Best Senses Poems | Poetry

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New Senses Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Senses poems are below this new poems list.

Touching Senses by Martinez, Johnny
Senses working over time by Vigil, Joe
Harvest For The Senses by Chan, Bernard
Diminishing Senses by horsman, harry
Love Beyond Senses by Gonzales, Elaine
Just Four Senses by Canerdy, Janice
Bring To Senses by Horn, James
my senses deceive me by Gruhn, Lisa

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The Best Senses Poems

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My garden is such a colourful sight,
with pretty roses and scented sweet peas.
An abundance of blooms, what pure delight!

Beautiful butterflies gently alight
on flowers dancing on the summer breeze.
My garden is such a colourful sight

Sweet night scented stocks abloom at midnight
their aroma is always sure to please.
An abundance of blooms, what pure delight!

Carnations in purple, scarlet and white
are visited by busy bumble bees.
My garden is such a colourful sight

A haven for birds I watch them in flight
they alight on peach blossom from the trees.
An abundance of blooms, what pure delight!

Pretty pansies smile in clay pots so bright
I love beautiful flowers such as these.
My garden is such a colourful sight
An abundance of blooms, what pure delight!

190 syllables, 10 syllables per line checked with how many syllables

Contest Villanelle me flowers Sponsored by Broken Wings

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016

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We Push The Pen

We push the pen to make you feel
the gentle tapping of the falling rain,
the stinging burn of the summer sun
the heavy heart of despair and pain.

We push the pen to make you see
the vibrant orange of a monarch wing,
the secretive soul hidden in our eyes,
the golden sunrise in early morning.

We push the pen to make you taste
the sweetness of love's first kiss,
the bitterness of heartbreaking defeat
the richness of pure chocolate bliss.

We push the pen to make you hear
the clear waters babbling in the brook,
the forgotten laughter of our inner child
the cracking spine of a brand new book.

We push the pen to make you savor
the pungent petals of the red rose,
the crisp aroma of a tart green apple
the autumn air that excites the nose.

We each push the pen in different ways
with our own tone of voice and mystique,
an art form that no other can duplicate,
no right or wrong, just wonderfully unique.

Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2015

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Sensual Silky Colors

I have loved   -    I have felt ivory love bliss colors.

I have ridden sapphire air of crimson ecstasy -
	                                                       and touched the silver stars.

I have felt gold, silky, lilac joy move 
                                                               and embrace my harlequin heart.

I have melted to tangerine delight caresses 
                                                               tingling my willing, fuchsia skin.

I have been lifted  -  and turned  -   and tossed  - 
                                on sensual, erotic waves that travel bold - 
                                                              through and between me                              

... CayCay Jennings
March 11, 2016

Copyright © CayCay Jennings | Year Posted 2016

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A Former Great Nations Squandered Wealth I

Swept up into piles; everywhere 
Abouts; in collected heaps all 
It is almost as if the drab 
Streets were strewn with the 
Precious wealth of King Solomon's 
How it seems so far back, when, at 
Springs nagging behest, those
Cautious tips, encouraged by 
Warming beguilement of new winds, 
Gingerly unwound                         
To reveal those never-before-seen 
But their sap, like my zest, has 
Run dry;
Shuffling disconsolately to and fro 
As those of us, that, in our 
Unnoticed maudulin, have grown 
Steadily more old:-  
As if Hardrada's slain warriors,
Covered by their cracked shields, 
Lifeless and fallen they lie.                              

A flock of racquous Starlings,
Scuttering downwards, noisily
On the stripped branchs of a 
Diminished and abject tree;
Although a sizeable band, growing
Daily, hardly a paused murmuration 
Dropped from flight...
Now I know another Autumn is 
Nearly done.
I note the resounding emptiness of 
The wide avenue compares favorably 
With the compressed and leaden sky;
The sudden intervention of an 
Appealing thought, and it occurrs
To me,
That, if I were as swift as 
Fleet-footed Leonidas then maybe
I too, this desperate day,
Could outstrip the retreating
Shadows of this disconsolate Sun?

