even
the tree tops
are weary of
summer, turning before
the frost
~kat
A cinqku must always have 5 lines and a perfect seventeen-syllable count. The lines typically follow a 2,3,4,6,2 format. There is no title requirement on the second line. As for syntax and diction styles, it follows the free Tanka style originally. There are no metric requirements for a cinqku poem. Additionally, the final line must contain a cinquain or kireji turn for emphasis.
I hear
faint whispers
the breeze singing
is it the trees, or me
dreaming?
~kat
A cinqku must always have 5 lines and a perfect seventeen-syllable count. The lines typically follow a 2,3,4,6,2 format. There is no title requirement on the second line. As for syntax and diction styles, it follows the free Tanka style originally. There are no metric requirements for a cinqku poem. Additionally, the final line must contain a cinquain or kireji turn for emphasis.
surrendering
in the belly of
grace I fall
I long to drink
deep of its
softness
to celebrate
the blink of
beautiful
~kat
A Blackout Poem inspired by the poem by Dante Micheaux below:
The Second Beautiful Harvest
By Dante Micheaux
I wake in the golden belly of this abode
and sense some diurnal grace at work.
I take my body to the fall, to bathe
and anoint my genitals with shea.
I have made my journey to the cold hills
to commune with my people there.
I come for the second beautiful harvest
and have waited long to look into its eye.
The harvest hosts libations, the meal
and my desire—so I drink the deep
heady liquid of its languid stare, under
the hum of many voices: burgeoning
friendships and reunion in the low light.
I break into the soft weirdness of injera
and dip my fingers into the meat stew,
to celebrate the glory of the kings.
The clear splendor of the serving boy,
his slow blink as of a camel, does not
distract me—here to reap but seduced
by the second beautiful harvest.
Copyright © 2019 by Dante Micheaux. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on August 14, 2019, by the Academy of American Poets.
The news has been giddy with “who done it, was it homicide or suicide, how could they let this happen, whose gonna pay now” drivel. All over a vile pediphile’s untimely demise. But I’m still stuck. A little over a week ago, back to school shoppers were gunned down at a Walmart. Just a few days later, other children came home from their first day of school to find their parents missing. And still at our border there are no doubt children wasting away in cages because their parents had the audacity to seek safety for them. What parent wouldn’t do the same for their own children, faced with the threat of death or worse? I’ve been stewing on this Oviellejo for days. I had planned to write about the beautiful sunrise. It was beautiful. But somewhere someone is suffering, and my heart is bleeding. We can’t forget the children. We just can’t.
when children lose their innocence
no recompense
can make up for the damage wrought
it’s a dark spot
that festers slowly over time
it is a crime
ignoring it for a lifetime
can lead to callous, broken souls
no hope of ever being whole
no recompense, it’s a dark spot, it is a crime
~kat
The Oviellejo is an Old Spanish verse form (derived from ovillo, a ball of yarn). A stanza consists of 10 lines, with a rhyme scheme of AABBCCCDDC. The second line of each rhyme scheme, Line 2,4,6, is short line of up to 5 syllables. The last line is a “redondilla,” a “little round” that collects all three of the short lines.
Well…I am stoked! Mama is in da house y’all! Finally, I can breathe! They’re calling me the Cat Whisperer this morning! Haha! Have a great weekend!
like mercury colliding... 