The 5 Senses Poem Challenge

[Neonurotic]

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

Melting

The door wide open, we let in a flurry
from the fury, dusting her and I
in a cold white confection
that tasted like ice on her lips.

"Baby there's no need to run,
I'll love you well.
I wanna settle down." ¹

Words flee me on the frozen wind,
but really, there's no need for them now.
A hot kiss from temple to nape is enough.

Buried there in her rosemary curls,
I'm melting, not knowing
if the run-off is snow or tears.



¹ Settle Down by Kimbra




sight: snow
scent: pines
sound: wind
taste: blood
touch: metal

 

[greenmountaineer]

Damn! Late again!

But it is what it is. Use mine or Neo's 5 senses for the next.

Caroling by Rosemary's Bedroom Window

It's snowing like hell outside
and Harry smells like peppermint schnapps
when Jimmy says Rosemary should
and what he would do to her if she would
down a bottle of peppermint schnapps.

"Damn! She's hot," Jimmy says
who's as icy as Frosty the Snowman
"but let it snow, let it snow, let it snow
because her parents went to the movies
and won't be back soon! Rosemary said."

sight: sausage grease in a frying pan
scent: coffee
sound: AM radio news
taste: orange juice
touch: solidified sausage grease in a frying pan

 

[todski28]

sight: snow
scent: pines
sound: wind
taste: blood
touch: metal

sight: sausage grease in a frying pan
scent: coffee
sound: AM radio news
taste: orange juice
touch: solidified sausage grease in a frying pan

running fingers through
the greased pan
wash it off
last nights sausages
wondering why life
has become the monotonous
drone of am radio
the same drivel
dribbled by the same
people,
orange juice tangs the tongue
while waiting for the coffee
to cure, aromatic Arabica
mundane, insane

what I wouldn't give for
the feel of snow crunching
beneath my feet
frosted breath
the scent of pine on the wind
as I sight breakfast
down the length of metal
death
the taste of blood already
making my mouth water

sight: writing
scent: death
sound: dripping tap
taste: Chinese food
touch: plastic

 

[Desejo]

sight: writing
scent: death
sound: dripping tap
taste: Chinese food
touch: plastic

Endings, Taste of Chinese food omitted.

The writing is on the wall
in dry-erase
Next of kin. Duty nurses: Kelly,
James, Suzie

The first time I meet
Sauer, Otto
Father of
Sauer, Sondra
(my friend)

He is unconscious
Open-mouthed gasps
gurgle like coffee through his lungs
sometimes stop ping

then Hhhhhhhlluuuuuusssss

another gasp
torturous drips of a lifefountain
freezing loudly in the winter

In loopy youthful writing
Kelly, James or Suzie
Estimated the “discharge” date
They got it right.

The second time we meet
Otto Sauer is quiet. No more
Gasp ing
He does not protest as
His estranged daughter strokes his hand
mummers words in German

His hand is still warm
On the plastic couch we sat
looking at him
me trying to navigate her minefield
of bitter memories to find the
too few good ones

He never knew me.
How odd I should be there
getting to know him at a grave
smelling only of hospital.
********
Sight: magazines
Sound: gnawing
Scent: orange
Taste: joy
touch: warm cup or mug

 

[Remec]

Sight: magazines
Sound: gnawing
Scent: orange
Taste: joy
touch: warm cup or mug

Gingerbread Prisoner

"Nibble nibble, like a mouse,
who is nibbling on my house?"

The echoes of her words still
gnawed away as I kicked back
and flipped through ancient
periodicals--things even a doctor's
office wouldn't try and keep around,

I tried to ignore the foods she
kept slipping through the bars, but
her cooking was so exquisite, like
tasting joy in every bite, a joy I
hesitated to want to indulge in,
now that I knew something of her
favorite menu items.

She must have something special
planned for the holiday, the entire
space reeks of orange--sometimes
zest, other times freshly squeezed
juice--I would worry about what else
was being juiced, except my sister
still manages to slip little items to me
now and then. A toothbrush...clean
clothes--one item at a time, mind you,
this morning she managed to bring me
an entire mug of still warm cocoa.

"I have a plan, let her think you're getting
fat enough for her tastes," she told me in
a hushed voice, hoarse from the crying
she would never admit to, even if I had
asked about it. I smiled and pulled her soft
hand into my too-small space and kissed it.

