The 5 Senses Poem Challenge

[Remec]

sight: light
sound: drum beat
scent: pop corn
taste: potatoe chips
touch: finger nails

The warm butter-and-salt
smell of freshly reheated,
packaged popcorn filled
the small hallway leading
from the concourse up to
the auditorium's seating,
it reminded me I had skipped
dinner and rekindled the
stale taste of cheap chips
lingering in my mouth from the
drive over after work,
Just as we found out seats,
a drum roll erupted,
the heavy spot came on,
illuminating the Ringmaster,
She gripped my arm and pointed
with excitement and her
semi-patented squeal. I smiled
even as I checked my arm for
broken skin and traces of blood.
Remind me to trim those nails.

~~~~~
sight: lions
sounds: eagles
scent: manure
taste: leather
touch: fur

 

[todski28]

sight: lions
sounds: eagles
scent: manure
taste: leather
touch: fur

screams pierce my thoughts
in eagle pitch cries,
chain linked mesh separates us
from the horde
we are lions marking our territory
pace, stalk back and fourth
hair that feels of fur
salt slicked as it is pinned
to the canvass earth
leather tasting hail stone blows
hammer down,
the thump, the gasps and groans
of pain, as purple blooms
splashed in red,
a twitch of feet and final fit
of instant sleep
rendered

my own mouth bleeds victory
it never tasted so good
and losses smell of manure

sight: rusty fence
sound: running water
scent: fresh rain
taste: mangoes
touch: bark

 

[butters]

sight: rusty fence
sound: running water
scent: fresh rain
taste: mangoes
touch: bark

the brain is a wonderful thing:
three years or more of drought,
and i can feel the old dog's bark
as it blindly challenges blank, hot air;

and as i give in,
lick the flaking rust
that grows without fresh rain,
i close my eyes and swear to god i hear

the clouds break on my tongue -
the happy notes of running water,
the mango's golden juice there,
right. there.



sight: stick of charcoal
sound: breaking glass
scent: peppermint
taste: defeat
touch: roadkill

 

[todski28]

a stint in peppermint scented soap
as defeat is brushed from tongue and teeth
no relief from the sound of our
world shattered, you mattered to me
now I see

through the charcoal you used to blind
my mind in lieing signs,
Now its as good as roadkill

As I spill the drops of loss
you cleaved on Facebook screens
I know that the strength of grief
will not define me or ours

Sight: candy stripes
scent: bad perfume\deodorant
Sound: rasp of stubble
Touch: cold
taste: lemon

 

[Desejo]

Le Diplomat, Dakar

The toubab’s reflection screams
haircut! and so knowing nothing of customs
he searches the street for a candy striped pole
but instead spots a more obvious clue
hand painted with the latest mode

Ok, so maybe a fade would not work so well
At the Ambassade
Still, it looks clean enough
razor blades wrapped and sealed, and
familiar black plastic combs soak
in that blue fluid

So he allows the man with dark hands
To lather his white face whiter
and half asleep, because he touch
is like a blessing, hears
the rasp of his whiskers neatly
sliced off shhhhhhh
Comme ca

He could do without the Axe after
shave that splashes cold on his face
even as the noon heat blasts him
straight to the young girl selling ice
cold cans of lemon squash.

She smiles shyly as she hands
him change in crumpled bills of CFA
tucked safely in the waistband
of her panties.


*******
Sound: dishes being put away
sight: soap
Taste: tootpaste
touch: hot water
scent: dirt

 

[Angeline]

*******
Sound: dishes being put away
sight: soap
Taste: tootpaste
touch: hot water
scent: dirt

Memory Like Bubbles

Ca va, Chavelah?
Ca va, Papa.

It's just a memory of voices
some aural architecture
buried beneath the buzz
the clanking dishwasher,

just life prosaic and banal
the ennui of that same bottle
of soap pungently purple
alive here in imagination
yet barely noticed buried

by a thrill recalled, a lover's
minty mouth a welcome sting
of tongue foreshadowing.
Oh cue the moonlight music
cue the groaning bed

then awaken now
hands in hot water again
soapy dishes bubbles
and beyond the sink
my window, the gently stirring
curtain my earthy sweet air.

**********

Sound: whistle
sight: vehicle of your choice
Taste: candy of your choice
touch: paper
scent: steam

 

[todski28]

Sound: whistle
sight: vehicle of your choice
Taste: candy of your choice
touch: paper
scent: steam

Screen of glass obscured in mist
heated water patters down

A small whistle of appreciation
Smile of welcome, bright invite

Lips to lips wet and hungry
Morning coffee a distant thought

Unwrap the candy centre and caress
It with tongue and lips

appreciated with throaty lust
furrow deep as you grip the Windows sill

Cry out to passing cars your exstacy
let them stew in jealousy

Papers shuffled in document organisation
I head for the door where we meet to say goodbye

Sight: frivolous puppy
Sound: voices from another room
Scent: frustration
Taste: liquid
Touch: cold

 

[Angeline]

Sight: frivolous puppy
Sound: voices from another room
Scent: frustration
Taste: liquid
Touch: cold

Remember When

My puppy dropped his baby teeth
everywhere. He grew like a weed.

He'd bark we'd argue in another room
the whine and hue on us like blood

ice cubes ringing in the silence until
all we share is the glacial divide.

**********

sight: marshmallows
sound: symphony
scent: a city smell
taste: alcohol of your choosing
touch: leaves

 

[Remec]

sight: marshmallows
sound: symphony
scent: a city smell
taste: alcohol of your choosing
touch: leaves

Spring

Springtime is not just a
calendar date or the
feeling that comes from
sighting newly returned
robins, or breathing in
dogwood blossoms along
the sidewalk from admin to
the student union.

It's that heightened sense of
everything,
almost time for mid-terms,
sorority balls,
fraternity founding events,
plus rush-week,
and the feeling of release
while lying on a beach blanket
listening to the local philharmonic
play classical versions of
rock and roll, or jazzy blues,
while watching children rush
to fill their cheeks with marshmallow
bunnies and chicks from freshly
discovered baskets

I find it in all that and more,
smiling at an in-joke among the
other theatre majors, seeing
if my skill at dropping hints to
this or that coed had improved yet,
or simply watching the
crowd go about whatever they have
to do, letting myself relax,
maybe just lie back and play
with the leaves left behind by a
still lingering
julep.


