Winter moon cinquains

Ingrid @Experimentsinfc is on a short form poetry binge over on twitter. Join in. It’s fun. Here are a few cinquains I’ve posted.

This day
of rain and wind
closes at noon, bruised cloud
swells, a rain-tossed sea, where kestrels

Moon night
soars the bright rim
bathed in rainglow, puddled
light roaring through grassy ditches,

Moon slides
mountain cloud slopes,
snow bright with silver light
and steely shafts of rain spears where
waves wash.


Florescence sequence: Day night sleep

For Colleen’s weekly prompt, a syllable-counting poem of my invention. This is a sequence of three Florescence poems, three lines of six, six and nine syllables respectively, with a rhyme on the sixth, twelfth and eighteenth syllables.



Beneath the bird’s egg blue
of sky by rain washed new
and clothed in heaven’s hue, all seems clear,

though in the darkest night
the brashest city light
casts shadow black and white—monochrome.

Yet take my hand, we’ll run
till days and nights are done
swept up into the sun, there to sleep.

Sevenlings: chicory among other things

cool meadow2

Morning warbles

beneath soft grey clouds

gentle as pigeons.


Morning oriole whistles

she squawks back

domestic banter.


Cool morning bustles before sky-gong sounds brazen-hot.


cool meadow1

The camera is not a pair of eyes

one eye perhaps and selective

it sees a single plane not the depth


I see a froth of white lace on a green sea

pools of sunlight in the troughs between waves

reflections of sky through broken cloud


becalmed in a child’s caught breath of wonderment.


cool meadow3

Distant chaffinches converse,

a buzzard wails, ignored,

wood pigeons flutter-call among the leaves,


all soft and low,

a murmur, flowing background, like streamwater,

a moving hush, all listening­—


a warbler is singing.

chicory field


Bluer than blue eyes

scraps of sky perhaps

morning chicory before the sun


Waiting for the heat

watching the sky

but then the blue will fade and close


Time flows a river each moment perfect.

chicory queen anne's lace

From dusk to morning


Deer are barking

across the setting sun

a world apart


through the long grass

snake glides

climbs the fig tree biblically

taking the slender boughway

over the hedge top


in the path

yellow feathers strewn

midnight feast


oriole flutes an elegy

for lost kindred

in the gold of morning


small corpses


laid by the path

an offering to the night fox

are gone by morning




in the dry heat

among smooth shiny things

the sun picks out beacons

sometimes diamonds

sometimes a hay stalk


sometimes a hay stalk

shiny smooth

drying in the heat

flashes like a diamond beacon

because the sun


because the sun

a broken stalk of fescue

shiny smooth

flashes diamond bright




in the dry heat

diamonds shine

smooth as hay stalks

caught by the sun


caught by the sun


we see hay stalks

where there are only diamonds


Gogyohka for a midsummer pause

west raked

Hay lies waiting

beneath the sun beating

and an oriole is fluting

his endless questions

that have no answer


bees swarm loud

in the hot silence

heavy as honey

sweet as syrup

and the brazen blue throbs


with a brazen beat

cicada hiss sssss

among limp leaves

while water runs slower

dying and drying as its bed shrinks


spring is life in movement

floods and rising green shoots

now we hold hot breath

thinking of the crisping of leaves

and the first cold shadows.

Haiku for the longest day

For Frank Tassone’s summer solstice prompt.

before mowing

the longest day

a day for mowing cutting

the year in half


all the golden stalks

the meadow

a battlefield


the gyre narrows

hawk objective probes beneath

the fallen grass


how did they know

before the engine’s rattle

that death was coming?


feather swarm glides

in untouching pattern

through the blue