass oval fruit labels stuck in the waving arms of the blue shag carpet all this makes it difficult to know how to say hello because after being away one really wants to be pleasant but holy fuck do I really have to do everything for everyone

and so I say something like that after waking her up from a late afternoon nap in her room that smells of dirty hair then guilt her into making me tea that I sip as she opens undeserved gifts before I tackle the mail

and there of course there must to be test scores as evil as that damn key that never would work, stacked between bills and mock credit cards with a read this first letter in english and spanish explaining what it all means but the fail/just pass column is clear enough

and makes me sad because it this is not laziness at least not only and it is possible that the three months she did not get to stay inside me did effect things and that is tragic because it was no fault of hers so I suspect it may be mine

and it is much worse than jungle grass in the yard or dirty dishes because testing well and being smart is so much a part of my reality that I do not know what it is not to have it and it occurs to me to feel guilty then helpless then just worry again because she is a girl and don’t girls overcompensate in other ways

and maybe bitter envy will lead to bitter choices it occurs to me not to share this with friends but then it occurs to me that that is also a form of guilt as slick and fake as pleather

then I consider demagnetizing the computer screen because maybe that will make it all better if she has to read for enter-train-ment rather than stare and I want to find something to give her back those three months that took away that testing edge but maybe I am grasping at straws after twenty two hours of travel

and I worry

***********
Sight: a stack of phones on a table
Sound: doorbell
Scent: musky perfume
Touch: too tight item of clothing
taste: gum

 

[Wintermute01]

***********
Sight: a stack of phones on a table
Sound: doorbell
Scent: musky perfume
Touch: too tight item of clothing
taste: gum

Oh Shit!
What am I doing here?
In this basement,
A million miles from help
So far down, even Satan gets the bends.

I chew gum
To mask my nerves,
And to avoid filling
My already voided bowels.
Because in this state, well, it wouldn't be pretty.

The Bosses Moll
A big breasted bimbo
Sits in the corner.
Evaporating strong perfume,
Strange that her IQ's so high, she probably runs this gig.

The other Dons joke,
Their phones stacked
On the table.
Eight phones in this room'
Eight keyboards, speakers, and displays, but they miscounted the mic's.

The doorbell rings -
!!SHOWTIME!!
"Yo Frankie!", I bellow.
I shake his hand and think
This shirt's too tight, I'm sweating way too much, and this mic's way too big!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sight: A tree
Sound: wind rustling
Smell: fresh cut flowers
Touch: a petal
Taste: Green tea

 

[champagne1982]

Sight: A tree
Sound: wind rustling
Smell: fresh cut flowers
Touch: a petal
Taste: Green tea

The scrabble of mature leaves
quarrelling for space inside
the blowing swarm argues
with the snip of the shears
as you harvest pink peonies
for the vase you'll place
in the midst of the offerings
of sugar cookies and sandwiches.
Their scent will sweeten
even the bitter air around
funeral planning and mournful
tears that fall like petals
softly from your cheeks
as you look at the tree
she planted for your birthday
and think how it has grown
and that you like the clean
taste of this hot green tea.

Sight: pussy willows
Sound: a snap
Smell: clean linen
Touch: warm towels
Taste: spearmint

 

[Desejo]

Sight: pussy willows
Sound: a snap
Smell: clean linen
Touch: warm towels
Taste: spearmint

The Unexpected Gift of a Broken Dryer

Cirus stalks the willows
swatting at silky catkins
Shades of the same grey

She suddenly springs --
startled at the snap
of wind stretched sheets
on the summer line

This scene makes me smile.

I suppose we could survive
without squeals of
succor spilling from
warm supina towels
tumbled out
of the final spin cycle

Especially since
the scent of summer
so splendidly
suffuses shirts

Satisfying as the sprig
snatched from the stretched
spearmint so sweet

Summer, smashed
on my tongue.

Sound: a mistake
Scent: wind
Taste: mushroom
Touch: snag
Sight: smoke

 

[HarryHill]

Sound: a mistake
Scent: wind
Taste: mushroom
Touch: snag
Sight: smoke

I knew it was a mistake
that rake never should have been left
tines up. Smack! Now I'm supine,
staring at the clouds.

Wacked, wondering if this hit
was sanctioned
by one of the Dons
two poems up
or the sight of the lady next door,
hanging laundry.

I imagine she tastes earthy,
like mushrooms; a blink above,
arise from snaggy stems,
fling the rake as far as you can
where it lands, cocked, tines up,
invisible in the smoke of fresh sheets
and Jontue.

