The 5 Senses Poem Challenge

[Desejo]

Touch: mud
Sound: jet plane
Smell: welded metal
Sight: two people arguing
Taste: cauliflower

I apologize in advance for the dubious poetic quality and dorkineess of this, but those were odd words.


Spock's log, Stardate 66986.3

We are beamed to Roswell.
Earth, July 8 1947
tricorders detect the odor
of a ship hull breached by phaser fire
highly irregular in this time and place

Antique jet planes
chatter above in circles
with the stealth of a lovelorn Klingon
they do not see us.

Predictably, Captain Kirk and Scotty argue
finally agreeing on
Stunning the witnesses
And wiping the most important
memories

Logical.
First contact has not yet officially happened.

They will awake with no effects
Other than the odd taste of boiled “cauliflower”
in their mouths.
An ancient earth vegetable, I am told.

Chances of reports on that are deemed
Acceptable.

Back on board the Enterprise
we engage in a ritualistic bath
in Romulan mud.
It alternates temperature and
texture according to body part.

Fascinating.

***
Sight: missed call
sound: doorbell
Scent: opportunity
Touch: plastic
Taste: mint

 

[todski28]

Sight: missed call
sound: doorbell
Scent: opportunity
Touch: plastic
Taste: mint



He thought he could smell opportunity
The gamble of the century,
It sounded too good to be true,
Like seeing a missed call
from a lover long lost.

Chewing his minty gum
beads of sweat forming
he fingers his lucky money clip
(not so lucky these days)
used to be gold, now plastic

awating the sound of the doorbell
and a swift exit into the unknown
no use running, he was a man
he had made a mistake
that’s all, just a petty mistake….


sight : something that scares you
sound: something that makes you happy
scent: something that makes you nostalgic
touch: anything you can't stand
taste: something you find delicious.

 

[KatieJones]

sight : something that scares you
sound: something that makes you happy
scent: something that makes you nostalgic
touch: anything you can't stand
taste: something you find delicious.

Fortune Beach, P.E.I.

The fire warms the scent
of sunscreen and deepens
the pink of everyone’s skin.

Drift wood crackles, chasing
the sand fleas away.
Lips are sticky
from roasted marshmallows
that cling to skin much like sand
to wet feet. “Wipe them off
before you get in the car,”
he’d grumble.

It’s been forever since I dove
from his shoulders and that forever
leaves a fear of the tipping
point of time. When you live
longer without than with
life closes around the space left
until you are unsure how
it was once filled
and doubt
whether you really remember
anything other than feeling
a little more alone.



sight : bench
sound: racoons
scent: hay
touch: water
taste: charcoal

 

[todski28]

Sight: bench
Sound raccoons
Scent: hay
Touch: water
Taste: charcoal

The bench, that's where I found out
Under a sun filled sky
Raccoons chittering at me
The day so filled with hope and promise

That moment when you realise life is short
Gets shorter by the moment
She had been so beautiful,
Even when they pumped her full of charcoaled
Water
A vain attempt to bring back colour to pallid cheeks
To get the pills out

You wonder why when i would have listened
When I would have been there
When i could have helped
Had i known

Collapse to my knees
The memory shears
The tumble in the hay
hair bedraggled
Sex hair you called it
The coffee, knowing grins
Your only grins now in memory

Sight: a carnival ride
Sound: many coins hitting a hard surface
Scent: something that makes you amorous grrrr
Touch: glass
Taste: cheese

 

[Desejo]

Graduation Fair and Unfair

The Twister
whips big 80s hair
blonde highlights
over day glow t-shirts

We twist
far too many
caps off Mooseheads
stocked under the bushes

I twist
each cold sweating
bottle against
my sunburnt skin

Day turns
to dusk squeezed into booths
for Pizza, extra cheese
one last time

Your is thigh too close to mine

I’ve sworn off you.

But, oh hell - you are wearing Drakkar Noir

And I want to hear
The sound of your belt
studded with Moroccan coins
Drop to the floor
One last time.

****
Sight: piles of something
Sound: stifled laughter
Scent; fruity
Taste: dirt
Touch: spiderweb

 

[Angeline]

Sight: piles of something
Sound: stifled laughter
Scent; fruity
Taste: dirt
Touch: spiderweb

Office Politics As Usual

Are you through

he asks looking past his nose
not to me but perhaps
to the bottle he hid
in her desk.

