Category: Cinquain

ㅁ
the trees
made a bargain
with the chthonic powers:
you'll feed us well, and then later,
we'll die

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
Some plants
which put up sprouts
in the greenhouse's dirt
have remained unidentified.
Some weeds?

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
city:
full of nouns, verbs...
all parts of speech deployed
for some discursive purposes;
made real.

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
Raven
spiralled downward
surveying the parked cars
and chose a black truck to land on,
content.

– a cinquain.

#Poetry #Cinquain

ㅁ
The sun,
in the morning,
gave way to clouds, later,
which then switched to spitting strong wind,
and rain.

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
This guy
with a machine
came along our dirt road
and hacked down many shrubs and trees.
Un-treed.

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
The mouse
in the greenhouse
dug up my planted seeds.
Annoyed, I put a trap in there.
Sad mouse.

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
"It's dead - 
no customers,"
I told my coworker.
She felt bad for me, so she bought
something.

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
Formless
thoughts drift like clouds,
congeal into phrases,
and then appear on blank screens.
Easy.

– a cinquain.

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

– a cinquain.

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

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
"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.

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

– a cinquain.

ㅁ
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

ㅁ
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.

ㅁ
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.