Feel the air wide open
her arms crave carefree days
hips sway swivel left and right
electricity in momentum
a whirligig of laughter
she can feel the swoosh of her skirt
is she alone she can tell
the air’s scented their breaths hold
clues…her body listens quiets
at his approach they move
apart together
having learned to avoid
control her palms rise
and gyrate with the oxygenated current
she has no idea
how slender and graceful
her form appears in the wall mirror
petite soles arch
and she dares tippy toes
now her sisters
narrow the gap shadow
her agile movement
her eyes open or closed
matter only to her audience
her eyes are pretty they stare
into the past and the future
blinded by an unseen light
dancing dewy delight
Touch me, feel me as we slow dance,
With your hands, take me to a trance,
Concentrate on the soft music,
With our steps, let's create magic,
Listen, they are playing our song,
Absorb its warmth, come waltz along,
Can you sense my bubbling delight,
As we twirl together this night?
Let's enjoy our time on the floor,
Then later, we will come for more.
Shawls,
of dream,
clouds droll wink,
serene skim oe’r,
dark grey urban plinths,
that pierce glazed amber sky,
sonic bell toll’s eardrum plops,
impetus to stir first flush throng,
plumes of steam from gurgling pool billow,
a fickle fountain sprinkles high-pitch wail
What is a ripple
without its rhythm?
a ripple is an echo seen,
an echo is a ripple heard,
a scent is an echo breathed,
a taste is an echo swallowed,
a crease is an echo touched,
a shimmer is an echo lit,
a shadow is an echo left,
a tremor is an echo felt.
strings hum when plucked,
bells ring when struck,
silence quivers
to reveal its glimmers
want listens for faint echoes of memories
pulsing in the hollow spiral chamber
of an empty conch shell.
A trace of taste was not found.
Cancer took it away without a sound.
I wept and hid my fround.
Succulent had no say.
Perhaps it will someday.
Must be hard to live that way.
I have six senses that I worship with.
I feel spring’s sunshine and relish rain on my skin.
I hear her singing in the thrush’s throat.
The scent of lilacs l i n g e r s in sweet summer.
Fall floods me with my memories.
I view vibrant skies and winter’s wonder.
From God’s glory shown, I know lasting love
Monday was for me a day when I felt blue.
Tuesday was not much better, I would say.
Wednesday meant work for the week was half through.
Thursday saw the weekend coming. Hip hip Hooray.
Friday was when I’d collect my pay.
Saturday more fun – if the cash was not all spent.
Sunday I would go to church and hopefully repent.
An ember glow
candle smoke swirls
perfume in an empty room
warmth left in a chair.
A string still humming,
a bell trill trembling,
laughter down a hallway,
whispers of warmth in an ear.
An imprint in a pillow,
a crease in opened letter,
lipstick on a glass,
a fingerprint on a mirror.
Salt drying on skin,
dew drops caught in hair,
warmth left in an empty teacup,
an open hand cupping a wave.
An empty swing swaying
ripples ringing across a pond
grass stirring; the breeze gone,
a shadow slipping around a corner.
A hug still holding
eyes moving - eyelids closed
echoes of trembling voices
the silence can't swallow.
Scent without flower,
song without voice,
intense sense of feeling
that what's gone is here.
An ember,
an echo,
a glimmer,
a ripple
a gong—
Coming, going, staying,
leaving, lingering, wandering,
remaining on.
Nycthemeron of banquet and chat
Gala of songs, spree in a tit for tat
12 days of running water overmorrow
Floating trams and toys in yellow...
pearl pendant… pensive
its wearer senses breathing...
her heart's... stethoscope
When the flowers open petals in the spring time,
flittering fleet of butterflies makes luring lattice,
the blind doesn’t see the tapestry of heavenly beauty,
but dances with unsighted boundless joy
to the whispering rhythm of the fragrant air.
When people spin in a pattern on the dance floor,
lively with the psychedelic light show,
watch the steps measure the pace of salsa,
in the undefined space of the blind dancer
the invisible floor throbs beneath the intuitive feet,
feeling the concerto of illumined cadence,
as the rhythmic moves pulsate unseen
with each movement of grace made in darkness.
The blind dancer moves instinctively
maneuvered by the strings of sound like a puppet,
living the vibrato of the music with rhythmic reflex.
Following no shadows, watching no applauding crowd
for the sightless hearing transforms the visual prompts
into dance gestures, the real rendition
of the articulate feelings
flowing elegantly in the empty dark space.
It Tickles Me
By, Fawn P.
September 6th, 2026
Stars dance,
They touch and hold,
They feel, and grab,
They watch the koi fish swim,
The moon is my anchor,
As i swim in the deep,
It’s lights my only guide,
warm yet empty,
It’s grip strong yet, gentle,
Guiding my tail it propels me,
I turn to the wind,
I lean to the smell,
Dust and wax,
Tickle my nose and tongue,
When the songs are soft,
and the world is dimmed,
I lean to the world,
To guide my movements,
In dancing, as experienced by my eyes,
I see figures of beauty and of grace,
in steps, choreographed or improvised,
moving rhythmically through space;
but, as I see others, I become aware
that others may set eyes on me as well,
another circumstance, altogether,
as they see a homely man without hair,
not an Arthur Murray clientele,
and much heavier than a feather.
Yet, by replacing sight with other senses,
I find it was my eyes that did impede,
with self-conscious, self-constructed fences,
but now, my joyous spirit has been freed,
and I can connect, engage, and hear,
as my body, merges with the sound
of the rhythm and the melody,
and my feet, my heart, my soul, my ear,
lose themselves as I twirl madly round -
thankful that I can no longer see.
Five senses are given at the time of birth
and sight is one of them
But all work together when one is blind
to feel the sense of space-
And slowly learn to dance by other means
instead of eyes that steer
The ears can hear the music's rhythm well
transfer that joy to feet
As sense of sound and touch will intertwine
and bodies swing and sway.
A miracle our senses work that way.
I feel as if I could see — is it shock?
The wind from the flying skirts hit my face.
Music starts getting louder; the walls rock.
Within all the people, I feel my trace.
Warm skin on mine, every touch feels like fire.
I'm standing high, like the moon over the room.
My dancing legs calling my blind eyes liar.
People keep looking at me while I bloom.
I don't need to see as long as I feel.
Why even try to cry if there's no eye?
Bodies tickling, spinning around like wheels.
I know for sure tonight won't break the heel.
It's a feeling through moves that never stop.
If your eyesight goes, you'll still see a lot.
Senses Categories
Definition | What is Senses in Poetry?
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.
Related Poetry Forms
impression, taste, sensitivity, feel, touch, sensibility, function, sensation, hearing, sight, faculty, smell, kinesthesia, impression, atmosphere, feel, intelligence, insight, mind, imagination, wit, recognition, knowledge, sentiment, common sense, ability, mentality, wisdom, appreciation, understanding, judgment,