~~~~~
sight: squirrels
sound: hammering
scent: something smoky
taste: off-season fruit
touch: gravel

 

[greenmountaineer]

A Girl and her Dog on Skunk Hollow Road

The black bitch wags its mud crusted tail
for a six inch bolt the little girl tosses
next to a dead squirrel and rust covered trailer
missing its skirt like a green-sleeves whore
in the fields of summer if you remember
August-cum-winter's hammerlock instead.
Of course you can when winter means April
still as you sink into Skunk Hollow Road

mud where a dead apple hangs from a tree
that makes you wonder if apple seeds blossom,
although you don't doubt the frost will come
to stiffen the tail on the dog again
in the gravel hole it dug through the winter
in which the little girl tosses again
one little two little three little indians
another day down on Skunk Hollow Road.

Taste maple syrup
Sight Empire State Building
Sound traffic
Scent diesel
Touch a lover

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Quebec Old City

As he sat,
the engine idling,
adding to the fog of diesel
shrouding the street,
he could feel her touch
him in that intimate,
discrete way she had
and knew
he’d have the empire state
of an erection
when he saw her next
but it wouldn’t be a city
liaison, she insisted, Quebec,
old city, poutine, the saint Lawrence
and maple syrup on snow.
He shifted, impatient to be
With her.

Taste: bile
Sight: lights
Sound: sirens
Scent: lilac
Touch: pin or needle prick

 

[todski28]

mrs accountant lecturer

Taste: bile
Sight: lights
Sound: sirens
Scent: lilac
Touch: pin or needle prick

Projector beams down as slide flips
to next slide
the back light illuminates her in an eerie glow
as she slinks past
lilac and lavender soft
drifts on the air a heady scent
pricks sharp on my senses
the sirens song of desire
of longing unleashed

If her husband knew of this treacherous deed
the bile he would taste
he is a distant memory
as I teach her what I know of creation
and she teaches me what
I need to do my verbal assessment
and pencil in the hardest numbers

Sight: white board
Sound: scolding
Scent: unpleasant
Touch: skin
Taste: potatoes crisps

 

[Tzara]

Sight: white board
Sound: scolding
Scent: unpleasant
Touch: skin
Taste: potatoes crisps

Chapel

The place smelt like death.
Monks
lectured us for being there,

but the hall was empty.
I wrote my name
on their white board in green ink

as if that made a difference.
We later shared some Walkers' crisps
and I stroked, stroked your quiet, fine skin.





