There are at least five senses usually recognised for humans. They are the ability to see, hear, smell, touch and taste. Some people may add in another sense, extrasensory perception, which relates to things sensed through the mind, rather than the body. For this exercise, we will refer to as many of these senses as we can, in one poem.
The actual theme of the poem is free choice, but make sure it’s something suitable for the exercise. Think about life, where you are right now, with things to taste – food and beverages, on a main street with cars to hear as they drive by. Where are you seated, and what and where? On a steady and solid chair, at an also solid table, with paper, pens and other things to pick up and feel. Or somewhere else?
Or you may remember your latest visit to a garden, your own or someone else’s. With the wind, the sky, trees and creatures – birds, insects, flys, bees, flowers … Smell the flowers, feel the breeze, is there any heat form the sunshine, how does if feel?
Or you may like to remember something from your past, a special place you’ve visited, for instance. Remember back to that time, and recall it through memories of how your senses perceived it … I’m thinking about my many visits to the Torrens River from when I was a school kind. I’ve never written about that, even though it was an important part of my growing up.
This poem of mine takes in some of these thoughts:
Making Sense of Life
Wind plays with the chimes
And willie wagtail joins in
Cheeping and chirping in tune
Wind through pine trees
gives a constant droning backdrop
And sparrows join in too,
repetitive chirps, constant reminder,
they’re here as well.
The occasional car is a different sound
Intrusive but infrequent
As are billowing clouds of dust
That threaten me as I sit here
On our front veranda
Senses switched on and tuned in
Experiencing everything.
The wind in my hair tickles and taunts
Blowing across my face
And into my eyes, nose and mouth
Reminding me of its length
As I think of times long gone
When my hair was a glorious
Childhood Cloak of honour,
Thick and golden honey-red.
Now my hair is falling out,
Boring brown hairs disappearing
As the wind catches loose strands
And takes them out of sight,
But not out of mind.
Memory and mirror
Hold truths for me,
Separate but connected.
The past still remains
But life changes it, prunes away
Even as it adds.
Memories take on different meanings,
Insights reveal adult truths
Or child-like ones, showing truth
In a new and textured way,
Where meaning has many ways of being,
And all can be true. Or none.
So that’s what we’re doing, get thinking, and then get writing!
Carolyn Cordon - Creative 