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Category Archives: Cinquain

Five Cinquains

I wasn’t going to join in on Poetry Friday today, then went to Linda’s roundup, found her post on Adelaide Crapsey and the cinquain form, and decided to put something up after all.

The cinquain is one of the short forms I’ve written in when composing poems in response to the daily photography prompts I’ve been following. Here are five (in honor of the cinquain’s five lines) that I’ve written in the past few months. They’ll take you back to spring and onward. (Title is the photo prompt word or phrase.)

Fresh

Fresh

Policeman’s helmet (Photo © 2017 by V. Nesdoly)

just washed
smell of laundry
policeman’s helmet grows
riotously beside the stream
fresh pink

Group

Group

McBurney Lane art piece (Photo © 2017 by V. Nesdoly)

Teamwork
Community
Get involved, Lend a hand
Support, Help out, Volunteer, Care
Give back.

A helping hand

HelpingHand

My viewing deck on eclipse morning (Photo © 2017 by V.Nesdoly)

Eclipse—
protect my eyes:
box, tin foil, white paper
pinhole camera in my hand.
Viewed safe.

Fencing

Fencing

Bug on a fence (Photo © 2017 by V. Nesdoly)

After
stone-bottom burrow
this sleek white thoroughfare
is a bug’s sci-fi fantasy
new world!

Silver

Silver

Street vendor sugar bowl (Photo © 2017 by V. Nesdoly)

Silver
imperfections
can’t hide your sweet intent
like grey hair, wrinkled face of our
Granny

All the above © 2017 by Violet Nesdoly (All rights reserved)
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poetryfridayThis post is linked to Poetry Friday, hosted today by Linda at Teacher Dance.

 

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Tax Time (NPM ’16-Day 22)

tax-consultant-1050826_640

Tax Time

Number crunches
reconciliations…
what I need when I must do my
taxes.

Quicken
holds my numbers
generates report for
neighbourhood accountant—tax time
good friend.

Boxes
all filled in right?
Have faith in tax person.
Rebate in bank account proves we’re
all done!

© 2016 by Violet Nesdoly (All rights reserved)

Photo: Pixabay.com

 
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Posted by on April 22, 2016 in Cinquain, Form poems, Personal

 

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Mother Speaks (NPM ’16-Day 19)

Mother Speaks

Do not
throw it away,
we’ll use it for patches.
We can always eat bread—and eggs.
Na-yo.*

Are you
reading again?
Still not done the dishes?
You could always weed the garden.
Homework?

Early.
So much to do.
I’ll be in the garden.
Don’t be listening on the line.
Felt pens!

Can you
make some supper?
First you work, then you play.
We’ll have a picnic—I’ll make it
special.

© 2016 by Violet Nesdoly (All rights reserved)

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Yesterday’s prompt at NaPoWriMo was to:

“… write a poem that incorporates ‘the sound of home.’ Think back to your childhood, and the figures of speech and particular ways of talking that the people around you used, and which you may not hear anymore.”

I read the prompt in the morning and dismissed it. But then as I was making dinner last night, all these sayings that my mother had started coming back to me.

My mom was an amazing woman. As a mother of many children, she worked hard and expected me, as the eldest, to do my share. Mostly I was a pretty compliant kid, though I did choose inside jobs where I was routinely distracted by whatever was happening in the book I was reading at the time. I chose a counted syllable cinquain form to give the poem some ‘bones.’

*Na-yo is Low German expression that communicates a resigned “well yes.”

 
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Posted by on April 19, 2016 in Cinquain, Form poems, Personal

 

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Doodling Supper (NPM ’16-Day 10)

I love how Robert Brewer describes a “doodle poem” in his April 8th prompt:

“So for a poem, I’m thinking this could start off as something small that stays small or builds to epic proportions.”

On reading this prompt, almost at once I thought of cooking a meal. It may start leisurely enough but inevitably builds to that crucial moment when all the cold and cooked dishes must find their way to the table at the peak of their crisp, or piping hot goodness. And then, of course, it all ends with the call.

A counted-word cinquain seemed a good vehicle to deliver a doodle poem.

kitchen-327985_640

Photo: pixabay.com

Doodling Supper

Mix beef
eggs, oatmeal. Peel potatoes.
While meatloaf bakes, tear lettuce, toss
radishes, cucumbers, tomatoes. Set table. Done? Cut. Mash.
Supper’s on!

