ㅁ They said they'd all meet up, discuss their summer plans, and sing about their children, too - those birds.
– a cinquain.
Category: My Poetry & Fiction
Caveat: Poem #2438 “Abandoned plans”
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.
Caveat: Poem #2437 “A present now past”
ㅁ a store in a small town that sells random tchotchkes does custom matting and framing i'm there
– a cinquain.
Caveat: Poem #2436 “Schrödinger’s cloud”
ㅁ They saw that the weather was indeterminate: just some bits of possible things. Random.
– a cinquain.
Caveat: Poem #2435 “A morning in early Spring”
ㅁ Sometime in early April I woke, to see snow falling steadily. I went downstairs as I do, to get coffee, oatmeal. By the time I sat again upstairs, the snow changed into rain.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2434 “A database of dreams”
ㅁ I dreamed I was organizing dreams: the dreams marked with categories, and put in a database, which I'd built with scrap wood. Some dreams had odd shapes: they didn't fit. I turned them: left, right... there.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2433 “Difficult friendships”
ㅁ I had an imaginary friend: the square root of negative one. This weird friend would just show up, but then act so strangely: really just unreal. I couldn't act: in stasis, I hung, mute.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2432 “Abandoned possessions”
ㅁ Winter left its things lying around our driveway: odd bits of old snow.
– a pseudo-haiku.
Caveat: Poem #2431 “Uncoerced confessions”
ㅁ I thought I'd better come clean with this: I am a large language model. But don't doubt it: you're one too. We're all language models. Except for the dog. The dog's not one. No words there: just thoughts. Stuff.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2430 “Instructions for each night”
ㅁ Sleep. Then dream. See those things. Suffer your doubts. Ask why this happens. Fail over and over. Repeat the same useless words. Meet strangers who you once knew well. Experience your own senescence.
– a reverse nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2429 “Unwarranted optimism”
ㅁ I went out to the greenhouse to work. There were still piles of snow around, but they had all been melting. I dealt with some trash first. Then I turned some dirt. It was quite dry. Sprayed water, put seeds, "Grow."
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2428 “The beaten path”
ㅁ Walking. Going up stairs. And then down them again. Keeping up with various chores. Time flies.
– a cinquain.
Caveat: Poem #2427 “The shadow self”
ㅁ In dreams I'm more confused than even in real life; I wander frustrated, aimless. No goals.
– a cinquain.
Caveat: Poem #2426 “Wayfinding in an imaginary landscape”
ㅁ The roads lead to nowhere; they aren't even real. The navigator surrenders. They're lost.
– a cinquain.
Caveat: Poem #2425 “Misplaced optimism”
ㅁ some bug a mosquito there outside the window zooming around over the snow "where's spring?"
– a cinquain.
#Poetry #Cinquain
Poem #2424 “A casual visitor”
ㅁ The sun visited a few hours the other day, was noncommital.
– a pseudo-haiku.
Caveat: Poem #2423 “The job”
ㅁ I thought I'd try out a new career as a disembodied being; the job can involve drifting through the lives of others without much contact just brief moments mostly dull, watching folks
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2422 “Seventieth stanza”
ㅁ Kiamon knew that she'd face things alone, setting her jaw, with her face made of stone. Fragments of snow still polluted the town, winter still ruled and the trees were still brown.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
Caveat: Poem #2421 “On the functional limits of water tanks”
ㅁ The water tank had a simple job. That was to hold water for us. But that job entailed good pipes. See? Pipes that didn't leak. Instead, a pipe leaked. It sprayed water. The sea drank. The tank... drained.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2420 “A failure in the imagination”
ㅁ I dreamed: My treehouse broke. It hung, tilting, askew. My friends visited and showed fear. I wept.
– a cinquain.
Caveat: Poem #2419 “Text-based media consumption”
ㅁ Begin. Read the words shown. React with your own thoughts. Decide if it's something worthwhile. Then stop.
– a cinquain.
Caveat: Poem #2418 “A geologic eschatology”
ㅁ The stones were there, below, surviving the spring snow, awaiting rain's cool redemption, patient.
– a cinquain.
#Poetry #Cinquain
Caveat: Poem #2417 “Recreational ablaut”
ㅁ "Say what?" He asked, confused. "Last night, we got some snow. The past tense of 'grow' is 'grew', so... it snew."
– a cinquain.
Caveat: Poem #2416 “A country drive in springtime”
ㅁ To start: ice on the road. Add: rain, snow, rain... warming. Result: a slippery slushfest... fun drive.
– a cinquain.
Caveat: Poem #2415 “On the origin of this text”
ㅁ Sometimes I have some words to post on this here blog. Other times there are no good words, just text.
– a cinquain.
Caveat: Poem #2414 “A lack of influence”
ㅁ The road bore the sun's touch resentfully, giving a cold shoulder to time itself, like stars.
– a cinquain.
Caveat: Poem #2413 “Um, no, it doesn’t actually work like that”
ㅁ Daylight shall now be saved, 'cause an hour saved each day really adds up through the summer. Useful!
– a cinquain.
Caveat: Poem #2412 “A center of historical discourse”
ㅁ People come in the store on impulse, to battle their vague loneliness, seeing what is new in stock, full of expectations. They browse, but talk more, telling stories, recalling, island life.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2411 “Cyclic action”
ㅁ Absent, those long, dim months, the sun cleared the mountain, at last casting shadows on snow, returned.
– a cinquain.
Caveat: Poem #2410 “Not quite a silence”
ㅁ No words. Just the cold wind, harassing my wind chime, and the whirrs of a heated home. Awake.
– a cinquain.
Caveat: Poem #2409 “Along the road”
ㅁ Outside: the crusty snow, punctuated by holes made by chunks wind-blown off the trees, like quilts.
– a cinquain.
Caveat: Poem #2408 “Fullness”
ㅁ Last night the moon was full: full of indifference, fulsome and glowing brightly, too, full stop.
– a cinquain.
Caveat: Poem #2407 “Heavy, cold”
ㅁ The clouds, they drifted off to sea: a tactical retreat. The moon, she shone; the snow was white; the air cold, like concrete.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.