The 5 Senses Poem Challenge

[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

 

[Rogueslady]

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

As we sit around the campfire,
the morning after,
cooking eggs and bacon for breakfast,
the scent of sex and rosemary still lingering,
our laughter filling the air,
as we joke and catch up,
we spend the day together,
walking through the powdery sand,
making love in the water.

sight: water
sound: waves
scent: incense
taste: fish
touch: silky

 

[todski28]

sight: water
sound: waves
scent: incense
taste: fish
touch: silky

*after dinner*

fish and chips abandoned on the bench
remnants of dinner

nag champa, cloying smoke
obscures the view fills the nostrils,
waves roll in a rippling quiver,
you wash my face in your water
a silky touch to reassure you,
you can sing acapella for me,
no judgement,
I'll happily tap out a silent beat
for your piercing falsetto.

sight: far horizon
sound: favourite band or song
scent: something freshly washed
taste: pastry
touch: callouses

 

[Rogueslady]

sight: water
sound: waves
scent: incense
taste: fish
touch: silky

*after dinner*

fish and chips abandoned on the bench
remnants of dinner

nag champa, cloying smoke
obscures the view fills the nostrils,
waves roll in a rippling quiver,
you wash my face in your water
a silky touch to reassure you,
you can sing acapella for me,
no judgement,
I'll happily tap out a silent beat
for your piercing falsetto.

sight: far horizon
sound: favourite band or song
scent: something freshly washed
taste: pastry
touch: callouses

sight: far horizon
sound: favourite band or song
scent: something freshly washed
taste: pastry
touch: callouses

As we set sail on the cruise ship,
we stand there looking out over the ocean,
watching the sunset over the water,
seeing the waters dance in the far horizon
dancing with each other our favorite song Everything I do playing,
your strong muscled arms and your working hands with callouses on them around me,
you smell my freshly washed hair smelling like roses
kissing you as we dance tasting the morning pastry that you ate this morning lingering on your breath.

sight: water
sound: birds
scent: roses
taste: cinnamon
touch:soft

 

[todski28]

sight: water
sound: birds
scent: roses
taste: cinnamon
touch: soft

*Summer heat*

air,
heavy, trees lilt
forces you down, bows your
stride, skin lashed tan, sweat
pours,
dries, instantly, evaporated
by sun scorched blaze
roses have seen better days,
their smell, dry as a desert
shimmering reflection
ripples,
across the surface,
a bird bathes,

the weather has stolen
his voice, he can't warble
prettily, merely splash about
in his little bath, seeking relief.

eat a stick of big red, to stop
my mouth tasting like a
camels asshole,
drag my feet off to the store
man this weathers a whore,
fucking me to death

Sight: clear skies
Sound: wind
scent: petrol
touch: hot
taste: cream

 

[FlyAwayFromHere]

i really like the poem above

my first attempt as an "artsy" poem... i pretty much just go for the basic poems... but i thought i would give it a try. i know it sucks but i dont know, i guess i assumed the imagry might give me credit haha.

Its set in a post apocalyptic world...


Sight: clear skies
Sound: wind
scent: petrol
touch: hot
taste: cream



I dream of a day when clear skies
fill my eyes
again.
the hot sun beats harder than my heart
wind starts.
burnt taste on the tongue
petrol smell
just as well
remembering the taste of clotted cream.
a foolish dream.

Sight: rising sun
Sound: screams
scent: sweet
touch: wet
taste: dry mouth

 

[Rogueslady]

i really like the poem above

my first attempt as an "artsy" poem... i pretty much just go for the basic poems... but i thought i would give it a try. i know it sucks but i dont know, i guess i assumed the imagry might give me credit haha.

Its set in a post apocalyptic world...


Sight: clear skies
Sound: wind
scent: petrol
touch: hot
taste: cream



I dream of a day when clear skies
fill my eyes
again.
the hot sun beats harder than my heart
wind starts.
burnt taste on the tongue
petrol smell
just as well
remembering the taste of clotted cream.
a foolish dream.