Sound: crickets
Scent: emotional
Taste: sweet
Touch: long hair
Sight: expected

 

[Remec]

Sound: crickets
Scent: emotional
Taste: sweet
Touch: long hair
Sight: expected

Loss

Can you hear them? The crickets
play such a lonely, mournful song
that still tastes sweet in my mouth,
Can you hear them? The crickets
remember when it went south;
even touching your hair felt wrong.
Can you hear them? The crickets
play such a lonely, mournful song.

~~~~~
I think the emotional scent might have slipped past me.

sight: bubbles
sound: doorbell
scent: overheated skillet or pot
taste: soap
touch: sharp

 

[Mollie_F]

Apologies Remec, came to post this and found you already got there...I've recopied your list again below so it is not lost

Sound: crickets
Scent: emotional
Taste: sweet
Touch: long hair
Sight: expected


------

Edison

The comforting monotony of crickets
chirruping through an open window
keeps her company as she watches,
with silent count, for the next flicker in the distance.

It is the hypnotising dance of the lighthouse at sea,
blinking its customary greeting to the shipping lanes;
and, she likes to think, it welcomes her return here to this
place harbouring fragrance of nostalgia, of what came before.

Head tilted, hair brushed straight, once a radiant blonde
that her grandmother had loved: one hundred
brushes per night - starting over with
every lapse. Now she is silvering grey, but the hundred she still does.

She waits expectantly for the next blink flashing by,
nods in return, rediscovering its companionship
hailed by the persistence of the chirpy cricket song
and her old insomniac's stalwart of sweet chammomile tea.


-----

sight: bubbles
sound: doorbell
scent: overheated skillet or pot
taste: soap
touch: shar

 

[Mollie_F]

^^ that is beautiful, Todski :rose

Sight: blurry
sound: running water
scent: wet anything
taste: fine wine
touch: a necklace

-----

Longing

Bath water crashing splashing running
with searing heat into the tub, as ice
cold wine, poured and glinting, invites not
the sip of fine dining, but
the ungainly glug of a day spent longing -

the sharp dry liquid hits the back of a throat,
a grip forcing droplets down the tall glass steamed
like the mirror into which they stare:
faces blurred and distorted
but the moving, paired shadows they still know.

He lifts a hand to her neck to trace a finger
under the chain, short and tight, around her neck,
this hard metallic heart of him that binds her self:
his kisses on her nape, inhaling dampness in her hair,
glass crashing heat searing, she's his.

-----

Sight: flags
Sound:distant music
Scent: cut grass
Taste: something bitter
Touch: granite

 

[Wintermute01]

Sight: flags
Sound:distant music
Scent: cut grass
Taste: something bitter
Touch: granite

Anticipating Senses
----------------------

Like distant pendants,
That promise the arrival
Of exotic things.

Your voice, imagined,
Echoes around me, swirling,
As songs from afar.

Like spring time greenness
After the scythe's arc passes,
Your scent captivates.

I dream of my tongue
Reaching you, and enjoying
Unsweetened cocoa.

And with you now here,
As but a man I respond
Becoming granite.

----------------
Sight: Dyed hair
Sound: thrash metal
Taste: berry cider
Touch: ice
Scent: book paper

 

[Angeline]

Sight: Dyed hair
Sound: thrash metal
Taste: berry cider
Touch: ice
Scent: book paper

Another Bangor Afternoon

The trompe-l'œil sky droops clouds
that drift to my face, stream through
my scarf. I crunch when I walk

the scrim of ice where daggers hang
and bedizen bleak afternoon white
blotting the pines surrounding me

with silence until a cardinal shrieks
like some scarlet strumpet denied
her due. I barely notice, head

down, struggle toward sanctuary--
hot blueberry cider, a book fresh
cracked, a paper promise, tropic

heat even the plow guy can't crash.

Sight: sapphire
Sound: piano
Taste: blood
Touch: glass
Scent: perfume

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Sight: sapphire
Sound: piano
Taste: blood
Touch: glass
Scent: perfume

Such a cliche
as I look at her eyes
still sapphire, where she lays
spreadeagled under the piano
looking surprised.
Just a speck of blood
splatters my lips, but luckily
my glass is intact.
Her perfume cloyed
too much.

Sight: full ashtray
Sound: arguing neighbours
Taste: roast beef
Touch: velvet
Scent: newly mown grass

 

[Remec]

Sight: full ashtray
Sound: arguing neighbours
Taste: roast beef
Touch: velvet
Scent: newly mown grass

Nights like Tonight

She always said
I chain smoked,
"Badly."

Never gave it
much thought,
but nights like tonight,
when the ashtray is
about to pitch onto
the carpet, strike me
as a missed chance
to admit she'd been
right and avoid
another row.

Like the one next unit
over, or prolly the next
after that--from the way
that door slammed, the
oddly muffled echo to
their shouted insults,
accusations made to all
of the neighborhood,
guess they picked up
the slack after she'd
gone,

Which was good, since
there's been many nights,
like this one, when I leaned
on the sofa--the soft crush
of one of her velvet wraps
under my fingers--taste of
Jimmy's roast beef sub,
always too rare for her,
still warm on my tongue,
and breathed in the scent
of summer in the fresh cut
grass outside my window,
thinking,

I wonder if anyone else
misses her?