She titters
from the hallway soft
hand on her mouth, unsure
yet unruffled. She clicks
with impatience,
parades their contempt
which hangs like a film of grease
on this lank afternoon. I'm
an interloper. They want lunch

or maybe to eat each other
up with ravenous eyes, avid
intent. I pop a stick
of Juicyfruit in, let the cheap grape
and sugar bloom, obliterate
their dirty pong.

Nope.
There's a good pizza place
just across the bridge.

They disembark a huddled mass,
purse snap and elevator snick.

I shift the pile of work
from chair to arm, crack my gum
for remembrance and leave.
I'm sidewalk strong. They've a fine
walk to cross that bridge, just full
of spiderwebs and worse.


Sight: tires
Sound: sex, kissing, making out (you decide)
Scent; air freshener
Taste: strawberry
Touch: moth

 

[KatieJones]

i

Sight: tires
Sound: sex, kissing, making out (you decide)
Scent; air freshener
Taste: strawberry
Touch: moth

The evergreen tree

that hangs from the rear
view mirror of his Saab 9000
puts him back in a rusty ford
that smelled of pine
and sex. Seat reclined
every evening he watched
her lock her bike tire, hoping
he’d leave his hand in his pants
and merely covet
but the thought
of tasting her strawberry
lips buried his conscience
with his wife and kids
and he took the evil
from the cage
of his skull and let it free
knowing
she’d never want
to say no and would spread
her legs against a wall
because she wasn’t wise
enough to know
he should offer sheets,
care about making her sigh
and that sometimes
it’s the light that seeks
out the fragile wings
of the moth and burns
them before they even begin
to fly among the trees.

Sight: front door
sound: fork on a plate
taste: maple syrup
touch: sponge
scent: paint

 

[Angeline]

Sight: front door
sound: fork on a plate
taste: maple syrup
touch: sponge
scent: paint

Cops at the front door
beefy and blue they want
in. Linda drops her fork
splattering maple syrup
which drips on my shoe

I'm frozen to the sofa
as they rush up the stairs,
flood the tiny room scowling,
flashlights atwirl. They sniff
the air I try not to evidence

horror it's right there
in the ashtray, my elbow
pointing to it like an arrow.

Linda offers tea as if this
were anything but a whole world
of trouble, just chatting away,
sponging up syrup. She spots
the roach, calculates zero
opportunity. Our eyes meet.

Hey, you been painting in here?

says Blue Boy 1. We stare,
he tosses a last snarky jab,

We gotta go bust a pot party.

Gone. Breathe.

Sometimes I think the 60s
weren't so bad after all.



Sight: hedges
sound: helicopter
taste: ice cream
touch: flowers
scent: citronella

 

[Remec]

Sight: hedges
sound: helicopter
taste: ice cream
touch: flowers
scent: citronella

One Summer

It was a maze.

Not so much like parts
of Versailles or even the
grounds of Biltmore House,
but so much squared greenery
that walking some alleys in
the darkest part of the night
made me stop to listen for a
Baskerville hound,

The only thing I heard, though,
was the whop-whop of rotors
as Smokey did his bear-in-the-air
trick and kept choppers and bright
spotlights filtering through above
our heads throughout much of the
night. Never did learn what they
were looking for, was too taken with
my latest infatuation. Lovely as the

garden, with skin that could compare
to the silkiest of petals and kisses
that seemed to drip Neapolitan along
my tongue, while her hair always
seemed awash in citronella.

