Onions, Cinquain

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Onions, Cinquain


delicious bulbs

diced in butter sizzle

homely aromatic delight —




  • 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



last longer

than cucumbers do



taste better

than cucumbers too

Leaving the Winter Woods

Leaving the Winter Woods


the winter woods

light strikes all the way through

still darkness, shadows in plain sight —

fox barks


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.

The Art of Surprise

Once upon a time (or more than “often”) a verse gives me fits. It lacks that punch I like to read.

“It needs some space?”

“Yes or no.”


“Not helpful.”

“Of course.”

“Substitute words, find a better, no, different arrangement.”

“Count out the stresses. Enough, in correct rhythm, then proceed.”

The poem is still unruly, distemperate, like a rolling train-wreck, murderous meter and parts are flying off.

Once more, polish a stone, not a poem, it needs to breathe, to exhale the words of poesy.

Forget the deeper personalized meaning(s), make it approachable to a reader who gardens her own angst, swims his own deep drama.

“Leave this part. That is good. Remove a bit, be gone.”

Sometimes insight is as dull as a mis-spelt word, use that cherished gift.

The eureka comes through the mayhem, a beneficence of persistence, from some unknown place with no legible road markers.

Now, this poem sings, it sits up up and purrs, strong as coiled steel, sparse, smooth as chocolate mousse.

The wheedling, work, and worry turned out a pretty-good poem. How it really happened is to my surprise, unknown—although intimate with the scribbled page how can he, she, we, they truly be sure. Poets and I, I mean.

And that is fair and fine enough.

c. Lemuel

22 July 2018

Athene, a Supplication


Athene, a Supplication


O Muse and Mentor gray-eyed Athene, rest close, aid me

Spin words, weave poesy, clothe naked pages Lithe Spirit.

Wise Counsel mark the course, guide my soul;

Passion and reason singing meter and rhyme,

Bless, give ear to my request a homely verse

Draped in clever wit, even a humble poem writ.

O, men may praise, all deduce and guess

The hand of favored Zeus cum Advisor lent

Grace and power to this poor mortal’s graffiti.

Aeolian wind descant over-scored pilgrim’s chant

As on sacred path one trods heart enlightened;

Suffrage even words these be brevity’s intent.

Fill devoted breviary hymns sole claimant Yours

Faithful my lais adore and at your feet fair Wisdom

Wreaths, olive garlands lay, cunning circlet shaped.

Verily, give ear to this base entreaty mine

Merrily, lend such gentle scent, your grace divine.


© Lemuel

05 May 2018

Daily Prompt


Scene Change


Scene Change


Obligatory social gatherings, work colleagues,

over rated, really abysmal.

He watched her with the intent gaze of a hair stylist.

She touched the sleeve of her dress–

Distress code for, “Let’s leave.”

He winked and touched the bridge of his nose–

Reply: “I know.”

An hour later they spooned, old clothes luxury,

popcorn munching, old movie watching,

date night belated, ethereal.


© Lemuel

01 May 2018

Daily prompt