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Post by Rhiannon McKenna on Sept 2, 2013 11:04:15 GMT -8
This is an idea I got from another website, but I like it for on here - it's a ton of fun!
From the original post:
"Write a poem that includes the five senses. Use any form, any length. That's it. Easy enough, eh? Here's the kicker. You have to use the five words assigned by the poster before you then you write your poem and assign another five senses words to the following poet. However, if the poet so chooses, they can use any form of those words and if they don't particularly like the chosen word, they can use their trusty thesaurus."
I'll start it off:
Taste: apples Smell: fresh-mown grass Sound: motor running Touch: silk Sight: red
I sit under the tree, the smell of fresh-mown grass tickling my nose. In the distance, I hear the motor of the tractor, humming, and it adds a pleasing backdrop to my meditations, which right now are about you, and red silk sheets, and the taste of apples, so delicious, all of them.
Taste: something sour Smell: tar Sound: waves Touch: metal Sight: brick wall
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Post by Rosa Dagostino on Sept 10, 2013 8:22:24 GMT -8
Something Sour is stirring it smells like cow dung, but could be Tar I hear the waves of peoples arms in uproar we put the pedal to the metal and Hit a Brick wall Taste: peanuts Smell: oranges Sound: fireworks Sight: Flowers Hopes i did this right
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Post by Rhiannon McKenna on Sept 10, 2013 8:53:57 GMT -8
LOL love it!
I'll put in my own touch sensation (that was tricksy of you, making me work for it!) ;P
The crunch of peanuts and the feel of the hard wood bench. Someone else is eating an orange, and the sweet-tangy odor drifts on the air. A band marches by, disturbing the flowers planted by the path. As the sun sets, fireworks go off and we ooh and ahhh at the colors sparkling in the night sky. I slip my arms around you, and we cuddle close under the thin blanket we brought to chase away the cool summer night. I love perfect moments like this.
Taste: sugar Smell: smoke Touch: cotton Sight: river Sound: whistling
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Post by Rosa Dagostino on Sept 10, 2013 16:53:09 GMT -8
Your a sweety, you little sugar babe but your breath smells of smoke and your cotton dress is rough let us wash it in the river I see over yonder and let it dry in the whistling wind we hear coming our way
ooops did not realise i had left out Touch before
Taste: coffee Smell: Fresh linen Touch: wood Sight: boat Sound: marching band
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Post by Gerrard Winstanley on Sept 11, 2013 13:35:01 GMT -8
methinks the marching band was what's known in a cricket ... as a googly Blearily hearing the sound Of the navy's marching band Stirred by the wailing woodwind The captain casts off the fresh linen sheet Steers his wayward limbs along the boat aisles And sinks down in a creaking galley chair Idlies his engine, waits for coffee Grumbles and frets, downs in one Taste: lemon Smell: incense Touch: felt Sight: closet Sound: cough
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Post by Rhiannon McKenna on Sept 12, 2013 12:45:14 GMT -8
Taste: lemon Smell: incense Touch: felt Sight: closet Sound: cough The incense is heavy in the air, The room seems tiny, like a closet, small and spare, A couch, a felt ottoman, a wooden chair. There are other scents, I smell them there and know that I should tread with care. I cough and run fingers through my hair, and suck on the lemon drop you produced with the flair of a magician performing his best trick - all savoir faire and a wicked smile of the wolf luring the lamb into his lair. Taste: something bitter Smell: pine Touch: marble Sight: water Sound: horns
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Post by Rhiannon McKenna on Oct 25, 2013 9:06:03 GMT -8
Taste: something bitter
Smell: pine
Touch: marble
Sight: water
Sound: horns
I glide my fingers slowly around the rim of the marble bowl. The water in the bowl changes, becomes cloudy, and I feel my senses sharpening. The pine trees smell especially pungent in the cold air. I look in the bowl to see how the battle goes, and the sound of horns not my own crying out yet another, and final, victory for my enemy pierces my soul. Defeat tastes bitter, like wormwood and gall. I look to the sky, my breath leaving clouds in the air around me. I wait, for what I do not know. Death? Deliverance? I only pray that it comes soon.
Taste: cotton candy Smell: tar
Touch: rough wool Sight: drying laundry on a line
Sound: pinging
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