No wonder the mosquitos kept
their distance.
~~~~~

sight: pineapple
sound: annoying laughter
smell: burgers
touch: sponge/spongey
taste: saltwater

 

[todski28]

Sight: pineapple
Sound: annoying laughter
Scent: burgers
Touch: sponge/spongey
Taste: salt water

"The sun is a pineapple

They say when you drown your life
Flashes before your eyes.
Choking on sea water, struggling
To rise to the surface

The lap of the waves around me
Ridiculing my vain attempts to live
Like annoying laughter
When you make a fool of yourself
Infuriating, yet warranted

As my head pops to the surface
I try to scream for help.
The smell of burgers
Letting me know help is close,
As water suffocates my cry
Help is not close enough

Desperate now thrashing
Arms turning to lead weights
The struggle
too much
Too hard

I fought as much as I could
A sea sponge floats by
I take hold
cuddle it to my breast
Floating down

The sun pierces the water.
From below it looks like
A pineapple

Sight: a car park empty or full
Sound: fear in a persons voice
Scent: cheap perfume
Touch: something sticky
Taste: gummi bears

 

[Desejo]

Must I watch this?

Digital era spectators
of self pixelated movies
most of which are bad.

The worst is failed romance.
hearing my own
voice quiver as I grasp
the arm of my dark superhero

(I made him up up myself)

Because inevitably he stares
stony eyed at me, dissolving
$100 an ounce perfume
into Walgreens knock off toilet water

(If you like Poison, you will love Venom)

Sweet cotton candy scent
licking the jelly taste
of concession stand gummy bears

It turns my stomach
As much as the sticky pull
Of the movie theater floor.

Sound: boom
Scent: gas
taste; red hots (or other obnoxious candy)
touch: rough
sight: lightening

 

[HarryHill]

this one got left behind

Desejo:
Sight: cat doing something foolish
Sound: floor creaking
Scent: protest
Taste: poor taste
Touch: kleenex or tissue

Foolish le chat,
stalking around my protesting rocking chair,
trying to find the creak.

*!STOMP!*

He runs away; a flash across the house,
I wipe away the spider
crushed on sole of shoe
tossed tissue
a whining fart within my mind
the stink of life taken

*creak, creak, creak*
Foolish le chat

(Return to thread)
Sound: boom
Scent: gas
taste; red hots (or other obnoxious candy)
touch: rough
sight: lightening

 

[KatieJones]

Sound: boom
Scent: gas
taste; red hots (or other obnoxious candy)
touch: rough
sight: lightening

Cinnamon Scars

He kept a bag of red
hots in the desk drawer
that whined when it opened.
Not loud
but under her blankets
it seemed a sonic boom
that ripped the silence
like lightening tears
the sky in two-both signals
of danger. Each stair creak
evoked a prayer
to a God she’d long ago
dismissed as deaf. Please.
Please let him go by.

She never wanted
trouble so was still
when her room filled
with the smell of cinnamon
and gas that perfumed
his shirt after a day
at the station where he smiled
at people all day. You're so lucky
dear they'd say.

His touch was never rough
but still it reached through
her skin and squeezed
feelings from her heart
and all thought from her mind.

People tried to help
but when you dismantle humanity
the intangibles are lost
or never fit in their forever
changed home. She lies
and says she’s fine
because that’s a headline
people are willing to read
but somewhere on page twelve
it says time stops the bleeding
but some things never heal.


Sound: sigh
Scent: fresia
taste; apple
touch: pinch
sight: abandoned house

 

[wakingDown]

Cinnamon Scars

sound: sigh
Scent: fresia
taste; apple
touch: pinch
sight: abandoned house

Step through the crooked door slow
Letting eyes adjust, ears attune
Bits of dust float by and soon
Pick up a smell I think I know

There, by the window, under dust
A candle with the clear fresia scent
Stepping towards it when the floor is bent
The heavy sigh of aged wood and rust

The long vacant house groaning loud
Stumble back as boards give way
Cry at the pinch where hand did splay
Shivered board closing in a dust cloud

Cough at the moldering apple slick
Of cider soured and spored so long
The dust puff taste of decay so strong
The slow to settle dust hazy and thick

Why the hell did I come here again?

sound: ticking clock
scent: old smoke
taste: grains
touch: smooth glass
sight: ancient tree

 

[todski28]

life, too short.

sound: ticking clock
scent: old smoke
taste: grains
touch: smooth glass
sight: ancient tree

the ticking clock
rounding out my days,
sitting in relaxed splendour

leather bound books surround
the smell of my old pipe,
a filthy habit, one of many

munching on my grains,
gotta keep the insides healthy,
as you get older even more so.

A sound forces me to my tired feet,
shuffle over to the window
pressing my face to the glass

I watch as they tear down
my ancient tree
eyes open in disbelief
a single tear falls

the memory of swinging in that beauty
the fun it had brought, its boughs
strong and hardy still, but drooped
much like me

time beats us all down
unlike me, she will not survive till night
and for what?
the sake of urban development?

As I watch her topple I sob at all that has been

Sound: amything so loud you wince or cover your ears
scent: frech cooked food (any)
taste: victory
touch:something innappropriate
sight: a beautiful backdrop (interpret as you will hills, beach etc, etc)

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Sound: amything so loud you wince or cover your ears
scent: frech cooked food (any)
taste: victory
touch:something innappropriate
sight: a beautiful backdrop (interpret as you will hills, beach etc, etc)

Resistance

The end!
Exhausted citizens
line the streets,
Camps Elyse wall-
to-wall little flags,
American, English
and of course French.
We celebrate victory
with a bottle of pre-war
Chablis and eat melting
brie with our fingers.
He jokingly, perhaps not,
wiping his greasy fingers
on my breasts making me
gasp and laugh at his
audacity. American trucks
lumber through the
happiness, hippos trying not
to flatten rioting mice. One
backfires, a deafening memory.
we flinch, instinctually duck.
Next week I will be home
happily free of secrets,
walk on Suffolk's cloudless
downs, untouched by war.

Sound: Modern jazz
scent: Old Spice
taste: oysters
touch: fur
sight: a naked man (full frontal)

 

[Remec]

Sound: amything so loud you wince or cover your ears
scent: frech cooked food (any)
taste: victory
touch:something innappropriate
sight: a beautiful backdrop (interpret as you will hills, beach etc, etc)

The steam wafted just right
when I lifted the lids to check
on how things were progressing,

A hint of garlic, a touch of dreck,
just like most French food, depressing,
without their sauces you might

think, "This is dinner?", and skip the blessing,
but saying grace is such a slight
thing to toss out, a moment of respect,

Unlike a hand upon a tight
ass, on pretense of wiping a speck,
from the surface, but simply caressing

each cheek, in turn, as I might expect,
from someone who had been undressing
me since the beginning of the night,

when the firework finale had been so distressing,
it spoiled how the evening had looked so right,
with everyone's skin all glowing and flecked

We kissed, further blurring my sight,
and my mind as I said what the heck
to going back with you, confessing

that, with you, I didn't seem like just a speck
on a tally bar, but you were just messing
with me, totally savoring your win that night.