Alas...I am aging with every
Approaching Winter, pattern 
Baldness spreading across my 
Thinning crown;
A body can feel a cold dampness in 
This sort of air...
Then - an involuntary shiver! 
Perhaps unwelcomed memories of
Many a wasted year...
Thinks I with a rueful frown;
In the minds eye a glimpse 
Of the ferocious Wolf slipping 
Quietly through the half-open gate -
Here he once roamed in all his
Perfect savagery!
And, standing admidst the vestiges
Of a former great nations 
Squandered wealth, to which 
many sentimental hearts still 
To wonder what the patient Saxon
Should make at the sight of such 
Frenzied lameness...
The ruination of this his once 
Untamed and wild estate?

That ancient Saxon full knew.             
He knew of cruel hardship, of all  
Essential things that so engaged 
His pressing needs, his Thanes 
Daily bread;
Though of heady aspirations...he   
Had but few.                                    
He knew of the devastaing blight 
Of sweltering drought,
He knew of the tipped rivers 
Flooding swell;                         
But the old Saxon? ...he just 
Re-doubled his efforts - and took it 
Manfully on the chin!                            
For when the hardy Saxon undertook
To do a job it would usually happen 
That he did it well.                                      

And what of his countless, long since
Ignored, secluded and wooded dells, 
His dusky, hollowed glades?
Deep inside: trapped sunlight still 
Floating liken a glassed surface 
Upon a pond;
Once, therein, that Saxons 
All-consuming hours taken up by the 
Resounding crunch of the ever eager 
And were it truly ever was this
Humongous supposed repository
For Englands "Green Man"? Ditto 
For the fabled Unicorn recorded 
By the minstral balladeer's 
Luteing song;
Ancient Greeks did say that only
The gentle and pensive maiden
Had the power to coax such a 
Timid beast: one of many wild
Wraiths, emblazoned on many a regal 
Shield, that do unashamedly beguile 
Throughout our legendary history!                                      

Our mundane present now a sad 
Parody of melancholic destitution; 
As if a Summer laid to rest...and, 
Thus, finally, we reluctantly 
The dismal plink, plink, plinks
Of trickling water dripping into
The roadside drain;
If that stoic Saxon had any woes 
He would have no time to lend to
Idle moments wasted dawdling 
Among dead leaves.
Where now Wodan, his many other
Gods? His charioteering tales and 
Warring stories not even 
Half-forgotten memories that only
Befuddled minds of lunatics might 
How resplendant the rusting gasworks
Appears, as, behind her looming tanks, 
Sol's disintegrating orb wearily 
Who would deny, at such instants, 
Much dimming beauty can be found... 
Even inside a crowded towns huddled

The low streetlamps, mounted like 
Matt pearls, beginning, cautiously, 
To reignite;
Predictably this awakens some 
Roosting birds...some of which,
Dutifully, begin to sing.
A muddled obliqueness, inherent
On varying angles, converging
On the temporary juxtapositions 
Invented by the electric bulbs 
Deceitful light;
And although I have never felt much 
Of a compulsion towards sentimental 
Or to seek solace in the comforting 
Familiarity of a mothers 
Romantic recollections, to which we 
All sometimes cling, 
I grope like a blind if 
Reaching out into the foaming 
Darkness intent on finding 
Something essentially quintessential 
That I instinctively sense is so 
Oddly missing.

To be continued...

Copyright © john fleming | Year Posted 2017

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Our October Sky


 October sky, the 1st we celebrate, a seasons heart yearned treasured moment,
    Sun rises, new beginnings, Enlightens nature, we seek atonement.

  Dawn lights an autumn’s crisp chill, christening fallen leaves of tomorrow,
    Decorated front porch memories, earthly heritage, smothered sorrow.

  Passes monsoons, thirst quenched foliage, brought on dust storms, summer’s breeze.
     Colors dancing, enchanting harvest, Orange golden glows, on resting trees,

  Cinnamon sneaks by steaming cider, mulls a spiced aroma essence,
     Caramel apple, child’s smile, escapes harvest reminisce.

   A wonder inspired walk, a gentle kick to wisp away,
      Tree’s blessings, fallen life, decorated memories of yesterday.

   Crisp leaves falling, sprinkled mist, dripping dew drops land by chance,
         Hearts pitter pattered warmth speaks, provoking sudden dance.

   Fawns brook side, a mother’s love, protectant father thru seasons dressing,
       Such beauty grace lingers freely, coins free, bestows natures blessing.

   Falls door opens, touched hearts so deeply, awakened sober love outpours,
       God’s mystique he created goodness, for all of us he adores.

    Daylights autumn beauty, followed by nightfall’s tucked in kiss,
        A glowing lullaby, we’re put to bed; our harvests moon we’ve greatly missed.

Copyright © Chelcie Darling | Year Posted 2016

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I Want to See that Look

I want to see that look
That shows the coming rapture
The face of wanton need
Passion's hungry capture
I want to see that look
Testament to lover's game
To know it’s all my doing
unleashing the untame
I want to see that look
Of sheer helpless submission
Knowing that your release
Is timed to my discretion
I want to see that look
Euphoria’s induction
That plea for more and more
A primal need production
I want to see that look
In hungry naked eyes
And hear those trembling lips
Supplicate, moan and sigh
I want to see that look
Before you’re blown away
Exquisite ecstasy triumph
The signature seductress way
I want to see that look
I WANT to see THAT look
Then I can taste my pleasure
For giving you satisfaction
Brings mine on beyond measure


Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015

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Any Old Poem Contest: echoes and whispers uncut

the whispers
of leaves
turn color
autumn is here.

the echoes
of the rain
that waters
and blossoms spring.

the snow shapes
the crisp cold
ices the wintertide.

the sand sculptures
that paint
that rekindle
a childhood summer past.

the seasonal airs
stimulates the senses
and the memories they carry.

in the glee,

in the hopes and dreams,

in the human spirit,

lives the miracle of life.

the magnificent
voices in every pitch
deep and resounding,
the melody

 of echoes and whispers – uncut.

Maurice Yvonne
Any Old Poem Will Do - Contest
For Skat A
Entered: August 29 2014

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014

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Over recent months I’ve had trouble with my hearing… Misinterpreting what is being said isn’t so endearing Take a step back and think of all the things you would miss if you couldn’t hear at all The list is endless but here are a few I came up with The cry of a newborn baby and your child’s first words The symphony of the dawn chorus Music and speech on the radio or TV Phone conversations or chatting with friends Going to the theatre or to a concert The door bell or alarm clock ringing And of course there are those three little words we love to hear … ‘IS DINNER READY ?’ OOPS I MEAN I LOVE YOU I took the plunge and saw a specialist and have been fitted with a hearing aid Wow what a difference it has made I can hear perfectly now From the squeak of a mouse to the moo of a cow And the best bit of all… If someone is mouthy and starts to scoff I can quickly turn my hearing aid off!!! 10~06~16 N B I have to approach what has been and what is going on in my life with humour it is just the way I cope with what life throws my way

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016

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Mirror Ball

I'm sure this hill is where it stood.
Amazing shapes of stuccoed wood.
A glass-brick, neon stream-lined place.
As if it flew from outer space,

A swing band auditorium,
An Art Deco emporium,
When romance, innocent in pace,
From dancing to a teasing chase.

The town grew west in modern haste
And down it came, without a trace.
The war and culture's change in taste,
Predestined doom, the past erased.

The future sighs, with solemn face
The wrecking ball, the glittered waste
No plaque to read "Historic Sight".
The swirling dust, a dance goodnight.

Gene Bourne

Copyright © Gene Bourne | Year Posted 2014

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My First Ball

As I walk through the doors of the hall,
I am swept off my feet by such flare.
When I think that tonight’s my first ball,
How I blush thinking thoughts I don’t dare.

Lovely music pours out of the room,
And my hips sway beneath my pink gown.
Mom’s eyes seek a potential bridegroom
Dad’s eyes stop, my swaying with a frown.

Ushered in the big room my eyes dance
As they rush over grandeur so bright
Chandeliers they brought over from France 
Fill the room bringing splendour and light

On the sidelines I can’t help but stare 
Pretty walls lined with roses and vines
Sweetest scents of Guerlains fills the air
As the ladies and gents sip their wines.

Fine madam’s gowns blend in with the walls
And the heavenly ceiling divine 
Pastel angels and blue waterfalls 
Someone begs me to dance just in time.

As we twirl on the dance floor I’m charmed
Looking into his eyes, I turn red
And I’m weak in this young man’s strong arms
Looking up angels spin round my head.

