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
Contest : Sense Of Taste
Sponsor : Nette Onclaud
Date : July 30, 2025
My dream desire is enticed
by your radiance shimmering
while you stand by the streetlamp,
shape for me passion aura,
resplendent in onyx night.
Flavor of love drapes my sense
with patina of rapture.
Its sequins I soak entranced.
Flavor of eve grows rancid
Neath this lamp where all was sweet
Minty eyes savoring lips
Buffet of emotions thrilled;
But candy coated with lies
You were not mine to relish
Appetizer I the least
On her tart walks on this street.
Contest: Sense Of Taste, Nette Onclaud
July 28, 2025
BY THE STREETLAMP
Poem written for SENSE OF TASTE POETRY CONTEST, Nette Onclaud, Sponsor July 28, 2025
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
she hunkers by the streetlamp
wrapped in a tattered blanket
lost in the cracks of concrete
swallows tangy bitterness
bitter brew of circumstance
choking on acrid despair
savoring sweet solitude
An explosion of flavour
Setting the taste buds alight
A tsunami of saliva
Dampening heat in the cave.
Like the sand beds of the sea,
Deeper elements spring forth
Revealing ingredients
Enriching the savoury dish.
By the street lamp we stand by,
our favorite restaurant.
Seeing people are eating,
hot dishes being devoured.
Food plays with my hungry tongue,
senses are jumping for joy.
Another heavenly meal,
mouth and stomach did enjoy.
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Title of Contest: Sense Of Taste
Date: 7/27/2025
By The Street Lamp
Sputters in the thick of night
setting the pathway ablaze!
Flavors of foretimes return
bittersweet as my spirit;
A street lamp pours out sweetly,
upon my shoulders of bare.
Recalling honey-dew words
I weep, ...bitter tears for you.
Night Tastes Like
Night tastes like:
Hot, black coffee
freshly perked.
Dark pumpernickel bread
fresh out of the oven.
Sweet black licorice
stringy kind of course.
A thick slice of
Mississippi mud pie.
A piece of dark chocolate
slightly bitter.
Dark bottom shoefly pie
made with black strap molasses.
The sense of taste can
heighten our sense of
imagination.
*shoefly pie is Pennsylvania Dutch type of pie made with molasses*
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.
"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.
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
Away with your joy, I don't want such a commodity.
For all I have lived, I've only known the dark,
The gloomy, bitter and the bad.
They all say they want to be happy,
They explain ecstasy, like explaining the taste of ambrosia
To a person who has never had the sense of taste
Just as the blind man can't think of colors nor miss the rainbow,
I am alien to your warmth, brightness
And sweetness and good
Don't bring me into your "paradise",
For it will be my hell.
A prison of spring, scents,
Flowers, sunrises and sunsets
Is repulsing enough.
For in my "hell" of darkness
Of emptiness and unexplained feelings
I am free, I dream of blank and it suffices me
Hot peppers and spicy horseradish
a gut-punch to the solar plexus
Snake venom with moldy cheese
not tonight, if you please...
Tadpole skins and locust larvae
strains my stomach of iron
But a bloody Mary eggnog combo
gags the esophagus of this Hawaiian
Wonder how I developed my bizarre sense of taste?
~ A flush of the toilet for whoever said, 'Haste makes waste'
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
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
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