~~~~~
sight: clouds
sound: music
scent: happiness
taste: garbage
touch: soap
(today's prompts given by my stepdaughter--making her think on summer break hehehe )

 

[Desejo]

Sound: Modern jazz
scent: Old Spice
taste: oysters
touch: fur
sight: a naked man (full frontal)

First Date Angst

he did not want to take her
well he did want to take her but what I meant is
he did not want to take her out
to the movies or something banal
instead the made dinner and put on Jan Garbarek even though
jazz made him feel like a pretentious imposter
but as long as he was feeling that way he might as well
serve oysters which he did even
though he worried it might be bit suggestive perhaps
and it made him wonder endlessly of downy fur that she might
have around her own oyster and maybe she would let him --
but, oh, he should not be thinking that way
he might sweat right though the Old Spice
he splashed on in the bathroom
while wondering if maybe possibly she might see him naked
and whether the oysters would be effective.

Now use Remec's words...above!

 

[todski28]

happiness for a boy

sight: clouds
sound: music
scent: happiness
taste: garbage
touch: soap

Got the music playing in the car
pulled up at the dump
scavenging for something,
some waseful soul has discarded

Trip head first into a pile
spitting chunks of god knows what
gagging, tears falling

a shout "get in the car you moron
You should have more sense in your head by now"
a tense drive home, my little boy tears,
irritating him, my fall had cut into the day

watching the clouds out the window
face burning red in shame at crying
wasn't crying for babies
mentally berating myself

home, the door opens
mums roast chicken,
the scent of happiness
to any little boy

thoughts of tears forgotten
in a blink,
better go wash my hands.