All too soon my first ball has to end
Sweetest dreams I shall cherish tonight
When I think of my newly found friend 
Just the thought of him brings such delight

Anapest Trimeter

Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
Sponsor Isaiah Zerbst
Contest: Ballroom Delights 
1st place

Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014

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I Look to You

As flower to the sun, I look to you
As thirsty grass that drinks in drops of dew
As river flowing down to waiting sea
I live again with you a love that's true

I’m lost to life when nestled in your arms
Your lips, your eyes, your body full of charms
I enter softly in your shrine of dreams
My vow to wait the scent of you disarms

Your breath upon my body, how it thrills
Your mouth my hunger with your tongue it fills
I gasp for breath for I am overwhelmed 
Your pilgrim hands have reached the sacred hills 

I faint with pleasure as you touch inside
My fantasies lie bare and opened wide
You speak to me in urgent whispers low
A plea to let you taste of passion’s tide

Intense becomes the rhythm of our love
Your eyes devour mine from up above
I hold to you as both our souls break free
A blazing flight of eagle and the dove

As flower to the sun, I look to you
As thirsty grass that drinks in drops of dew
As river flowing down to waiting sea
I live again with you a love that's true

Eileen Manassian

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014

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A DAMSEL ENCHANTS FELICITY Aurora breaks, Cinderella damsel enchants felicity, gliding halcyon-- implanting jazzy kisses, languorous murmurs. . . Nectared opulent press quakes reactions. Succulent tissues urge virginal wanting: xerothermic, yearning zenith! _____________________________________________________________________ *** xerothermic -- adapted to or flourishing to environment that is hot and dry halcyon -- care -free CONTEST NAME: 10 OR LESS LINES Contest Sponsor: Rob ~~2nd place~~ Olive Eloisa Guillermo 2:28 pm, September 23, 2015

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Year Posted 2015

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Niagara Falls

                                 loudly inside my head,
                   roaring thunder rushing through my veins.

                                       Powers are
                              chaining me mesmerized,
                         hypnotizing with a mighty force.

                                thoughts are racing blindly
                             spilling into open nothingness.

                                     Crashing down,
                                   only to rise again
                             as an eternal magical mist.

Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
Nette Onclaud’s Contest:
Some form of Crystalline 

Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014

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Five Senses in Spring

The wood smoke is rising,
there’s a chill in the air,
the valley’s in shadow,
with the pear tree still bare,
but I know by morning,
what the new day will bring...
It’s the last day of winter;
yes, here comes the spring.

I feel the warmth growing, 
with winter veggies to share.
The sweet smell of jasmine,
now wafts through the air.
The call of a currawong,
does melodically ring,
I am so pleased to have,
my five senses in spring.

The last hawthorn berries,
have dropped to the ground,
a scavenging blackbird,
and they’re quickly found.
On cherry plum blossom,
I hear bees on the wing,
I am so pleased to have,
my five senses in spring.

I taste a warm cup of milk, 
close to the milking machine.
See the grasses all flourish,
lush in their greenest of green.
I feel a thunderstorm coming,
and smell the rain it will bring,
with my five senses acute,
as days warm up in the spring.

Bird song is now rising,
‘long the course of the creek.
Twin lambs in the meadow, 
and a new calf next week.
Hens are back on the lay,
the rooster is crowing.
I am so pleased to have, 
my five senses in spring.

Scarlet red is a sunset,
now a day’s work is done.
As frogs chorus the air,
say goodbye to the sun.
Farm life is rewarding,
with the challenges faced.
Each day I test my senses...
Sight hearing smell touch and taste.

Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2015

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Mixed Senses

Relaxed, lying in a hot bath
Inhaling lavender fragrance,
Watching flickering candles
And shadows dancing on the walls,
Listening to the soothing music
Of Mozart’s piano sonatas,
She gently strokes her silky skin
While feeling her unborn genius
Making music of his own.

Music ~14th September 2015
Author: Paul Callus 
Contest : Mixed Senses
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Placed 5th

Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015

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There is a place called beautiful nestled deep in my mind's eye
Gingham curtains crisply pressed frame periwinkle summer sky
Brass kettle on the old gas stove reflects cast iron pans
And always at the kitchen sink, I see busy, wrinkled hands.

There is a place called beautiful, I'm transported with a whiff
Of coffee brewing, dark and strong, I long to take a sip.
And in the air a trace of Tollhouse cookies baked this morn
And some perfume that only in this special spot is worn.

