Long Sense of taste Poems
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It was only when facing my mortality
That I realized I'm not immortal
I stood at death's doorway
Facing the Grim Reaper
When my sense of taste and smell
Slowly faded to nothing
It heightened my sense of hearing
And I heard for whom the bell tolls
Terror gripped my heart
When told I tested positive
But I remained ever vigilant
And audacious in the pursuit of recovery
Locked away in my own little world
It has been a struggle alone with my thoughts
Sometimes I wonder deep down
If I'll ever taste food again
For COVID-19 robbed me
Of that which made me happiest
And as difficult as it is to cope with
I can rest knowing one thing
Though I may be a mere mortal
I found the strength and I'm still alive
Being sensual isn’t necessarily about sex.
I recall a night of such immense innocent delight
that all my senses -heightened- far exceeded
my teenage expectations of romance.
My sense of sight had already been triggered
from the moment I first met the young man
whose eyes so flirtatiously met mine.
As sweet as chocolate, his eyes melted me.
His smile was honey and his voice too,
which dripped with an accent which was French -
instantly attracted my sense of hearing.
In the front seat of his Buick Riviera,
this boy from Quebec taught me the allure
of taking time . . .
taking time to gaze into each other eyes,
taking time to feel . . . to really feel
each little nibble on my ear lobe
and the sweetness of his breath
at the nape of my neck; to feel his fingers
as they softly traced the features of my face -
worshippingly -
as if I were a goddess he was touching.
Even my sense of smell was aroused by his colgne.
Taking his time . . .
such lingering precious time,
he arrived to that first anticipated kiss,
and my sense of taste was then aroused,
for his kiss was ambrosia of the gods.
To touch his silken skin and hair,
and then to feel his lips moving smoothly over mine!
In synche with him -
romance was nothing but sublime.
All the while his hands – so magical -
caressed my hands, my arms, my shoulders,
and my back down to my waist.
Feelings I’d never experienced before
overwhelmed me with bliss.
I was still a virgin, and he knew exactly how far
not to go.
Keeping me at the brink
of something I was not to know till I was married,
I was more than satisifed and never before in my life
had I felt more cherished.
Every sense of mine was totally engaged
by his dulcet whispers
and the beauty of his eyes, his nose, his mouth,
and his entire tall slender body.
The touch of him, the feel of him,
and the feel of MY burgeoning emotions -
for me this was a virgin’s dream
of sensuality.
Feb. 3, 2021
for the Sensual Poetry Contest of Charlotte Puddifoot
What's cooler and juicier
Than a long-striped rime of green,
Whose internals are fortified with
An explosion of mesmerizing desire?
Or a total circle of green without stripes,
Protectively enclosing the best of eats,
Thoroughly permeated by the color of pure red,
And speckled throughout with seeds of black?
Or if you prefer, no seeds at all to delay your treat.
And what's more tastier my friend, than a softly textured cut
Of mouth-watering goodness bite after bite after watery bite?
An oasis of succulence and sweetness to the taste of healthy Goodness awaits our sense of taste each summer with nothing To prep; nothing to waste. A watermelon sweet and cold is Like A free-wheeling bicycle ride along the countryside.
070422PSCtest, Watermelon contest, Mystic Rose Rose
It's not figuratively thinking but abstractive!
Avoiding over abstract.
The road is clear.
The eyes within their limits
See the appearances of things
& their expressions, figures.
An eye is a tool for seeing .
Like an eye, the brain is a tool for the mind
Who takes you to the door of the hidden treasure house
Never
Enter
That's its/his limit.
The turn is for the upper, super, heart
When you say I you meant!
No seeing nor thinking
Taste.
Feel.
Sense of taste abnormally
The words could not explain
Yet an abnormal taster knew what it is.
So not to speak of what words cannot hold.
An earthy palette
of hues,
blue-greens, and
muted tones of melancholia
safflower oil imparts a
blue period
colors made from
our terrestrial
fruit of flora
reflecting
depth of destitution
giving or receiving
the act of charity?
The girl lifts
their spirits
with humble offerings
collective souls
connect completely
moods moving,
welcoming warmth
of the broth soup’s
steamy ardent aroma,
awakening the dormant
and pitiful perils prolonged
sense of taste
A choice expounding
in what is seen
and unseen,
an elder’s mindful
symbiosis, steaming
savory clouds
of translucent
silvery solvents
from a slumped stance,
vigor spent
When everything about me still thrives,
And everything is a sight for sore eyes,
I'm thankful for my sense of SIGHT.
When noise abounds with the hearing of sounds,
because my eardrums are enough to Astone,
I'm grateful for my sense of HEARING.
When never taking for granted a savory taste,
And as Jesus said, let nothing go to waste,
I'm thankful for my sense of TASTE.
