The 5 Senses Poem Challenge

[29wordsforsnow]

Sight-mirror
Sound-hum
Scent-cigarette
Touch-shoe laces
Taste-meat

Objects in the rear view mirror...
 crossed her mind now
watching the things unfold
on the stuffed backseat

the faint frequencies of the electric vehicle
whispering into her thighs as if she sat
on a cushion filled with bumblebees

She was going nowhere
not the for next, let's say, hour
She'd crawl, like a tigress
over the center console
her nostrils meet
the recent end
of tobacco addiction
before the main dish
full of the delicious aroma
of a cook unwrapped
on lunch break

The short contact of his shoe laces
mindlessly, needfully, lustfully pulled
when her teeth tore into the starter

Oh sesame, open

pillowy decorum of the bun
followed by the bittersweet underneath
rip the lettuce
ketchup foreplay
eventually
what she'd been waiting for
meat
hot and dripping
engulfed by her hungry lips
wonderful juicy mess

scent - hyacinth
sight - scarf
sound - bells
taste - stale
touch - rheum

 

[Mrtenant]

Sight-lined paper
Scent-opportunity
Sound-rain
Touch-playing cards
Taste-cake


How I always loved her birthday
Time to celebrate her life
Show just how much I love her
As if she really didn’t know
She knows
Always did
Still loves the attention
My words pour forth
I am the channel
As they flow haphazardly
Across the grade school lined paper
A simple poem for her
On her day
Words for her
Remembering birthdays past

There was that one year
Making that amazing cake
That tasted so good
Icing so firm and sweet
How it found its way onto her nipples
I'll never know
Her laughter and delight
Sliding into moans and sighs
Still rings in my ears

Or that one year
When my career had changed
And all our fortunes
All our futures
Hedged on that wild scent of opportunity
Where we could travel
And film and write
To our hearts content
We’d go to resorts
Her birthday on the beach
Crashing waves and sand
Seagulls, and peace
Such peace
Only the surf

That one birthday
Camping in the mountains
She danced naked by the firelight
Music playing
Her musical laughter
Still rings in my ears
How absolutely fortunate I am
Even when the rain came
And we scurried into the tent
And made love throughout the night

This last birthday, today
How comfortable we have grown
Dinner and dessert
Quiet and at home
While the pandemic raged
Playing cards into the night
Sipping her wine
Sipping my whiskey
Music, laughter, conversation
So warm and easy
Fireplace crackling
That one long moment
Gazing into her eyes
She gazes backs
She knows
She knows
I will tell her anyway


Sight- Maroon
Scent- Pine
Sound- Railroad
Touch- velvet
Taste- cherry

 

[Lyricalli]

Sight-a person from your past
Scent- sunscreen
sound-engine running
Touch- hot
Taste- alcohol

It was just yesterday
and forever
when I last saw him
heard the engine crank and rumble

Maybe it was a minute
or half an hour
before his foot found the gas

I only remember standing
watching
for some indefinite amount of time
as tail lights got smaller
dimmer
became the past

My memories are always summer
sun-scorched, coconut skin
under my hands
tequila on our tongues
in those moments when I glimpse
not-him rounding a corner
on a street where he couldn't be



Sight: sunrise
Scent: soup
Sound: phone ringing
Touch: glass
Taste: coffee

 

[butters]

Sight: sunrise
Scent: soup
Sound: phone ringing
Touch: glass
Taste: coffee

soup
the ringing of a phone
a bland cup of coffee...
lukewarm, mundane things
alone, without context

yet raise poet's glass-pane eye
in all its beveled, bubbled imperfections
to reflect, refract
a lifetime of human experience
and they become sunrise
colours of expression
all they may portend





sight: sky reflected in a visible slice of cow-pond
scent: almonds
sound: cock crowing
taste: dry, stale bread
touch: wild silk

 

[cascadiabound]

Reluctantly rising before dawn
Abandoning warm sheets
Padding across cool tile floors
As Napoleon crows in the morning
Pushing aside the café curtains
First morning light reflects gold
In the curved slice of the cow’s pond
Absentmindedly, I grab the roll
abandoned on the counter
The brittle crunch between my teeth
Mouth drying and unpleasant

These moments alone in the kitchen
A prequel to lists and chores
Are a meditation for my soul
What gifts will this day offer?
A handful of wild silk cocoons
Precious and rare
perhaps after dinner cookies or cake
Wafting almond perfume as they bake
A sweetness shared
As the sun slides away


Sight: steam rising from a hot tub at night
Taste: lime juice
Scent: wet grass
Sound: ears ringing (tinnitus)
Touch: well worn flannel

 

[Angeline]

Sight- numbers
Sound- something falling over
Scent- washed linen
Touch- playing cards
Taste- salt


Life At Eleven

Late spring
our little street is alive again.
The fractured grey of winter is gone,
even pavement cracks sprout green
unruly patches of prosaic onion weed
and delicate Queen Anne's Lace.