Sight: rising sun
Sound: screams
scent: sweet
touch: wet
taste: dry mouth

Sight: rising sun
Sound: screams
scent: sweet
touch: wet
taste: dry mouth

Watching the rising sun on the sunny beach,
being with you from the night before when we made love,
feeling the feeling of your wet tongue on my pussy,
smelling in the deep fragrance of Sweet Honesty,
hoping that no one heard my screams of ecstasy as we joined as one,
with me sucking your cock to rid my mouth of its dryness.


Sight: fire
Sound: cooing
scent: ocean breeze
touch: soft
taste: strawberries

 

[Desejo]

Harlequin Love ...

..the curl of flames on flushed cheeks
Pigeon coos and bird kisses
muffled in velvet soft mounds
Forest strawberry taste of feminine essence
pink moist clefts scented by
the breath of the ocean

Our version is different

Gropes in dark corridors
the jagged music of gasps
hardness that stretches, opens
Salt and semen drip
Off my tongue
And the smell?

The smell is of sin

****
Sight: a plant
Sound: workers
Scent: paint
touch: sticky
taste: lukewarm coffee

 

[todski28]

Sight: a plant
Sound: workers
Scent: paint
touch: sticky
taste: lukewarm coffee

coffee left on the bench
grows tepid,
forgotten the moment you
walked in, there are better
things to drink today,

forget the panel saw
the industrious sounds
of things being made
workers can take
care of it
the scent of the spray booth
as doors get lacquered,
no I would rather

spend the day ensnared,
entwined, unencumbered
till we grow hot and sticky from
our passion, your cries mark the day
a celebration

maybe have a coffee
talk about the new plants
in the garden before
I welcome you home again

sound: alarm
Sight: sign written van
Scent: something delicious
touch: something slightly textured
taste: cake

 

[Desejo]

sound: alarm
Sight: sign written van
Scent: something delicious
touch: something slightly textured
taste: cake

Scooby Doo gets Horny too

Velma’s cinnamon rolls
sold directly from the back
of the Mystery Machine
Have Scooby and Shaggy
wildly sniffing the air
moaning
While
Fred whets his appetite
nibbling the nubby elastic leg openings
of Daphne’s pink panties

Trails of crumbs
Moist as velvet cake
the final clue.

Sound:humming
Sight: crow
Scent: old perfume
Taste: skin
Touch: softest blanket

 

[todski28]

Sound:humming
Sight: crow
Scent: old perfume
Taste: skin
Touch: softest blanket

slap in the face
the immediate response
her presence gleans
grace poise and cheek
of a crow perched
looking seductively on
she must know the
lust she sews when
she is near, humming
the tune that seduces
my ears,

sooner rather than
later on a mink blanket
hands embedded in
her hair, her lips tattooing
themselves on mine
so I can taste them
forever

her scent left on me
hardens my intent
every time

I remember the taste
of her skin and wonder
if I were to kiss another
if they would taste it too.

Sound: back ground swearing
Sight: snow
Scent: pine cleaner
Taste: ice
Touch: something gliding on skin

 

[Remec]

Sound: back ground swearing
Sight: snow
Scent: pine cleaner
Taste: ice
Touch: something gliding on skin