When my bride is baking with sweet working labor,
And overwhelming me with smells of succulent flavors,
I'm grateful for my sense of SMELL.
I bow my knees and heart when I feel that loving touch,
And when I realize that I have been blessed with so much,
I'm thankful for my sense of TOUCH.
082023PS
I never got to meet her, but she left me with inspiration.
Perhaps I will never meet her, but I was impressed.
Inspired enough to give her a face, a poetic place.
Impressed, because I felt the presence of creativity.
She was both open and honest, and clear as crystal.
Her name was Crystal as indicated on the note she left.
Of her sense of taste and value system, there was no doubt.
I quickly learned from her brief note what she was really all about.
She was about renewal and renovation; restoration and resurrection.
She took an old rusty tool box, and gave it a new life and fresh luster.
Having never seen or met her, we were introduced by an 8-worded note.
Life is indeed many a splendid thing, filled with beautiful people and poetry.
On my car's windshield, her note said, "I am indebted to you for $20". Crystal. No, Crystal, it is I, forever indebted to you, for this poem given
birth by you.
030222PS
Once upon a time, I saw a Candy List of more than forty types of candy. And would you believe that people were actually invited to enter a contest to pick at least 10 of their favorites from among such a list? Unbelievable! For crying out loud, what is this world coming to? It's just not fair for the 'sense of taste' to be tested like that. Why, if I were King, I would issue a decree to band such an endeavor.
I grew up eating a lot of BUTTERFINGER bars, and I would eat a MILKY WAY if it was my only choice, but I never really liked them. I have always loved coconut and just about every kind of nut there is. Saturate a column of coconut with almonds, cover them with chocolate, and the next thing you're chewing on is Peter Paul MOUNDS; or am I mistaking Peter and Paul for Amond Joys? A BABY RUTH candy bar was certainly at the top of my sweet list; and what's not to like about a peanut covered bar of candy called PAYDAY?
I cannot deny it and I dare not hide it. Not so much now, but way back then when sugar was looked upon less frowningly, I was a sucker for the TOOTSIE ROLL. I remember that the LEMONHEAD candies were a tad bitter, but the HOT TAMALES was a 'play around' kind of candy; and what could be better than playing and competing with a mouth 'on fire' with candy? LIFESAVERS and NOW AND LATER were among my kids' favorites, and the KIT KAT still ranks high on my candy list, but at the top of my 'sugar heap' are the SNICKERS.
Now back to the Candy List I mentioned at the beginning. Upon further investigation, I discovered that three of my favorites were not even on the list. Like boots were made for walking, the Lollipop and the Holloway candy sticks were made for licking and sucking. And it pains me to think about the fact that M&M Peanuts candy wasn't anywhere to be found. I'm not a king but if........
09212018PoSoupContest, How Sweet It Is, Carol Connell,3P
"Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good."
Psalm 34:8
Last I saw and heard of him, he was
recovering well from a bout with cancer.
But it left him without a sense of TASTE.
It's hard to imagine no sweet, no sour, no bitter.
But metaphorically, my friend Rob has two great
TASTES that he would not trade for anything.
He has TASTED and found that The Lord is good.
And he has been blessed with the SWEETEST wife.
I have gained a fresh appreciation for TASTE in my
friend's loss, and I shall never take for granted
a savory TASTE. As Jesus said, let nothing go to
waste. I'm thankful for my sense of TASTE.
The Almighty has created me an angel.
The mindlessness in me has changed me a devil.
When I have a beautifully sensitive nose,
Why am I unable to smell a fragrant rose?
My sense of taste has been, preciously marvelous.
I have marvelously turned it highly tasteless.
How my sober, secure, sure sense of soulful sight,
Has turned into dull, dark, dim, dreary deadly light?
My hearing sense seems sound, and sensitively sharp,
Why am I not able to hear my own sharp harp?
Though thousands fall on me like heavy human rocks,
I don't feel their touch or even the rocking knocks.
My mind has, alas, gone very far-far from me,
It has gone beyond control like a drunken monkey.
If I could mindfully sit the morning moment
Meditating the beauty of God's covenant...
If I could eat my food savoring every taste,
Tasting and relishing and knowing every waste...
If I could watch the birds and hear the flowers bloom,
And be one with hard-working honey bees and plume...
If I calm my mind and completely concentrate,
Relaxing and light like saints within levitate...
If I owing my compassion fraternal love,
Make someone feel the compassion of God above...
If I am an innocent immaculate child,
And thus my soul always in purity abide...
If I could feel the feeling when I plant a tree,
The true feeling-full feeling of planting me...
If I could create things than merely copying,
Partake in God's continued act of creating...
If I could manually work hard and sweat well,
Keep healthy and hearty my every little cell...
It's then the mindfulness will make its home in me,
And in that home, God of love will abide with me.
12 June 2021
MINDFULNESS Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker