Long Synaesthesia Poems
Long Synaesthesia Poems. Below are the most popular long Synaesthesia by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Synaesthesia poems by poem length and keyword.
Colours Perfuse
Bluebell tinkers in soft mellow waters
splashing in her fantasy and dreams
Tolling oceans flicker chakra’s paths
ring truths and wondrous melodies
Crowned indigo with chanted violet
Peace in her gypsy’s carriage’s heart
She hears the colours smells shades
of pastels tastes aquamarine touches
All lapis lazuli synaesthesia molten
cores when she sees her crystal vision
Comes flows cascades crescendos
compiles her senses on life’s tapestry
A seeker finder clairsentient spirit medium
Bluebell slashes blues and brushes muse
27th January 2017
demi lunes
ascending the height of pleasure
tantra crept in
through the cracks of reality
a rainbow crescent eclipsed all pain
turned the suffering of suffering
into a medium for growth and change
chakras mingled in orange and indigo
blue and red composed violet glows
a yellow hue infused
navel gazing at its best
her green eyes mesmerized
the radiance of togetherness
created a full spectrum
of mind body and soul
like children they painted
on the canvas of their skins
as tidal waves of intimate warmth
ebbed and flowed
to the sound of music in their heart
when synaesthesia exploded all senses
all darkness disappeared
and white stars watched over their union
two demi lunes became
one lunar globe
tickled by sunlight of compassion
caressed infinite peace
24th October 2024
"Mother’s Milk"
I don’t know -
what would you have me say?
Life is a gourmand perfume
rolling along on the notes of air
intoxicating musk a jubilee
music you breathe and reign in
words lactonic heaven scent
stimulating the beginning and the end
in synaesthesia the let-down presents
succulent life, a moment brief and swift
a hint of warm peppered cinnamon
with gunshot sparks recalcitrant pink
a straight shot from the heady accord first off
hard points from mother’s breast rouge the plot
we drink it all in
life is the sweetest illusion
bittersweet and burnt bent
we are all drunk to it;
before we begin,
we begin again,
we are swallowed large
into this small life
like an unknown mystery
karmic charms chime in
fragrant and in fragrant notes
recalcitrant journeys
roads less taken
sweet and bitter almonds
we hear the distant bells chime
we sign off reluctantly
to only begin it all again
Candide Diderot. ‘25
Reminiscing a Future
Taste of my Teddy bear suckling comfort
Cool button in his ear on my tongue
Sound of silence of parachute’s silk
The nothingness of free fall before landing
Sight of an Octopus squirting ink onto my
Diving mask blinding with glimpses of vision
Touch of cow’s dung heating a humble
Wall sheltering compassionate feelings
Smell of blotting paper on a fountain
Pen’s script reflecting short-lived fragrance
Synaesthesia? Nonsense? Common Sense? Sixth Sense?
Ethereal Incense of mind soul and body transcending?
I taste childhood
I hear freedom
I see no delusions
I touch equality
I smell passion
I sense...Forever
26th July 2018
color awe
so crystal as to hear an
enigma
whiffed fragrance
a strangeness to scarcely taste
obscure scenes
light is sown
feel the warmth that follows miles
minds do smile
-----------------------
"An individual whose conscious awareness is such that a sound becomes fused with a sense of color and taste; for whom each fleeting impression engenders a vivid, inextinguishable image; for whom words have quite different meanings than they do for us—such a person cannot mature in the same way others do, nor will his inner world, his life history tend to be like others'."
from:
Luria, A. R. & Solotaroff, Lynn (translator) (1968) The mind of a mnemonist: a little book about a vast memory. Jonathan Cape
Winter finally moves his lumpen sluggish weight,
Spring is like a shy dryad shivering in his arms
Wind's whippets droop to trifling whine
Sullen rain hisses to a grizzle.
tiny fruit buds swell enough to moisten lips.
First daffodil maidens preen, bright faces so fair!
Chattering swallows check granite grey mortared mansion.
Duck naps snug, beak a chest --- gull floats overhead.
Longer days mean I must leave my snuggly, sleepy daze,
slightly more light; work energies reappear
poetry is laid aside in favour of trimming trees
seething solar heating sound, signals dimly smiling sun.
seed packets eagerly spread out – What to plant this season?
Suddenly, more bees aflight – our crops will be alright!
Another cycle begins!
1) Anthropomorphism 2) Simile 3) Metaphor 4) onomatopoeia
5)Synaesthesia 6) Personification 7) Sensory Imagery
8) Ellipsis 9) Homophone 10) Caesura 11) Pun
12) Alliteration 13) Rhetorical Question 14)Internal Rhyme
15) Truism
Written 20th August for Line Gautier Contest - A Litany of Poetic Devices
He chafes the prayer beads against his wrist
Has died lesser deaths of exasperated rage
It’s not forgiveness he seeks but purifying anger
To feel the rawness of emotion he focusses
On undefeatable loss and zealous slaughter
Of cross fires approaching target practice
A peaceful man and oft discerned by thoughts
In overthinking modes of analytical destruction
The old warrior aims to unleash condensing fury
‘I want to feel the hurt’ and so he turns inside
For considerate vivisection and careful attribution
Selects a modus operandi to excise the pain
Rips off the bandages and washes ointment from
Years of contained and preordained resilience
And resolves that ceasefires of mind must stop
Turns off the light to engage with boiling darkness
Plugs his ears and braves an onslaught of deaf voices
As cacophony and synaesthesia fuel the silent bellow
Once iron will is hot and set on scalding blisters he confronts
Injustices and ravenous beasts of incinerating prey head on
At last they fall on his scalpel once boiling point is reached
To remind himself of the successful operation he chooses not
To stitch the gaping injury because he needs encouragement
Instead he cauterizes his soul and seals a union with himself
16th December 2019
I am writing you in purple. Not the word—
the taste: that iron bite of violet petals
crushed between molars, the way they stick
to the roof of the mouth like communion wafers
dipped in wine gone slightly wrong. You understand,
of course, that I can’t help but eat
each sentence as I write it. The ink
bleeds grape-skin bitterness across my tongue,
tannins puckering the soft flesh
where speech should live.
The envelope waits on my desk, fat
with pages I’ve been licking at the edges.
Violet. That’s the specific shade
of metal—not silver, not quite lead—
the taste of costume jewelry warming
against a throat, or blood
when you’ve bitten down too hard inside your cheek
and tried to hide it, swallowing.
I seal this letter with my teeth.
The glue tastes like the end of something:
overripe, about to split, that moment
when a grape becomes obscene
in its sweetness, when fermentation starts
inside the skin and everything turns
to wine or vinegar—there’s hardly
any difference, really, just time
and what you’re willing to call it.
You’ll taste this when you open it.
The paper will dissolve like sugar
steeped too long, and purple
will coat your mouth for days: brutal,
gorgeous, the specific flavor of a color
that exists between a bruise
and a flower, between the blue
of suffocation and the red of wanting.
I’m sorry. I know you asked for yellow.
But yellow tastes like cowardice and butter,
and I have only purple left to give—
this bitter sweetness, medicinal and lush,
the aftertaste of beauty
or of poison. Sometimes
even I can’t tell which
Tear drops roll down my cheeks.
Blessed with mirror-touch synaesthesia!
Claircognizant empaths - inflame my aphasia.
I know, I know - the die is cast!
Eh! Still words - pierce through my silent heart.
Leave me – leave me!
I need time to talk with my soul.
For no one knows – why!
Why emotions welled up so high?
How would you know - the reason behind my sigh!
And why such deep grief and frown?
And why the frozen sea melted down?
And the pain behind my collapsing castle!
How intense is my tussle!
Yeah! How would you know?
What I just lost was my holy grail!
All I need is solitude to sail!