The breeze is lifting boughs of lilac,
scattering pastel blossoms sweet
falling through the air, which is redolent
also of sheets and towels swaying
clean on the line next door at 528.

Soon comes summer and I'll roam
our garden looking for that first
tomato, vine ripe and sun-warmed,
sprinkled with a shake of salt,
slurped and chewed right there,
growing with the burgeoning rows

soon enough, but today I'll weave
playing cards among the metal spokes
of my pride and joy, my blue Raleigh
10-speed and wheel away, clattering
off to the morning's adventures.

Sight: something blue
Sound: whisper of any kind
Scent: something outdoors
Touch: something rough
Taste: chocolate

 

[Mrtenant]

(Forgot to quote, @Angeline )
Sight: something blue
Sound: whisper of any kind
Scent: something outdoors
Touch: something rough
Taste: chocolate




Fireplace crackle and pops
Merry blaze dances in the night
She sleeps in my arms
Her hands caress the roughness of my iron beard
As she turns in her slumber
Peaceful smiles and whispers
Spill from her dreamy lips

Gently rising
Covering her in the blanket
A kiss on her forehead
Taking my cocoa
And stepping outdoors
Where crisp Winter air
Plays across the hairs of my naked chest
Those flannel pants
Held only by a string

How the pale moonlight
Colors the world blue across the snow
My steamy breath tasting of chocolate
And her delicious kisses
Her scent still filling my mind

Wolf howls in the far distance
When she joins me on the deck
Blanket wrapped and tousled hair
Pressed against my back
In her warm embrace
Come inside darling
Come out of the cold
Love me always
Always darling
Tonight
Yes


Sight: Lighthouse
Sound: seagull
Scent: coconut
Touch: rope
Taste: Pineapple

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Sight: Lighthouse
Sound: seagull
Scent: coconut
Touch: rope
Taste: Pineapple

Lighthouse, you and me polaroid
hungry seagull above our heads
rinsed with coconut conditioner today
clinging to the rope handrail
our kiss tastes of pineapple

Pineapple for breakfast this morning
the lighthouse on a leaflet
another screaming seagull amost stole
it smelled the coconut cream
the lid locked with rope

Rope, its knot cut open
the pineapple soon as well
found the lighthouse by noon
distant cries, damn seagull colony
a weathered man selling coconuts

Coconut aroma all over him
threadbare rope holds his pants
printed with pineapple patterns, tasteless
sells as well lighthouse tickets
attraction held by buccaneer seagulls

Seagull feathers float down silently
a coconut bra I joke
held by rope and neck
half of a pineapple crown
for your lap, my lighthouse

scent: cinnamon
sight: morning mist
sound: something scary
taste: coffee
touch: velvet

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

chilli
cooking
spice
sweat
an apparition


Even though it was
only weeks old,
our relationship was cooking.

Young and new to sharing a bed,
undressing in front of me
was an obvious ordeal,
she was sweetly shy.

Standing before me,
a bravely naked apparition,
I could see the nervous sweat
on her upper lip.

Nipples were erect,
not from passion, she was chilly.
I threw back the covers,
and she snuggled into my warmth.
Anticipation grew as her spicy
thermion reached my nose.

Sound - A pipe organ.
Taste - Oatmeal
Sight - A red dress
Touch - Something unpleasantly rough.
Scent - Clean linen.

 

[butters]

Taste- decadence
Touch- cold
Scent- ocean
Sound- music
Sight- starry sky



beneath this starry, starry sky
Don McLean's earworm invades
overriding the music of the spheres
invoking that phantom luxury
the decadence of suicide
to linger on my tongue
and a desire to match the coldness of those distant points of light
as i wade into the waves
to join life's primordial scent



rewrite:

night crawling
beneath this starry, starry sky
Don McLean's earworm
overrides the music of spheres
invokes that phantom luxury—
the decadence of suicide—
to linger on my tongue
a desire to match the coldness
of those distant points of light
as i wade into waves
join life's primordial scent




Taste: the blue of chlorophyl from fresh cut grass
Touch: gravel in a cold stream
Scent: truck's exhaust fumes
Sight: an old crock jar
Sound: woodpecker

 

[Lyricalli]

Sight-something emotive
Scent- old books
Sound- a recording (music, voices whatever)
Touch- dust
Taste- Regret

Tucked them away so I wouldn't see them
every day, the way they stir memories
of you, reading rhyme and verse
from their pages, spread lazy
on the bed in those decadent afternoons
or near-whispered as we drifted
close to sleep when night called

It was the soup that did it
not quite yours, but familiar enough
the spoon held old regrets
for things said, unsaid
suspended in the complication of time

The stack beckoned me
to its hiding place
where I ran a finger slowly
through the coating of dust
that frosted the top layer
before wiping it all away
a brief facade that it
that we
could be clean again

I pulled one from the middle
opened it to inhale the sad aroma
of neglected pages
and slowly turned one
then another
until I heard your voice
the way my mind recalls it
with the static of months and years
akin to an aged recording
close enough to touch
too far for comfort



Taste: garlic
Touch: metallic
Scent: smoke
Sight: something yellow
Sound: rumble

 

[GorgeousJimmy146]

The taste of you is strong
like the taste of sweet wild garlic
My touch for you is mettalic,
my body is a raging fire
with loves small high cop
And my rumbling feet start to sweat
My choice for you was rushed

 

[Remec]

sight-a pet
Sound- alarm
Scent- geranium
Taste- something unpleasant
Touch- a lighter

Overnight Stay

Woke up and thought of Lucy and Snoopy,
Nice of Freddy the Labrador to rouse me from sleep,
and totally on time, too, since the alarm went off
mere moments after I got the closest thing to a
canine French kiss that I ever want to encounter,
Man, I thought those doggy treats were supposed to
help with this breath, not to make it all floral--like geranium blossoms or
something, just better than to be expected--but
with a tongue that tastes like that,
I'm not so sure they're working;
I sat up as best I could and reached for my phone,
but the first thing I found on the nightstand was a cheap Bic,
Which worked well, since I could have used a smoke just then,
And a drink too. Really was gonna be a day.

---

sight: a game
sound: metal on metal
scent: smoke
touch: something grimy
taste: bitterness

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Working Girl

It’s Saturday, a busy night
for girls on the game.
Her heels ring out on the
subway grid, metal on metal.
She likes the assertive sound,
even though it means a costly
visit to the cobbler.
In the bitter cold, her breath
billows like smoke and she
hunches deeper into faux fur.
A car stops beside her, high-end
but grimy. A moment of hesitation,
knowing every rendezvous could
be her last.
But he is a regular so she gratefully
joins him in the steamy warmth.

sight – The Eiffel Tower
sound – screeching tires
scent – rotting fish
touch – fine lace
taste – cookie dough

 

[butters]

Sight-traffic lights
Sound- sirens
Scent- cinnamon
Taste- sugary drink
Touch- fingers crushing into your palm

No.4 reactor

back in '86
before the sirens
traffic lights gaily blinked
directing traffic

and i remember your gaze
as you breathed in the view
static ferris wheel
huge and vital
like a wonder of the world
waiting to be opened to the paying public

how cinnamon wafted on the air
from fast food stalls
and the sweet tang of spotykach
warmed my mouth
a flavour i can no longer stomach

the wheel still stands
decaying as the decades pass
never ridden
except perhaps on spectral nights
by ghosts of those we lost
as i lost you

and if i stare long enough
if i listen hard enough
i can almost hear its music
but the only fingers crushing into my palm
are my own



sight: plastic dragon
sound: chink of china
taste: soured milk
touch: sinews of a horse
scent: wild onions

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Sight-cleaning products
Sound- fan
Scent- wet cement
Touch- gritty
Taste- food

~~~

Plans keep melting like ice cream
the sweet taste lasts for a minute
the bitter calories stay for a life time

Licking the spoon
lunch break with childhood dreams
the apron not so much a ballerina's tutu
this kitchen not so much hers

abrasive, brush, cloth
the ABC of shine waiting at arm's length
the smell of busy construction like fog
you can't see through, but everywhere
the adorable suburbanian home yet an illusion

If it just was the future of her
after lead-filled streets
the mosquito-infested woods
and clawing through sand and grit
the Great River not the last barrier
here in the land of someone's dreams

Chasing behind, forever
like a Patriots' fan in 2007
no matter how hard
how fair you played
in the end, the dreaded end
silent sobs driving home
because you've seen it come