Sight: A city, large or small.
Scent: Flowers.
Sound: Drumming.
Touch: Satin.
Taste: Salt.

 

[Remec]

Sight: A city, large or small.
Scent: Flowers.
Sound: Drumming.
Touch: Satin.
Taste: Salt.

Lunch Date

Just a snippet of
a London restaurant,

not a bar,
or a deli-counter,
even calling it
a take-away would be
pretentious,

or maybe just overstating
things a bit,

I might have said
snack bar or luncheonette,
maybe diner if it had been
self-contained and not
sitting above a series of shops
overlooking the tourist
traffic and droves of locals
milling about sidewalks,
weaving themselves through
not-technically-parked cars,

I waited,
munched idly on chips in need of
something (even malt vinegar) to
cut back on their saltiness,
breathed in the scent of fresh-cut
posies that were at odds with an
otherwise chintzy ambiance
like being at a Woolworth's
(they still have those, yeah?),
listened to the sound of the
West Indian guy on the corner outside
drumming on a mishmash of items
scrounged from here and there,
just pondered when/if you'd make it,
the feel of freshly purchased bed linens
cool against my wrist where they'd
escaped their shopping bag.

Satin feels oddly nice against one's wrist,
never really noticed that particular spot
before.

~~~~~
sight: trash bag(s)
sound: banging
scent: mildew
touch: bare steel
taste: rust

 

[Trixareforkids]

Removed



~~~~
Sight: duck(s)
Sound: ice cream truck
Scent: dirty diaper
Touch: prickly grass
Taste: mustard

 

[todski28]

Sight: duck(s)
Sound: ice cream truck
Scent: dirty diaper
Touch: prickly grass
Taste: mustard


if I were a child the sound of your voice
would be the tinkling sound of ice cream
sold by the cone full in high summer
the way the ducks play in the river
swim from bank to bank
nibble on the bread tossed to them

the mustard on our sandwiches
tanging a tingle of heat
that would mesh with you
as we lay on green blades
my hand strokes your cheek

I can almost feel it now
as I stare into your eyes
cold and dead
you smell like shit
better change your diaper
you were never the same after the accident

http://forum.literotica.com/showpost.php?p=51386926&postcount=566

____________________________________________________________________________

Sight: shimmer of heat in the distance
Sound: air conditioning
Scent: something you really like
Touch: hard
Taste: oranges

 

[Trixareforkids]

Removed



Sight: cobwebs
Sound: rain on a tin roof
Scent: cedar
Touch: tissue paper
Taste: cinnamon

 

[pensivepoet]

Sight~cobwebs
Sound~rain on a tin roof
Scent~cedar
Touch~tissue paper
Taste~cinnamon
Just a lazy old river
going nowhere,
but on this hot July morning
it leads away from this madness.
Now from my perch on the rusty
old trestle, ghost to a train
long past, reverie blooms.
The heavy dew in tall grass
spins a galaxy of cobwebs
beneath a tissue paper fog,
and there you are,
like a street lamp through
a frosted window.
It was a summer
so many summers ago,
in that old shack
we loved in, once.
You were wearing that
shirt, the colour of cinnamon
before button to button
the rhapsody of a tin roof rain
removed it.
I smile now, seeing you pull
that old blanket from the
cedar chest, and spreading it
over the weathered boards
and i miss you
or maybe
the me i was, that day.
Sight~eagle
Sound~wind in the trees
Scent~old spice
Touch~wool
Taste~raspberries

 

[todski28]

Sight~eagle
Sound~wind in the trees
Scent~old spice
Touch~wool
Taste~raspberries

Black and grey shadows
add depth to taloned feet
beak wide in shill scream
moves but frozen mid descent
trace the lines on her side as
her scream drips of the tip
of my tongue

aged cinnamon spiced candles
cast pin prick dots that flicker
on the wall
as I rasp coarse wool
over twin peaks
a gasp as she grasps
the ties that bind

a greedy crunch
as her teeth crush
raw raspberries
I lick the juice from
her chin
savour the flavour of
her mouth, tart, sweet

hands sink into
satin depths
teeth nibble on neck
and ear lobes
whispers shiver down her spine

her heat screams
like howling wind through the pines

my hands rub to ease aching muscles
avoid cramps
because we are here all night.