"Good. I hope it's something deadly."
~~~~~


sight: wood
sound: horn
scent: food (your choice)
taste: carrots
touch: couch

 

[Desejo]

sight: wood
sound: horn
scent: food (your choice)
taste: carrots
touch: couch

Away in a Manger

I was a donkey
Penned in behind
Mr. Matice’s brown couch
Knob knee kneeling on cushions
That really felt like hay

We three asses
nibbled baby carrots
in buck teeth communion
of sweet and whole foods

We three witnessed
a wooden star
float down from the sky
heard trumpets of Angels

(The small kids
flew in on wires
which was not fair)

During the applause
I thought about the
devil’s food cupcakes
Billy’s mom made

Chocolate so sweet
you tasted it by smelling it
I bet Jesus would have liked that
better than Frankenstein.

******
Sound: falling water, like a bath or shower
Scent: bread baking
touch: towel
Sight: spilled liquid
taste: coughdrop

 

[todski28]

Sound: falling water, like a bath or shower
Scent: bread baking
touch: towel
Sight: spilled liquid
taste: coughdrop


can hear the lap of waves,
sand dragged shore
pitted, corroded
eaten away
my emotions reflect
this same aspect
upstairs

arguing started
I raised my hand
for the first
and last time
in anger at you

I didn't swing, couldn't
but I wanted too
a moment frozen
fresh bread baking
turns to fresh bread burnt
you turned and bam,
laid me out

to this day no other
has punched me
to the ground
a towel wrapped
in ice on my swollen
eye, blood spilling
from my cheek

arrive at my secret place
the waterfall, behind the
cliff,
the sound drowned out
everything but the pain
teeth clench
crunching the butter-menthol
between them
slide the blade across
my flesh,
carved skin scarred
a reminder
to never raise a hand to
my mother again

sound: happy laughter
scent: something that makes you happy
touch: a friends (physical, emotional etc)
sight: open door
taste: wine

 

[Remec]

sound: happy laughter
scent: something that makes you happy
touch: a friends (physical, emotional etc)
sight: open door
taste: wine

Forgotten Party

The open door had worried me,
not really the time of year
or the right sort of neighborhood
for that sort of thing, but stepping
to the doorway the trailing notes
of the birthday song dissolved into
nothing but giggles and laughter,
the infectious, grin-making sort of
happy sound that we could use so
much more of around this house.
A hand on my shoulder as I finished
entering was backed with a soft,
"Glad you decided to come anyway"
and a follow-up kiss that left a hint
of merlot on my lips and tongue.
Nice to have friends like that.

~~~~~

sight: will o wisps
sound: bird chirping
scent: candles
touch: yarn
taste: sand

 

[todski28]

sight: will o wisps
sound: bird chirping
scent: candles
touch: yarn
taste: sand

lying prone,
spit the grit from my mouth
that moment before unconscious

where are my keys,
random
thought interjects,

wax drips, smoke rises,
flames gone,
a pungent odour emanates,
eyes water
senses clear a little
audio tunes in on a birds chirp

a thread from my jumper tickles
the swollen lump on the side
of my head, that'll teach me,
trying to play will o the wisp
with the kids, running in the dark

sight: cloudy skies
sound: phone ringing
scent: a random smell that makes you hungry
touch: rain drops
taste: ozone

 

[Angeline]

sight: cloudy skies
sound: phone ringing
scent: a random smell that makes you hungry
touch: rain drops
taste: ozone

Winter settles into the ridgeline
weaving grey thick as wool tea
cozy for Grandfather Mountain
the drops that spilled down
Bridal Falls make for a brittle
veil a lace of snow scrimmed
along the rock face a cold mouth
full of ozone brrring brrring more
to come sugary night's sweeting.


sight: palm trees
sound: music of your choice
scent: plant of your choice
touch: air
taste: bittersweet something

 

[Remec]

sight: palm trees
sound: music of your choice
scent: plant of your choice
touch: air
taste: bittersweet something

Winter's finally here,
Mother Nature had been
teasing us about it for
weeks, off-and-on, but I
can finally feel it in the very
air--not quite chill enough
for my breath to slip past
my lips in small clouds, but
enough that a quick glance
up the street confirms that
Jungle Golf has renewed
the plastic shielding on
their palm trees. I spend the
afternoon in my favorite
spot on the couch, idly listening
to Journey going on about the
taste of bittersweet while
wondering what might be like,
but all I can taste is the odd
tingle on the tongue when
I breathe in the burning
pine logs on the hearth.
~~~~~

sight: souvenir shop knickknacks
sound: organ grinding music
scent: salt
taste: pineapple
touch: smooth shell (natural or polished, your choice)

 

[Desejo]

~~~~~

sight: souvenir shop knickknacks
sound: organ grinding music
scent: salt
taste: pineapple
touch: smooth shell (natural or polished, your choice)

Coming there was the best thing

Not only to escape
the drudgery of deadlines, but
because My God the place
is a perpetual porn show, from wooden
cocks in the souvenir shops to the
organ grinding techno trance music
that has brown girls grinding up on his
organ so that he can smell the salt
in their thick black hair and taste pineapple
on their tongues, and and
later he sees, the smooth coconut shell sheen
and half round form of their naked asses diving under
him in the moonlit hotel pool.

Coming here was the best thing.

****

Sound: flush
Sight: blush
Taste: slush
smell: pick a smell, any smell
touch: brush

 

[todski28]

Sound: flush
Sight: blush
Taste: slush
smell: pick a smell, any smell
touch: brush

mmmm, she hums seductive
sexuality,
as she takes in length and girth
the buzz from between her thighs
the smell from her, the smell of us
of sex done right, hot wet
glorious sex.

swaying her head side to side
her hair brushes my pelvis line
a deliberate tickle,
she can't hold it in her mouth
the insistent buzz
forces her concentration elsewhere
her breath hot ragged gasping
her face reddens the blush red of
a car accident she crashes hard
stretched and full crashes into me

I lick the slushy mess from between
her still quivering legs, flip her over
ease her favourite out,
legs on shoulders I grab her wrists
compression and driving force
I bury my everything into her,
push, pull plunder her depth
there is no escape a head on collision
imminent,
we crash together in a mangled
mess

laying there panting
the flush of a toilet
signals we were barely in time...

sound: phone message
sight: ice
smell: fresh cut grass
taste: a tang
touch: something hot

 

[Remec]

sound: phone message
sight: ice
smell: fresh cut grass
taste: a tang
touch: something hot

Somethin' 'bout Summertime

Somethin' 'bout summertime,
know what I mean?
The way you can come home
from work, full-on exhausted
after eight-plus hours on
feet that were already aching
in those nonskid shoes
with the still tough uppers
and the in-dire-need-of-replacing
insoles, wanting nothing more
than the sight of ice cubes
in a glass of not-too-sweet,
not-too-sour, lemon tea--a nice
light tang to the tongue.
And when you hit the playback
for that blinking light on the
answering machine you get
a voice as soft as the weather
is warm purring that you'd
better be home soon, or "I just
may start without you." A threat
you find to be real on entering
the bedroom and sliding your
newly naked form up against
her raging heat. Yeah, jus'
somethin' 'bout that.


~~~~~
sight: wind
sound: frost
scent: cold
taste: cocoa
touch: wool

 

[champagne1982]

Somethin' 'bout Summertime

sight: wind
sound: frost
scent: cold
taste: cocoa
touch: wool

The weather channel shows
forty-seven below
granted the wind pushed
the minus thirty-eight
in that direction when I
stepped over the threshold
and inhaled the drift-building
gusts. The snow
squeaks a frosty protest
with each step and feathered
through the air as I tossed
the fluffy flakes up
unto the bank. Aching fingers
scratched the itchy band around
my forehead, irritated by wool
and exertion. Eyes tear
until I go inside to chocolaty
heat in a mug and cough
the rebound fluid from my
throat and flush away
the scent of copper and ice.
Then I remember the birds
will stir awake from stillness
eventually and need to be fed.

sight: weather front clouds
sound: diesel engine idle
scent: deep fryer fat
taste: donuts
touch: whipped cream

 

[njoyjade]

Good Afternoon

Originally Posted by champagne1982

sight: weather front clouds
sound: diesel engine idle
scent: deep fryer fat
taste:donuts
touch: whipped cream

Late winter winds whip through the city
under a blanket of low lying clouds.
Huddled close outside our favorite bakery
the wind battles our sun warmed shadows.
As chocolate drips from my lips
your mouth covers mine,
tasting the donut we just shared

Our laughter is interrupted by
a Benz that stops
in front of the hydrant
beside our sidewalk table;
the sound of the engine rattles our thoughts

A woman dressed in white linen
leaves the car idle as
smoke from the exhaust settles
under the frontal clouds.

The sweet smell from the deep fryer
replaces her acrid perfume
as she shoves past others
claiming to have called ahead.

Through watery eyes
we read each others thought
and each dip our fingers into the
mound of whipped cream in our latte.

Strolling through diesel fumes
we stop briefly to write
"wash me"
on the shiny black surface
of her trunk.



sight: flock of birds
sound: piercing whistle
scent: cotton candy
touch: sand paper
taste: cherries

 

[todski28]

sight: flock of birds
sound: piercing whistle
scent: cotton candy
touch: sand paper
taste: cherries

farmer screams out his commands
punctuated by a shrill whistle
dog follows, left, right,
yap, nip,
bark,
left again, go boy
bark, nip
sheep respond huddled together
in stupidity and safety,

into the holding pen
of the shearing shed,
my name here is fetch,
fetch the rouse about

I worked for Big John today,
bandit they call him, lost an arm
year before in the wool press
man could that man shear
he used to joke that he lost his arm
so that every one else could keep up
I kinda believed him

boy fetch the sheep,
how they laughed when ever
I got head butted in the groin
made their day,
shed of tin, hot heavy heat
not too heavy for these men
they laughed and joked,
raced the day away, fetch me another
Bandit screamed,
hit a record 400 sheep sheared

I sanded the fence railing back
to stop splinters, a whistle
cuts through,
"fetch, it's supper time"
I'm starving,
everything smells of sheep

hit the veranda where the bosses
missus has made dinner,
over the hills corellas flock
to squawk and fight over everything
I devour cherries, sweet corn
roast beef, trying to dull the pain
and re-fuel

head down ache in every
muscle, so tired I think
my bones hurt.

I awake to a finger in the ribs
the bosses daughter. smiles
mischievous,
eating pink cotton candy
my eyes lost as the sunset behind
highlights, her soul is glowing
mouth dry, hands clammy,
she shares the sugary sweet
with me,
our tongues touch

always that smell reminds me of her
and those days......

sight: a wrapper whirling in a breeze
sound: snap
scent: book
touch: frozen anything
taste: cool aide

 

[Remec]

sight: a wrapper whirling in a breeze
sound: snap
scent: book
touch: frozen anything
taste: cool aide

Eyes popped open in
a moment of panic, the
startled gape of
bewilderment that comes
from awaking in unfamiliar
spaces.

Not that the library wasn't
a second home, but I
usually avoided napping there,
soothing as it was in its silence
and the comforting aroma
of actual books--paper and ink
stirring the mind in a way I
tend not to get when reading
off a screen.

"Wakey, wakey," says a voice
after more snapping of fingers
just before my face. I swear, if
she wasn't so cute, I'd have to
take her over one knee---hmm,
there's an idea, file that one
for later--I sigh and stretch.

"Coffee?" Hopefulness isn't a
quality I have in abundance,
but you never can tell. A cup
is pressed to my hands, but it
is colder than almost anything
that isn't actually ice and I
know this won't be good.

I shrug after sipping, Kool-Aid was
the last thing I would expect, but
at least it was grape. I set the cup
down and extend a palm, take the
proffered straw, and stand to
gather my things. "Lunch first, yeah?"

She leans in and takes the wrapper
from my straw out of my hand, gives
me a kiss and whispers, "Sure, if that's
what you want." I barely notice anything
more as we are rushing out of
the building, just the way she drops
the paper and it flutters and hangs
about in the breeze outside.

~~~~~
sight: fear
sound: rumbling
scent: honey
taste: mud
touch: envy

 