Watch

The words are unclear,
oddly so, since McKeown was
usually so direct about how
well his vocabulary embodied
proverbial sailor-speak, but once
I roll out of my rack and see how
the porthole is covered in white,
it all makes sense.
I yawn as I dress, too late a night
before a duty day, the smooth feel
of the deodorant and its smell usually
get me alert enough, but today
my head is closed tight, which isn't
helped by Mr Coffee is on the
fritz and me waking too late to hit
the galley before reporting to
the quarterdeck...Palmer has my back,
though, and hands me a steaming
mug...the scent of the freshly
swabbed deck overwhelms the coffee,
and I sigh...pine always make me
think of my first gin and tonic and how
I downed it so quickly to get past the gin
that it left my tongue tasting
nothing but the ice left in the glass. I sigh,
and drink it anyway.
~~~~~

Next:
sight: convenience store
sound: buzzing
smell: ketchup
taste: chocolate
touch: sticky

 

[greenmountaineer]

Remec beat me to the finish by a nose

Golbahar Used to Live in Kabul

Last summer she baked like a goose
but this November the snow and ice
taste like gunmetal casings
the Taliban leave in the streets

that smell of death as when Delaram jumped
from the bridge over the Gomal
while her burqa ballooned like parachutes,
revealing a sumptuous body.

Baitullah just sat there, drinking his tea,
swearing "we'll kill them, Brother,
if God wills it," rubbing horseshit
off his boots and his pantaloons.

Golbahar thanked Allah for Pine-Sol
as she enters "the powder room,"
a euphemism Rasa once used
who hurriedly fled to London.

Haunching, she looks at the gap
between her knees and rubs her thighs,
telling herself it's just to keep warm
as she glides there, her fingers wet,

before she closes her eyes and chants
"Where did the love go? Where is it now?
in shā' Allāh, where is the love?
What is it the Prophet said?"



sound: squealing tires
touch: any animal's pelt
taste: hominy grits
smell: diesel
sight: blue sky
(Or Remec's above)

 

[todski28]

maybe a little ambitious

sound: squealing tires
touch: any animal's pelt
taste: hominy grits
smell: diesel
sight: blue sky

sight: convenience store
sound: buzzing
smell: ketchup
taste: chocolate
touch: sticky

we step from the convenience
store,
convenient enough
in its location not so in prices
the buzzing fluro above bringing
a slew of mosquitos and other
flying things

I look over at her,
she reminds me of chocolate
not because she is sweet
and creamy but because
of the addictive nature,
full to the point of vomiting
you will still eat that last piece
or sneak it in when you are
on a diet consisting of
hominy grits and cardboard

playfully I bump her just
being cheeky,
It was an accident,
I was just being cheeky,

we went for bread and ketchup
ended in squealing tires
thump of a grill into
her spine,
diesel fumes billowing from
the car on top of her
she stares into the black sky
how I wish it were blue
eyes watering her life
out in a puddle down her cheek
hands sticky with blood
her last words,
where is
her alligator pelt purse

sound: bird call of warning
touch: pint glass
taste: regret
smell: cigar smoke
sight: a beautiful art piece (statue, painting whatever)

 

[butters]

amazing

 

[KatieJones]

sound: bird call of warning
touch: pint glass
taste: regret
smell: cigar smoke
sight: a beautiful art piece (statue, painting whatever)

Market

A gray hawk screams
above the ceiling-less stores
in the streets of San Jose.
Fingers of smoke from a cohiba
turn her shoulders
in search of the familiar
but find a stranger’s eyes, parting
the two dollar beaded necklaces,
unblinking as he drinks
her in with a slowness
that matches the molasses-coloured ale
in his pint glass. She tastes
him in echoes of the flesh
while her fingers stroke
the smooth rosewood sculpture
of a faceless woman’s curves, absorbing
the contradiction
of being both revered and imprisoned.

They are all coming.

She sees the horizon
despite closed eyes and waits
like a thousand grains of sand
to be shaped by whatever wave
hits her first.


Taste: ginger
Sight: snow
Sound: voices
smell: evergreen
touch: ice

 

[greenmountaineer]

Final Hearing

Cooperation without trust,
friendship without affection,
they lived too long in Legoland

with his and her bathroom sinks
and a sea of warring chemicals,
pretending to smell like evergreens,

but then the voices turned to ice
in whiskey eyes once ginger ale
on a bed you could bounce a dime upon

staring all night at her snow globe
reflecting cold blankets of anger,
shaken a year ago last December,

while he in his one room studio
