Onions, Cinquain

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Onions, Cinquain

onions

delicious bulbs

diced in butter sizzle

homely aromatic delight —

potluck

30-11-20

Cinquain

  • a form of five line poetry
  • first line (L1) & L5 are 2 syllables
  • L2 is 4 syllables
  • L3 is 6 syllables
  • L4 is 8 syllables

Obscured Moon, hay(na)ku

Obscured Moon, hay(na)ku

eclipses —

light tricks

and the moon

© ’20

Notes Hay(na)ku

  • A poetic form created in 2003 by poet Eileen Tabios
  • Is a 3-line poem with one word in the first line, two words in the second, and three in the third
  • Rhyme is optional but rare
  • Multiple hay(na)ku that make a longer poem are fine
  • Also poets linking is easy and a fun activity

Examples

pickles

last longer

than cucumbers do

——-

pickles

taste better

than cucumbers too

Leaving the Winter Woods

Leaving the Winter Woods

leaving

the winter woods

light strikes all the way through

still darkness, shadows in plain sight —

fox barks

Cinquain

I copied Adelaide Crapsey, a twentieth-century poet, who wrote cinquain with 22 syllables in five lines as a 2, 4, 6, 8, and 2 pattern. 

Her poems feel similar to Japanese tanka, another five-line form, and share a designed focus on imagery and the natural world.

Brittle Oblige

The ordinary room clear rigid

that broken glass, you said,

that broken glass on the floor.

Familiar as more glass in disarray

slight fear un-guilty moving

away from that spot on the floor

avoid danger, clear out—be shy

noblesse oblige broom and pan

glass room rigid un-tidy danger.

That broken glass on the floor,

turn a page of the magazine.

Familiar even, leave the floor

remedy apparent transparent—

you said, broken on the floor, again

again, glass shines, danger, even

warns this floor spot, broom and

pan oblige, un-said moving away

broken glass spot shy noblesse.

Going Cosmic

In my turn, the time, that has no hold on me–

Perhaps I should hang out in a nice recycled clear glass bottle; beside a tree; close to a little brook with riffles; that has a long view of a verdant valley.

My inkwell is clear so I could mingle with ink; be part of a love poem; a last will and testament; official nuptial document; or child’s first practice with a pen.

I see the image shared that at once; I shall never see yet remember then when coldness shall come; aware I am transformed cosmic though I do not recollect a womb-life; as yet I cannot conceive life ongoing then that very thought aspiring is the root of all hope and exploring.

–so go I direction and destination unknown my hand upon the rudder.

c. Lemuel

03 June 2018

Thank you “poetryfromtheinkwell”

End of the Day

End of day

slack time

sun goes down

next cuppa coffee

comes round.

Chores all done

loosen tired sinews

tell a Whopper

get ready

to bed down.

Do it all

again tomorrow

for little pay

and a solid roof

at end of the day

buy that’s something, ain’t it.

c. Lemuel

03 June 2018