Category: Cinquain

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The sun
made a visit,
tasting the trees' branches,
encouraging the budding leaves...
then left.

– a cinquain.

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Dead mouse.
Caught in a trap.
It had been seeking food.
So it came in the scary house.
Bad move.

– a cinquain.

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"Shorty"
came in the store.
He was hard up for cash,
wanted to sell his liquor flask.
Oh well.

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
fragments
all distorted
reassemble themselves
form a semiotic collage
of dreams

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
The bear,
disconsolate,
sat staring at the world.
Sadly, it was made of fabric.
"For sale."

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
Last night
it snowed again.
I guess that winter's mood
was maybe a bit nostalgic:
unsprung.

– a cinquain.

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The tide
left us behind,
and showed the rocky shore.
But mere hours later it brought back
some ducks.

– a cinquain.

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Raven
had things to say,
added commentaries...
it seemed to be a monologue:
alone.

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
I sat
in a small cafe
found unexpectedly
while the car was getting repaired.
Small town.

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
They said
they'd all meet up,
discuss their summer plans,
and sing about their children, too - 
those birds.

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
I thought:
just don't forget,
all those dreams from last night.
But by the time I sat for breakfast,
they'd fled.

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
a store
in a small town
that sells random tchotchkes
does custom matting and framing
i'm there

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
They saw
that the weather
was indeterminate:
just some bits of possible things.
Random.

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
Walking.
Going up stairs.
And then down them again.
Keeping up with various chores.
Time flies.

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
In dreams
I'm more confused
than even in real life;
I wander frustrated, aimless.
No goals.

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
The roads
lead to nowhere;
they aren't even real.
The navigator surrenders.
They're lost.

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
some bug
a mosquito
there outside the window
zooming around over the snow
"where's spring?"

– a cinquain.

#Poetry #Cinquain

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I dreamed:
My treehouse broke.
It hung, tilting, askew.
My friends visited and showed fear.
I wept.

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
Begin.
Read the words shown.
React with your own thoughts.
Decide if it's something worthwhile.
Then stop.

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
The stones
were there, below,
surviving the spring snow,
awaiting rain's cool redemption,
patient.

– a cinquain.

#Poetry #Cinquain

ㅁ
"Say what?"
He asked, confused.
"Last night, we got some snow.
The past tense of 'grow' is 'grew', so...
it snew."

– a cinquain.

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To start:
ice on the road.
Add: rain, snow, rain... warming.
Result: a slippery slushfest...
fun drive.

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
Sometimes
I have some words
to post on this here blog.
Other times there are no good words,
just text.

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
The road
bore the sun's touch
resentfully, giving
a cold shoulder to time itself,
like stars.

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
Daylight
shall now be saved,
'cause an hour saved each day
really adds up through the summer.
Useful!

– a cinquain.

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Absent,
those long, dim months,
the sun cleared the mountain,
at last casting shadows on snow,
returned.

– a cinquain.

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No words.
Just the cold wind,
harassing my wind chime,
and the whirrs of a heated home.
Awake.

– a cinquain.

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Outside:
the crusty snow,
punctuated by holes
made by chunks wind-blown off the trees,
like quilts.

– a cinquain.

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Last night
the moon was full:
full of indifference,
fulsome and glowing brightly, too,
full stop.

– a cinquain.

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Each thing,
impossible,
until it's possible,
then you have to give it a try.
Gumption.

– a cinquain.

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The world
that's not yet made,
unfurls with careful lines,
captures the imagination,
takes form.

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
i sit
watching snow fall
yesterday it was rain
the day before, it had been snow
same same

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
snow blobs
stuck to the trees
embracing all the stones
coating the road aggressively
cold curves

– a cinquain.