~~~

special challenge, all 5 senses: coffee - without using the word 'coffee'

 

[Mrtenant]

~~~


special challenge, all 5 senses: coffee - without using the word 'coffee'

Cool early morning
When the world holds its breath
Stepping out on the porch
Swirling fog all around
She refills my empty mug
Smiling her good morning
As lovely as ever
How blessed am I
Bubbling music
Hot brew filling ceramic
Raising it to my lips
Sipping the steaming hot java
Familiar singeing heat
Its color a perfect deep brown
Bitter and yet satisfying
Aroma of earthen goodness
And then the first ray of sunlight
Shines forth from the horizon
Brilliant and fine
Accompanied by a choir of birdsong
And still my eyes
Are only for her
Who fills my heart


Sight- Rainbow
Smell- Rain
Taste- Mint
Touch- Hair
Sound- Dog barking

 

[Lyricalli]

sight-some one running
Sound- air horn
Scent-candle burning
taste- honey or something really sweet
Touch- sticky

Sometimes, I still feel the racing of your pulse
under my fingers
hear the ba-bump, ba-bump quicken
my ear to your chest
fingers researching secret places
that made you catch a breath
and wonder if your heart hammered that hard
every time you'd run
set in motion by a horn blast in your head
I never heard

How well I know the contours of your back
the warmth of vanilla
turning to the acrid end of a wick
because you never light a candle
unless you're going to let it burn
all the way out

Still, you remained honey to me
irresistible, sweet
returning a familiar mystery
nectar reflecting your journeys
and passage of time
I craved the syrup
in my hands
my eyes locked to yours
savoring each digit
knowing my sticky grasp
isn't strong enough to hold
when the siren sounds



Sight- a constellation
Smell- breakfast
Taste- soft
Touch- something cracked
Sound- shower

 

[Lyricalli]

Sight -stars
Sound- train whistle
Scent- roses
taste - salt
touch - feather

We frolicked under Orion's belt
while I fiddled with yours
eager for the unbuckling
but savoring the anticipation
and the salt of your sweat-damp neck
the insistence of your lips
wild roses perfumed the gently humid night
an unheard growl vibrated
through your chest as the train whistled by
featherlight fingertips that made me shiver
transformed into an urgent grip
that lead to grass stains on my knees
random bits of nature in my hair
and an irrepressible grin
every time I pass that field


Sight - horizon
Smell - nostalgia
Taste - bland
Touch - yourself
Sound - night

 

[Lyricalli]

Sound- back ground conversation
Sight-mountains
Scent-herbs
Touch-scar tissue
Taste- acidic

Bite into a lime wedge
sitting in the din of the bar
that fades to silence in my revery
remembering when you were the salt
I chased with tequila

My tongue still remembers the textures
of your skin
the way some scars were raised
some concave
and how I watched mini mountain ranges appear
when I teased just so

Breathing in rum and mint
in the midst of my hundred closest friends
the only thing I hear
are conversations we never had
playing out in my head
while sipping a second mojito


Sight - pier
Smell - coconut
Taste - coffee
Touch - lukewarm
Sound - radio

 

[Angeline]

Sight-moon
Sound-drums
Taste- chocolate
Touch- silk
Smell- oranges

How can the moon be so lonely
surrounded by all those stars,
planets whirling in a cosmic dance,
galaxies too numerous to count
and all their moons like sad faces
waiting for dawn's rescue?

Down here it's livelier. I don't even
have to look up. The moonlight
covers me silver silk on my silky
skin. I'm livelier tonight, loopy
and loony as night's orb, spinning
to my peculiar drumbeat.

My personal moon is in my hands,
a chocolate orange, my favorite treat!
I'll savor it, segment by segment
and sweetly ponder my waning phases.


Sight: doll
Sound: creaky step
Scent: soap
Taste: rain
Touch: skin

 

[Remec]

Sight -Books
Sound-birds
Scent -pine forest
Touch-dust
Taste -sugar

WIP

Works in progress seem to be
the very heart of stories of my life,
the latest was a duo as the rental
was in the process of renovation;
Even in the library, with all the floor-to-ceiling
shelving simply jam-packed with all
the types of books you could imagine, the
odor of the Pine-sol made it seem you
were in a real forest, not a cut and bound
forest of paper and ink and thick leather,
and I would sit before empty screens,
blank paper, trying not to touch the dusty surfaces
too often, and thinking I needed to go back
to making my own tea that would taste