~~~~~
sight: red-hair
sound: barking
smell: sweat
taste: melon
touch: hair pulling

 

[Wintermute01]

~~~~~
sight: red-hair
sound: barking
smell: sweat
taste: melon
touch: hair pulling

The Experience


I feared that the redness of her hair would inflame me,
And her dogs, which were barking, would maim me.

But as she fed me that juicy ripe melon,
Her dominant ways quickly overcame me.

I was putty in her hands and she knew it,
I recognised that she had already claimed me

My odour betraying my nerves,
From the sweat that was beginning to drain me.

Then, finishing her meal she stood,
And, pulling my hair, started to train me.


---------------
Sight: a hood
Sound: creaking leather
Smell: polished wood
Taste: plastic
Touch: cold metal

 

[Mollie_F]

Sight: a hood
Sound: creaking leather
Smell: polished wood
Taste: plastic
Touch: cold metal

-----

Histrionic Librarian

Each knuckle cracks, damn muggy weather,
echoes through atriums far;
creaking fingers gloved with leather,
fists that clench an iron bar.

Rows of dustless oak are lined,
showcasing old grown lives and hearts;
shrouded face and hood entwined
keeping safe these sacred parts.

Biting through synthetic tales,
chewing up false memory art
readers here know fiction fails,
history seeks to take this part.

-----

Sight: broken toy
Sound: loud crash
Smell: spices
Taste: smoke
Touch: something slippery

 

[champagne1982]

"Buzz"

Touch: rubber
Taste: sweet corn
Sight: weights
Sound: static crackle
Smell: tequila

It gladdens me that you've found
a use for those weights
we stopped lifting a decade
ago. They work good, anchoring
our inner tubes rafted and tied
like floating islands on Lake Titicaca
as we lock together.
Like an archipelago of tequila
soaked kisses and sugary
corn on the cob brought from shore
where reminiscent rock
mixes with distance
on the truck radio.

Touch: hot wax
Taste: stale coffee
Sight: nail polish bottles
Sound: blow dryer
Smell: hair chemicals

 

[Rogueslady]

Touch: hot wax
Taste: stale coffee
Sight: nail polish bottles
Sound: blow dryer
Smell: hair chemicals

*shame and need*

shower beats down hot, water heavy
like my mind as thoughts attack
picking melted wax from my chest,
a small smile, dirty bitch
the sight of nail polish bottles
foreign, wonder if I should pinch
a little tooth paste to get the taste
of stale coffee from my tongue and lips
she slips in, turns on the hair dryer
to make herself presentable for
her soon to return husband.
I spy the indent of her wedding rings and
wonder why we do it, how me let
monogamy turned to monotony, so we seek
mutual gratification in others arms

Touch: jelly
taste: condiments
sight: shadows
sound: gravel crunching
smell: smoke

Wow your poem sounds great! Here goes my attempt using your words:
Touch: jelly
taste: condiments
sight: shadows
sound: gravel crunching
smell: smoke
As I sit here in my sit nightgown,
seeing the toast and jelly still on the table from breakfast,
the day gone by as I just sit my eyes wet with tears,
my mouth in a frown,
darkness approaches fast,
starting a fire as I realize my fears,
glancing over to the table knowing I should clear the condiments,
not really wanting to do it,
rather sit in the lonely shadows,
the cool air blowing through the vents,
you do as you see fit,
knowing the you think the grass is always greener in the other meadows,
my heart aching,
not knowing if you'll be back,
my heart races every time I hear gravel crunching,
my heart breaking,
wanting to hit my head against the wall with a sounding whack,
smelling the incense smoke my hair in my hands scrunching,
wondering what I did so wrong,
will I ever get over you,
shattered is my heart,
wanting to be in arms that are strong,
time passes as I make up my mind not to be blue,
still aching, wanting, and needing but that is a start.

Touch: body
taste: sweetness
sight: sunset
sound: waves crashing
smell: roses

 

[Desejo]

Honeymoon


A dozen roses

Mango and lime sunset
Sunburnt sarong wrapped smiles
sweet Lychee martinis

Mango and lime sunset
boards crashing in waves
wetsuit pulled from the surf

A dozen roses

+++++++++

Sorry, that was morbid.

Sight: green in an unexpected place
sound: gospel music
touch: plastic
taste: sugar
smell: whatever was green

 

[Remec]

Sight: green in an unexpected place
sound: gospel music
touch: plastic
taste: sugar
smell: whatever was green

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