Sound: kettle boiling
Scent: expensive wine
taste: sour
touch: something sharp
sight: a closed door

 

[KatieJones]

Sound: kettle boiling
Scent: expensive wine
taste: sour
touch: something sharp
sight: a closed door

Served

The windows are open
so next door I can hear
the sound of fifty years
of marriage as Mrs. Riley
and her kettle scream
for attention, followed
by Mr. Riley’s curse
over the heat souring
the milk and shout
to never mind his tea.

He leaves for his mother’s
with a slam of the door
while his wife complains
about him to the cat.

I shut the window.
We will never follow
in the Riley’s footsteps
of discontent and complacency.

In our bedroom, my finger catches
a tear of condensation
as it drips
down the empty magnum
I bought for you
in Bordeaux and I wonder
if that counts
as pathetic fallacy. I stop
the next drop with the blade
in my hand and look
at your chest
with her arm draped
across it. I picture
the room painted in red
but decide it’s the colour
of love and leave you swathed
in white with the knife
resting on the pillow
beside your face.

A steel mirror to see
that you may have life
but you no longer
share it with me.


Sound: rain
Scent: humidity
taste: chocolate
touch: wood
sight: empty park

 

[todski28]

Sound: rain
Scent: humidity
taste: chocolate
touch: wood
sight: empty park

*deserved

Awakening to a knife next to ones face
is not pleasant, but I know why
lamenting the fact that foolish weakness
has undone all that we crafted and created
I take up the only thing you left
a box of cheap chocolates
trudge into the rain dampened air
a bead of sweat falls
I head towards the park to be alone with my
own stupidity, maybe choke down
some chocolates
think of a way to try and win you back
you always want what you can't have,
or don't deserve.

sound: happy laughter
scent: fresh flowers
taste: fine dining
touch: a calculator
sight: something that has amazed you

 

[KatieJones]

I’m amazed that I can feel
the arrogance
in your fingers as you move
the hem of my skirt
up my thigh, clearly
I am a forgone conclusion
in your eyes all due
to the corner table
at Le Chien Noir and a cliché
of roses plunked
in my grandmother’s Waterford
which you have punched
into your mental calculator
that seems to be powered
by hormones
and it equals a score.

But I’m wearing Chanel
and you laugh
at your own jokes
and clearly can’t speak
French so, non merci.

I’ll drive myself home.

sound: silence
scent: salt
taste: ice cream
touch: splinter
sight: bridge

 

[todski28]

sound: silence
scent: salt
taste: ice cream
touch: splinter
sight: bridge

TOTAL WASTE

another splintered memory pricks
blood runs
or is that tears?
can't seperate my mind from my senses
smell of the salty seaspray
as I close my eyes
ears ringing in the eerie silence
like the univers knows
I eat the last bite of my icecream
strange thing to want at this time
and jump
my last sight the bridge
where you tore out my heart

sound: a large crowd
scent: dirt after fresh rain
taste: copper, or blood
touch: something cold
sight: approaching storm clouds

 

[KatieJones]

sound: a large crowd
scent: dirt after fresh rain
taste: copper, or blood
touch: something cold
sight: approaching storm clouds

The bar was colder
than the street and crowded
with people who looked down
to hide the clouds in their eyes
that amounted to confessions.

It smelled of blood and dirt
and I wanted to brandish
a can of Lysol to whack
down the germs like a machete
through a jungle but I felt unsure
as to whether humour
or honesty could exist
without light and water
so instead I followed
the path beaten
into the carpet by the herds
headed to the bathrooms.

My eyes struggled with the shift
between morning sun
and the darkness necessary
to drink at ten but I recognized
his silhouette sitting alone
at the table in the back
and I wondered if hawks only hunt
from dead trees
or are they just invisible
among the leaves.

Sight- broken chair
Sounds- large machinery
Taste- water
Touch- soil
Smell- bananas

 

[Desejo]

Peace Corps Volunteer Waiting for a Bush Taxi

Jonathan eyes the three-legged
Plastic chair with distrust
instead falls into a Fulani squat
laterite dust in his sandals
feels like crushed brick

White man! Buy some bananas!
I’ll give you a good price

The ripe smell seems to add a layer
to the saturated air
drinking warm water
is not much different than breathing.

I miss the cold, he says.
Somewhere in the distance a generator kicks in.

******
Sound: phone
taste: eggs
sight: someone sleeping
Scent: burnt sugar
touch: cotton