There is a place called beautiful I hear in perfect dreams
As Frankie croons and Louis wails all whilst the kettle steams
And as she works, she never tires as she hums and sings along
But the harmony of her lilting laugh is by far my favorite song.

There is a place called beautiful, it tastes like sweetest creams
Made in a bucket with a crank til her arms wore out, it seems
And topped with juicy berries that would burst upon each bite
And juices stained my mouth and clothes most every summer night.

There is a place called beautiful, I long to feel again
The naive sense that everywhere was as safe and free of sin
Where love and peace were daily served with a kiss upon the cheek
And grandma's kitchen always felt like you just found what you seek.

Copyright © Cindi Rockwell | Year Posted 2016

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Scattering Blooms

Gathering a plethora, of abandoned blossoms high and low, a covered basket and pockets full. Light footsteps through shady trees releasing dainty blooms for me, nature’s soulful aliment like a rainbow placed strategically for a little girl's innocent eyes. Blooms falling into my hands on a wooded path for one, then scattering to the wind, a fanciful dance, free of pending frailty; prancing petals take flight before their glory fades... How can I preserve God’s majestic beauty, petals adorning a late spring breeze? The newly green earth and trees - watch me, watch them. I am but one girl gathering blooms to press between pages of time or seep into an intoxicating potpourri. I could take a snapshot of these sacred scatterings but never could a photo fill my senses - the sweet scents, sounds and touch of blooms on a wooded path and breezes all around my face, the sight of God’s majestic beauty in a magical place. If I had one wish it would be, to share these magical moments with you.

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015

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Mermaid's Milk: a collaboration with the still dashing David Williams

The moss clung tightly; making it unbearable to breathe, 
and she sealed her lips tighter than a clam’s— not letting the pain take over

As the stars drift silently, like ships on a lost sea of darkness,
she whispers to Hope: 
“Swim free and look for the horizon, then come back to me...”

The night; collected on the leaves, 
       drops fell like Mermaid’s milk onto an already moist floor
Striking the shimmering tearful medium, 
         it gives birth to a shower of graceful pearls as the dawn awaits


I hear your voice drift upon a cool ocean breeze; 
              gilded words of adoration 
I glide towards it, praying that it guides me, 
          strengthens me, 
                nurtures me 
  like Mermaid’s milk

Touch as I might, my senses are in-different to please, my voice mute!
Be my Siren’s song and sing for me, serenade my senses back to life...

With an inquisitive tongue, I taste an almost scentless flower 
It is but a wisp, a whisper, a flick of a ray of sunshine, but it was There.

So much is lost. 
    The rivulets of time, hear me, see me, like a ghostly apparition...
Capture me in that moment by lovingly painting me. 
Sing me a song while you do, 
            and let the Mermaid’s milk flow again.

Thank you David, for waiting ever so patiently for my long overdue part-- 
it was a very nice challenge for me to write this :) 
Thank you very much for the inspiring lines...

Copyright © kabuteng P.iNk k. | Year Posted 2012

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Serenading the Senses- Adult Content

On whispered breeze I hear your plea to feed
Upon my form you wish to feast and dine
I smile as I inhale desire’s need
And know tonight you’ll taste of lover’s wine

I stand before you now as I undress
My fingers tease the buttons on my blouse
Your eyes must touch before your hands caress
Your lips now part from sight that does arouse

I walk to you with swaying steps so bold
My hair unleashed, it tumbles round your face
Down on your knees, your tongue seeks navel gold
And fingers reach above the curves to trace

My hands go round your neck and pull you in
I taste the lobe of ear and gently blow
the words of want and need desire to win
and whisper pleasured treats you soon will know

I feel you tremble neath my roving hands
You breath comes quick and knowing I lean in
to tie your hands to chair with silken bands
I take command of mouth and trace your chin

I tip your head and then devour your neck
Leave marks of ownership just where I please
You rage against the chords as my lips trek
the journey down below to taste and tease

You call my name in throes of ecstasy
I feel your panting breath against my hair
This night is one of wanton revelry
To satiate your needs is my affair

Before the end of this our passion race
I ride the waves of your euphoric greed
You move to rhythm that I set to pace
Until sweet time when pent up love is freed

