Open Your Senses to This Place We Call Home
A septet free verse poem that embraces our five senses
Open your eyes and look around,
if we could only look and see,
the wonderful world in which we live.
The grandeur of the mountains,
green valleys where we can roam,
what a beautiful place where we live,
this place that we call home.
<------>
Listen to the sounds of nature,
the many songs birds sing,
the whistling of the wildest wind,
the sound of crashing rain,
silence in the darkest night,
the gentle lapping of sea waves,
this place that we call home.
<------>
Can you smell the newborn day,
the sweetness after heavy rain?
In contrast to the burning smell
from the heat of a summer’s day.
The scent the ocean brings to bear,
that sets your nostrils alight,
this place that we call home.
<------>
Have you touched a newborn child,
a little kitten or a puppy?
Have you felt the sand run through your hand?
Felt the warmth of an open fire,
the coolness of a babbling stream,
on the hottest of all days?
In this place that we call home.
<------>
There is nothing like the taste of rain,
so pure and so clean,
in contrast to the salty spray,
whipped up by oceans-deep.
Open up all your senses,
sight, hearing, smell, touch and taste,
in this place that we call home.
<------>
Till next time, thank you for reading my poem,
Calvin
About the Creator
Calvin London
I write fiction, non-fiction and poetry about all things weird and wonderful, past and present. Life is full of different things to spark your imagination. All you have to do is embrace it - join me on my journey.
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A Little Bit Of God
January 2026 I thought I’d spend the night in neon lights on grainy film but my brother is telling me how an eternity of hell is caused by prevalent peace, and who am I to disrupt such a thing? So I found myself in the same skin with the same sights, wondering whether or not I am one of those– do I feel peace? Do I expect more when it is gone? It being everything. We’re running out of time but the car is belching up something strange and we’ve got God in between our eyes nodding along to every apology and plea spoken for our friends and loved ones– they don’t know any better, they’ll come around eventually. He’s telling me about barbed wire guides around lives and ties and wives and lies and, look, the snow is starting to fall so I guess we better hang up soon. But it’s been too long. We’re building fields of skills and realms of distrust and these moments are only seen now, can no longer be read as words, only swept with eyes upon oil pastels or smudged charcoal. It’s a painting of an evening, like Daniel’s soles in Edgar Degas’ mind, but if anything is just it’s the lack of unrest in skin like His and lives like this– okay, so maybe five hours on the phone is a lot if you have a job and you’re trying to cook dinner, but only one of us falls into that gorge and only one of us believes in what lies beneath it. My brother tells me things that sit in my spirit like half an ounce of prospect and a squeeze of bourn, how he tells God to let me in: despite my sins, despite all the moons in between these calls, despite the burning in both of our throats. I do feel peace here. I also feel that my peace is a subpar window job, a pinky’s strength avoiding blizzards inside the bedsheets. I’d like to spend more nights like this, with contrasting disaster living between a speakerphone, and God finding some space in between.
By Olivia Dodgea day ago in Poets
Comments (3)
This is beautiful and makes you think about the wonders of living
Oh, I love the format to this, you painted such beautiful words.
Inspirational, oh, but not another poetry form. Thanks for the introduction to the Septet, first time meeting it.