eats what would sicken a cockroach,
lights a second from the end of the first,

and downs a bottle of Rémy Martin
between remember's sunset and sunrise
to have all his courage tomorrow.

Taste: Apple pie
Touch: flannel
Sound: Christmas caroling
Sight: something pink
Smell: gasoline

 

[todski28]

Taste: Apple pie
Touch: flannel
Sound: Christmas caroling
Sight: something pink
Smell: gasoline

*Addiction*

Flannel over head
the jar of delicious
fumes beneath
head swaying giddy
smile as the Christmas
carols stop sounding like
shit

we share the jar
and apple pie
as she leans over
the pink of her thong
pokes over her pant line

I smile a stupid smile
get back to happily
fucking my brain cells


Taste: chemical
Touch: dried something on skin
Sound: door shutting
Sight: water bottle
Smell: warm paper

 

[greenmountaineer]

Domesticated

In the melancholy pallor of midnight,
she wishes she had a tongue-glove compartment
for cyanide where the wisdom tooth was,

except for Heather's paper mâché
thingamabob on her dresser
next to the first bottle she warmed

when midnight was a lullaby
instead of a hush that amplifies sound
from the scuff of a leather heel.

She scratches the latest scab away
that was a welt a week ago Tuesday
as he opens and slams the door Shut!

Up! like a jackhammer up her ass
for the grease stain still on his pants.
Madeleine's seen it all before

but not as much as Heather did
with a handful of tiddlywinks last week
who knows, who knows, Dear God! who knows!

Taste: fried eggs
Touch: felt
Sound: radio playing any kind of music
Sight: photo of a dead relative
Smell: perfume

 

[todski28]

Taste: fried eggs
Touch: felt
Sound: radio playing any kind of music
Sight: photo of a dead relative
Smell: perfume

*No Idea Man*

blank stare
reminiscent of a dead
relative you can't quite
remember but you know is gone
he is a fool in a polyester suit
playing the man in his polyester
head space, drunk
on his own superiority complex
three wines and a tipple of scotch
which leaves the taste of three
week old fried eggs cloying in my throat
Robbie Williams better man plays
as an added joke to the whole scenario

polyester man still thinks he's the man
even though the felt he is trying so hard
to touch
is for a woman's private box
one he will never see.

one she will display for me
and I will appreciate it
reverently

Touch: affectionate
Taste: chilli
Sound: high pitched whistle
Sight: favourite alcohol
Smell: vanilla

 

[Desejo]

Dinner: the unspoken truth

Bottles sweat on the bamboo table
Condensed drops threaten
to burst like unspoken desires

to ruffle his hair
oh, to plow my fingers in it
like strands of silk in a loom

to taste his fingers
overtures of green chili
aching in unseen afterglows
in the darkness of my mouth

Burnt sugar and vanilla
Frangipani and jasmine
drip perfume on my tongue
like votive candles
over dessert

a child’s bamboo whistle,
the kind that plunges
in and out
in and out
shatters my inchoate reveries

a drop of water falls on the table
explodes
then

we drink our beer
_________
Touch: foil
Taste: fruitcake
Sound: swords or knives clashing
Sight: fruitcake
Smell: skin

 

[Remec]

Touch: foil
Taste: fruitcake
Sound: swords or knives clashing
Sight: fruitcake
Smell: skin

Found Dessert

The smooth, shiny surface
of Reynolds Wrap always
feels so unique once it's
been used to wrap something,

the small block could have been
almost anything, but my hope
for last week's lost meatloaf is
dashed by the sight of yet
another fruitcake. Or is it?

I peel things back and ask for
a knife, sighing at the sound
of metal on metal as a simple
request becomes a duel for
the right of cake conquest,

A slow, steady slice reveals the
expected mix of green and red
candied fruit, a few things that
might be raisins--maybe currants or
cranberries--and I mentally cross
my fingers for Porter cake as I
bring a chunk to my lips.

Nope, just fruitcake.
~~~~~


sight: plastic Santas
scent: peppermint
sound: Salvation Army bell
taste: blood
touch: concrete

 

[Angeline]

sight: plastic Santas
scent: peppermint
sound: Salvation Army bell
taste: blood
touch: concrete

Christmas in Bangtown chump
change for the kettle do not
ask for whom she tolls but stroll all
ye to Wal-Mart where elves
look mighty tired, rush, slump
and smile ka-ching ka-ching.

Spiritus Sanctus somewhere I
have never traveled, holy host
of blood but it's so damn cold here
the very air is peppermint we
slide on the concrete bridge and
Whip-Me Santa is tied to a tree
with black electrical tape.

sight: blizzard
scent: rosemary
sound: song (your choice but use a name)
taste: ice
touch: something hot