of tea instead of warm sugar water with a touch of
milk that someone waved tea leaves over,
but it was fine since the feeder outside the
main window was always so full of the cutest
little birds--maybe chickadees or titmice--I
think they shall be decent muses,
eventually.

---

sight: flowers
sound: noises of surprise
scent: pipe or cigar smoke
taste: peaches
touch: something goosebumpy

 

[29wordsforsnow]

sight: flowers
sound: noises of surprise
scent: pipe or cigar smoke
taste: peaches
touch: something goosebumpy

The swinging curves of dear Miss Daisy
were not meant for the eyes of the lazy
in the doorframe on the fifth floor's landing
the ink on her skin never stopped bending
almost unwrapped in a negligee of bottle green
the six feet plus temptress thickly clad in nicotine
waited there, wild speculation on her forehead
what lovely flower I had brought for her bed.

The sheet of paper fell, her voice reached high
sheer pleasure in her cheer, most wonderful sigh
the small bouquet in hand, she said, "I never had
a more innocent Rose or such a splendid Violet."

Still on their way up, on about the thirty-first stair
two beauties invited to this strangest love affair
their elegant strides rose from floor to floor
with each step the hostess' smile grew evermore
obviously her body reacted, turned preheated
finally then, "So, you'd be Rose," she greeted
the one elegantly dressed in the color of cream
paleskin, auburn hair, every English man's dream.

In her wake, a close-to-fainting coquette
darker than the most delicious chocolate
crowned by curls and clad in deep purple
embroidered with the opulence of myrtle.

Seated amusement plus a carafe of port
Miss Daisy offered a taste of her orange hoard
these fruit of velvet, so soft, sweet and ripe
reserved for the ones of her favored type
juicy, sweet and easily falling under her spell
who loosened the bows I never could tell
but soon enough the party is freed of their peel
laid down on the bed and challenged to squeal.

My gaze meets Miss Daisy's, a fat cat's grin
a futile attempt to rub the chill off my skin
when she bellows, "Sit, and don't even dare!"
I'm ordered to stay in my creaking old chair.

Hundreds of minutes right after the dusk
the trio of sweetness wallowed in lust
fed by the skill of their hostess' tongue
not caring to tell the right from the wrong
they wolfed down each of the tendered slices
full-flavored now with their own flow of spices
and bath in the sound of their melodic laughter
that turns more vocal, and primal soon after.

Not sooner than her guests were asleep
she beckoned me close, and in one big leap
my thirsty lips within her fingers' reach
enlightened - at last! - by the taste of peach.

scent: Spring
sight: road sign
sound: cracking
taste: salt
touch: hair

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Sight : Dolls
Sound: Waves
Smell : burnt sugar
Taste: Lemons
Touch: Wool

What else could we do?

The upbeat play of the sudden rain
the tin roof turned into a steel drum
our cotton and lycra swim at the door

What else than...

wear the scratchy sweaters from Norway,
last year another vacation nearby the sea
maybe because we're both Aquarius?

What's the time...

to wait for crème brûlée? Meanwhile
the small stove warms our legs
a Tequila shot our insides

What kind of glint...

is in your eyes as you inhale my finger deeply
the lemon taste mixes well with the caramel smell
slowly burning our passionate looks because

What else can you do...

in the minutes, half-dressed, hungry & heated
while the crashing waves provide the rhythm
than turn the landlady's dolls on the shelve

No audience, please.

Scent: Lavender
Sight: a button undone
Sound: clock ticks
Taste: Sherry
Touch: stubble

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

cent: Lavender
Sight: a button undone
Sound: clock ticks
Taste: Sherry
Touch: stubble



Sherry

The scent of lavender
always reminds me of visits
to my elderly aunt when I was a boy.

Sitting upright in the gloom.
No slouching!
Knobbly knees pressed
tightly together, listening
to the clock as time passed
too slowly.

Lavender with an undertone
of stale urine, doubtless the
reason for my reticence.

But you, with your tousled
hair and that one button,
loosened by the tension
of your shirt between
your breasts make me want you.

You who tells me my seven-o-clock
shadow is attractive, can wear
lavender and still, I want you.



Scent: coffee
Sight: rope
Sound: catfight
Taste: mint
Touch: silk