[todski28]

experiment gone awry

~~~~~
sight: fear
sound: rumbling
scent: honey
taste: mud
touch: envy[/QUOTE]

lorry crashes and rumbles
its echo the last remnants of populace
I have heard or seen for hours
besides her,
honey scented flesh
clink of jewellery
the tautness of ass
in trousers

the earthy taste of mushroom
and mud as she pours iowoska
from her mouth to mine
touch the sky and envy the birds
free to be
free to see,
but all I see

fear on my face,
taste her lips,
in this dream that doesn't end
sanity slipped and snipped
a moment of daring fate
marooned in the mind
a time when I dared destiny
and it consumed me

sight: oval
sound: something scraping on metal
scent: chemicals
touch: leaves
taste: oil

 

[Wintermute01]

Final approach.

sight: oval
sound: something scraping on metal
scent: chemicals
touch: leaves
taste: oil

Descending through three thousand,
I see the running track, off to right,
Where my son won his first race.
So much to tell him, so much to say
There's no time now, and no other day.

The engine in front of me
Always ran true, I forgot it's there,
So, on today of all days
Why does It's purr turn to metallic scrape
As it eats itself up in autonomous rape.

A thick sticky rain coats the windshield
And in aerosolised form enters my mouth.
The taste of the oil, is foul.
This AeroShell 80 is the taste of death,
I'd wanted d'Yquem to wash my last breath

I pull the red lever, overly hard!
The last dice to roll, and walk away from this game.
WHOOOSH - Three litres of Halon
But the flames just ignore it
For me however it's the scent of an obit

That's it now, there is nothing more
I've had some fun up here but the payment is due
How beautiful things are from up here
and I close my eyes, and become purely meek
as the first of the leaves, graze my left cheek.

sight: a thread of cotton
sound: silence
scent: mildew
touch: varnished wood
taste: salt

 

[Remec]

sight: a thread of cotton
sound: silence
scent: mildew
touch: varnished wood
taste: salt

Destiny

Cave smells different
than expected, I had
envisioned dust and a
layer of age to everything.
Not dampness, stagnant
water wiped over the walls,
pooled on the floor, leaves
a scent of mildew hovering
about the unmoving air.
The three of them don't
notice as they go about
another day's work. I step in,
fascinated at how the cotton
thread is spun out, drawn to
a seemingly random length as
it is worked into the weave,
then snipped with a sudden,
silent working of such heavy
shears that I forget myself.
Forget my role as petitioner,
stepping back into the voyeur I
have always been in the past,
one hand idly stroking the slick
varnished frame of the loom,
lost in the quiet beauty,
tongue brushing the salty remnants
of a single tear along my lips,
When you see the whole of the
pattern, the thought of making
a snarl or forcing a reworking of
even the least piece seems like
nothing so much as heresy.

~~~~~
sight: brilliant
sound: music
scent: fresh
taste: ginger
touch: steel wool

 

[Angeline]

~~~~~
sight: brilliant
sound: music
scent: fresh
taste: ginger
touch: steel wool

Trip to the Bodega

Diamond rain spring on the air buying Brillo and ginger: ay salsa!


~~~~~~
sight: flowers
sound: screech
scent: caramel
taste: salt
touch: metal

 

[Wintermute01]

~~~~~~
sight: flowers
sound: screech
scent: caramel
taste: salt
touch: metal

Sunday Breakfast
===========

The metal tray is pulled screechingly from the hot oven,
The padded glove protecting my hand bears poppies and violets,
Perfect salt caramel muffins are, from heat, born,
Their new-born aroma is freshly revealed -
Time for breakfast.

----------------
sight: a bus ticket
sound: TV news
scent: bacon
taste: Tea
touch: leather

 

[Angeline]

----------------
sight: a bus ticket
sound: TV news
scent: bacon
taste: Tea
touch: leather

I heard the news today oh boy.
Lady had died and I forgot
how time can spill like tea gone
cold and bitter the hours out of step.

Forget the long gray dog. Tear up
the ticket. We'll take our bacon
to the leather coach where we can
ride and listen to the whistle sigh.

~~~~~

sight: boardwalk
sound: barking
scent: marsh
taste: kisses
touch: your choice

 

[Remec]

sight: boardwalk
sound: barking
scent: marsh
taste: kisses
touch: your choice

Public Beach

Walking along the shore,
the sand weighing on foot
and ankle as it clings to
each step,
I cast a glance about for
where the dog is, but only
hear it--my eyes seeing nothing
but the ramshackle pier
and the poorly laid out
boardwalk leading to it.
This had been on of our first
actual dates, parking her van
and walking through the early
autumn mist blowing off the
water. Odd how the ocean
at this place smells not so much of
salt and sea, as it does of the
marshes and swamps that feed
into the bay between them.
Even more strange, how just being
here brings back the taste of
those first, tentative, kisses
as we got to know one another.

~~~~~
sight: cans
sounds: labored breathing
scent: strawberry
taste: carbonation
touch: hunger