Sight-crescent moon
sound- piano
scent- rain
taste- sour.
touch-silk

 

[Trixareforkids]

Sight: crescent moon
Sound: piano
Scent: rain
Taste: sour
Touch silk



Removed



Sight: your younger self
Sound: laughter
Scent: smoke
Taste: tart
Touch: water

 

[Remec]

Sight: your younger self
Sound: laughter
Scent: smoke
Taste: tart
Touch: water

Found Photo

Spring cleaning never ends,
I've never understood
why it has a season even
assigned to it. Maybe 'cause
it's easier in the springtime
to go through the house
reflecting on what needs to
go or be stored or simply washed
down and put back in place.

I wipe my moist fingers on what
was once a clean shirt, the glass
of not-sweet-enough lemonade
has been sweating in the humidity
of the attic. I pause in sorting to
wander through memories...toys
I thought long gone, books and games
that really need to come downstairs
where a new generation can enjoy
them, a box of photos of times
I can still picture...especially the
Halloween party my junior year.

I'd drawn a blank for a costume, so
had gone through the wardrobe and
props departments and pieced a little
something together...jumpsuit, work
boots, eyepatch, deputy's badge...
and here was the result...me being
whatever, Dave as a wizard/vampire,
George as an elf--tall, Nordic elf, granted.
The ringing laughter of the night echoed
even as I found myself remembering
the scent of incense and purple skunk.

Yeah, good times.
~~~~~

sight: frost
sound: arguing
scent: pizza/Italian spices
taste: charcoal
touch: rough woven fabric

 

[Trixareforkids]

Removed




Sight: raven
Sound: booming echo
Scent: burning brush
Taste: whiskey
Touch: cold

 

[todski28]

Sight: raven
Sound: booming echo
Scent: burning brush
Taste: whiskey
Touch: cold

What have you done
echoes through
my skull, two sizes too small
for what is left of the pickled cabbage
it holds

The taste of Jack Daniels burns
harsh heat
that cools as ice clinks the rim
of the glass,

strobe light blinks
past the swell of hips and ass
g-string laced as men chase a taste
of the off limits,

Raven
fine line stilleto blade walks
a ballerina in reverse point
tits that defy gravity
by having their own
magnetic pull
as if eyes are rusted metal

The slap she cracks me with
echoes throught the club
as music change happens
it echoes in the silence

A sonic boom delivered by a stealth
bomber,

Because in last night's candle play
I set her brush on fire
and the smell still lingers

Sight: blue flame
Sound: hail
scent: prey
taste: steak
Touch: earth

 

[Trixareforkids]

Sight: blue flame
Sound: hail
scent: prey
taste: steak
Touch: earth




Removed




Sight: red gauze
Sound: shuffling
Smell: roses
Taste: mulled wine
Touch: leather

 

[todski28]

Sight: red gauze
Sound: shuffling
Smell: roses
Taste: mulled wine
Touch: leather

spices bubbled
cloves, cinnamon, nutmeg,
orange zests up the mix
apple and sugar to add the sweet
a fine merlot

resistance dulled, senses sharp
every sip warms from the inside
blooms that radiate from the core
to a willing brain seduced into heat
that sinks deep into hard and wet

our steps stutter, shuffle as we hit the door
your lips soft, then teeth
leather slips through loops,
bare skin glides through fabric

your ardour bruises my neck
marks me as your property
fingers snag into hair and force me down
to sup on your rose scented petals
clover bites and apple sweet
a boiled treat of salt lick

I drink down every drop
greedy gropes depths sought
explored before force tremors
seek respite from thin air

red gauze wraps
to scratch at nipples as
you writhe out undulation
senses now drugged

spices bubbled
mulled wine,
sweat and cum

sight: open window
sound: door opening or closing
scent: peaches
taste: biscuits
touch: a rough texture