And now unleashed, you fall into my arms
Upon my silken breast you lay your head
I lull to sleep with all my sweetest charms
As moonbeams blanket us upon our bed

Jade ;) Celeste

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015

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Enchant me 
Serenade me 
Touch me

Raise my temperature
Heighten my senses 
Make me tingle all over 

Apply your hands to my trembling body 
Caress the heaving contours 
Of my pliant body

Feel the rhythm of my passions
Boiling within 
Explore all of what I have to give 

Arouse me 
Titillate me 
Enhance my desire 
Make me tingle with your soft kisses

Own me 
Mould me 
Control me 

Free me of inhibitions
School me in desire 
Pleasure me 

It’s not all about me 
But of you and I becoming we

Copyright © evrod samuel | Year Posted 2013

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Instincts of Innocence

Years have come and gone
and the woman in me has seen
the love of the ancients in a dream
the constancy of time...gleams
nothing is as it seems
as I stand before you

I am ripe with age
No longer in the blush of my prime
No longer....sublime
I stand before you
with all my womanly wiles
and all of seduction's sighs spent

Innocence washes over me
carrying me back
on the streams of longing
pouring over me from 
the depth of your eyes
birthing in me
the hidden instincts of innocence
as I stand before you

I am a girl again
not yet a woman
not having tasted
the pleasures of passion's gratification
I stand before you

In a voice of wispy wonder and wanton willingness
I whisper your name.....
You stand before me
stepping into the time of Before
both you and I
on the edge of discovery
with the shyness of virgin wants
we stand...

I look down at your hands
As you gently undress me
you peel away inner garments
of time and age
until I am....bare
A blooming beauty of blushing youth
I see it mirrored in your eyes
before I close mine
and venture into this dreamed reality
in the instincts of innocence

I float on clouds of awakening need
sensations never felt
tingle a telling tale of sweet sensuality
I feel your fingers trace my lips
as one of them gently dips inside my mouth
I envelope it with a prophetic wetness wild
as it slides and it glides inside...
my innocence....hides

We no longer stand
you make me lie down
with guiding hand
You hove above me 
discovering, touching, and tasting
My love for you
in honeyed dew 
I come for you
you come in me
innocence now history
We intertwine the time
of before and now
We're set free...
How can it be?
You have made....
a woman out of the girl in me

Eileen Manassian
Too late for Justin Bordner's Contest :(
Instincts of Innocence

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015

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Sighted Vision, perception Staring, observing, gazing Ability to see everything, total visual impairment Stumbling, groping, touching Darkness, sightless Blind Diamante Contest Sponsored by Janis Thompson 10~12~16

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016

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Feeling My World

The soft gentle breeze caresses my skin, tiny ripples washing over me, as cool invisible fingers tickle each tiny hair.  I shiver.  The path beneath my feet is hard, the narrow veins between the stone uneven but smooth.  Leaning down, my fingers explore each stone admiring the artisan's hand. Even cuts and natural imperfections line the face of the pavers from which imaginary flowers and birds and faces, that only I can see, spring to life. Each piece carefully selected for size and shape, puzzled together with perfect precision.  The coolness of the stone feels blue like frozen water, or perhaps green like smooth moss. The air colder now I move on, hollow vibrations tingling my hand with each tap of my cane.


Copyright © James Inman | Year Posted 2015

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A Meeting

In the deep silence of the night
When perplexity confuses the mind,
I feel your power descend upon me,
Surrender becomes inevitable
As I become malleable under the hammer of love.
I view you, approach, alone, resplendent
In the pale rays of the dazzling moonlight,
As if you were an enigmatic ghost drawing near
In a flimsy wisp of a whirling nightly mist.
Who are you, I ask myself, Love or Death?
Come closer, come, I'm not afraid,
Sing an echoing mermaid song for me
Or slide into an enticing dance macabre.
I thrive upon such inexplicable endeavours,
Where nocturnal elfin whispers and dreamy antics,
So pleasing to the sensuousness of the mind,
Combine to please the florid sensitive nerves
Of this old, tired and jaded mind.
 7 June 2016

Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2016

Details | Senses Poem | Create an image from this poem.

What Is That Taste In My Mouth

No warning.

The taste spread swiftly
around the room.

Eyes scour.
They pinpoint the doom.

A little old lady
Who's big on perfume.

Copyright © Deb Adams | Year Posted 2017