© 2016 by Violet Nesdoly (All rights reserved)

 

 
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Posted by on April 10, 2016 in Cinquain

 

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Spring journal

Spring has sprung and every day something new pops!  My camera has been busy. I take photos on our morning walks and often write briefly about what I’ve seen later as a sort of nature diary. Today, three recent entries…

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Forsythia – Photo © 2016 by V. Nesdoly

P1050510

Hyacinths – Photo © 2016 by V. Nesdoly

Winter / Spring

Winter’s grudge farewell
via two-faced Rain
(under grey nourishes change)

Spring’s hallelujah
Forsythia bursts golden
Hyacinths sweeten the air.

–  (Sedoka) March 9, 2016

P1050502

Fallen trees after a recent wind storm – Photo © 2016 by V. Nesdoly

P1050504

Catkins – Photo © 2016 by V. Nesdoly

March gales do Spring’s inspections.
Not all that blooms is assured a future.
Catkin-laden branches
perish in their prime.

–  March 15, 2016

P1050514

Clematis armandi – or Evergreen Clematis – Photo © 2016 by V. Nesdoly

White blooms
cover arbor
Clematis armandii
Spring’s preposterous happiness–
her star!

– (Cinquain) March 15, 2016

(Thanks to gardener Robin, my niece who helped me identify this one)
(Poems © 2016 by Violet Nesdoly – All rights reserved).

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Poetry Friday LogoThis post is linked to Poetry Friday where Robyn Hood Black is our host today. Drop by Robyn’s blog  Life at the Deckle Edge for links to this Friday’s roundup of poems for the young and young at heart.

 
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Posted by on March 18, 2016 in Cinquain, Nature, Poetry Friday

 

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Full Moon Almanac

Full Moon Almanac

Wolf Moon
lights snow-blue fields
embossed with paw print trails
to where January ghosts howl
Ice Moon

Snow Moon
February’s
bluster winds heap white dunes
We’ve stocked the cupboard full against
Storm Moon

Worm Moon
March’s wiggly
trails of melt, then Crust Moon
Spring so white and pure we call her
Chaste Moon

Pink Moon
wild flowers bloom
as April birds return
to build twig nest, lay a sky blue
Egg Moon

Flower
Moon of May
Bunnies hop in Hare Moon
Farmers dream Planting Corn Moon and
Milk Moon

Rose Moon
Strawberry Moon
of June when hard green fruits
soften, blush under sun’s rays, night’s
Hot Moon

Buck Moon
July’s the time
to hunt, replenish stores
then sleep secure through Thunder Moon
Hay Moon

Red Moon
August’s smoky
skies color Sturgeon Moon
while green Corn Moon sprouts, promises
Grain Moon

Harvest
Moon, September
lights nights of bringing in
oats and wheat under Barley Moon
Corn Moon

Hunter’s
Moon, roam under
October’s Travelers
Moon, stalk prey in frosty Dying
Grass Moon

Beaver
Moon, the busy
rodents mend their dams in
icy blue November’s grip of
Frost Moon

Cold Moon
lights Christmas paths
December’s carollers
so bright you could forget it’s Long
Night Moon

Blue Moon
rare-month moon
when full moons multiply
their charm, mystery, magnetism
My Moon

– Violet Nesdoly

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The November 2nd Poem-A-Day prompt was to write a full moon poem. I know there’s a lot of interesting lore about moons—full moons in particular. So I went hunting for some before I wrote my poem. My favorite find was a wonderful National Geographic article called “Full Moon: What’s in a Name?” It listed names the full moon has been called in lore and history through the months of the year, and gave the genesis of many of these names.

I wrote the poem in cinquain form (a 2-4-6-8-2 syllable cinquain) to keep myself reined in and the poem compact—seeing as how it would go on for 13 stanzas in any case.

This poem is submitted to Poetry Friday, hosted today by kidlit maven Anastasia Suen at Book Talking.

 
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Posted by on November 15, 2012 in Cinquain, History, Nature, Poetry Friday

 

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Beach day

Crescent Beach - Surrey, B.C. Canada

Beach day

Sand-warmed
intimate air
drifts sunscreen, hot dogs, kelp
sun-mellowed, anticipating
fireworks

-Violet Nesdoly
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I love, love, love summer! Happy summer mornings, afternoons, and evenings to all who read here.

This poem is linked to Poetry Friday, hosted this week by Tabatha at The Opposite of Indifference.

 
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Posted by on July 5, 2012 in Cinquain, People, Poetry Friday