Alankar(Decor) -80
Crapsey Cinquain-
a stand-alone poem, a complete poem in 5 lines. It can be written in a chain, but each cinquain should be able to stand alone.
syllabic lines in a pattern of 2-4-6-8-2 syllable per line
1 Stars
They do
Whole night their job
Perhaps looking from up
Down on earth's nightly danseuses
Winkling
2 Star
He does
Whole life his deeds
Sincere, honest, loyal
Rewarded finally on top
Wondered
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Alankar(Decor) -86
Growth(Cinquino)
Cinquino is
a form that reverses the syllable count of the Crapsey Cinquain.
a poem in 5 lines.
syllabic,2-8-6-4-2 syllables per line.
unrhymed
Growth
Happy
L ittle blooms playing on the street
Happy thoughts turn sombre
Boozy big blooms
Sporting
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Alankar(Decor) -84
Salt-(Cinquo)
The Cinquo is a half Crapsey Cinquain.
The Cinquo is:
a poem in 5 lines.
syllabic,1-2-3-4-1 syllables per line.
unrhymed.
Salt
To taste
Eat or spit
Life's bittersweet
Ought
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Alankar(Decor) -83
Late Night Lunacy(Mirror Cinquain)
The Mirror Cinquain is:
(10 line poem)
syllabic,2-4-6-8-2-2-8-6-4-2 syllables per line.
unrhymed
Late night
The door is knocked
She opens to find him
His grin stinks sleepish to harass
Routine
Her life
Shared and unshared amid heart burns
He writes on black in white
'I love my wife'
Does she?
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Alankar(Decor) -78
Day And Night(Cinquain)
cinquain-Any poem or stanza in 5 lines.
Any rhyme scheme can be used.Used here is abaab-cdccd
Eternal race is on
Bewildered night moves fast
Blinded he can't see morn
Time is wheeling best on
Night to meet the sun's cast
Grey streaks show slits of sky
Night now hears coos of birds
Smells scents of blossoms nigh
Tinged by dawning pink high
Magic twilight just herds
poem by Indira Renganathan
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The Poem I Am Writing Now
The poem I am writing now
does not know if it will be finished
it does not even know if it will be a poem -
it is slowly appearing line by line
and making its own meaning on the page-
Is it worth anything?
will anyone care?
I don't know -
The poem I am writing now
is just these lines
and these lines like all lines
are only small words
in a vast universe
that has long lived
and will probably longer live
without them.
Why then write these words now?
The poem I am writing now is saying,
'I am here now'.
But why should this mean anything to anyone else?
The poem I have written here
is not the poem I would have posted here
It is only the poem I am finishing now
a poem without great love or belief in itself.
The poem I am writing now
is written.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Alankar(Decor) - 81
Love From Far Ends(Cinq Cinquain)
Cinq Cinquain is a verse form of 5 Crapsey Cinquains written as 5 sequential stanzas.
Love From Far Ends
Far ends
They stand apart
Stretched life further to go
Stretching then and then, on and on
Loveless
Of course
Rebukes command
Reprimands do demand
Yet they stretch their lives from far ends
Loveless
She mulls
'Am I to hurt
Am I to shame myself
Am I to shame my poor parents
No, no'
He Views
'How to solve this
Can't love, can't divorce her
Those holy vows firing around
Hmm, act'
Pretence-
Their choice to love
Two hearts from far ends love
And yield issues diplomatic
Loveless
poem by Indira Renganathan
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The Cat Poem - with discussion
I must not write a poem
because I want to write a poem.
I must try to write the poem
when the poem has to be written.
Yes but what if my cat dies?
Yes, what if my cat dies
and I know my cat lived a
good and honest life
I can write a poem?
I can can’t I
I can have a cat poem can’t I
Life of an honest cat and that
Yes I know, I said the cat was honest
but I didn’t say that I was, and
I lied about the cat
________________________________
Discussion:
The poem begins as a slightly
finger wagging exercise in telling
people not to write just because
they want to write a poem - it must
be DRIVEN by the poem's insistence
on being written. The poet is
unable to sustain this arrogance
hence the cat. Then, using the
cat as an excuse, writes the poem
but in the end has to admit that
the cat was just a device to break
the rule outlined in the 4 opening
lines. (Secretly of course the poet
believes or at least hopes that the
poem is good enough to excuse itself
and be allowed to break the rule.)
But of course it isn't
poem by by unknown author
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The Poem Of All The Places I Have Never Been
THE POEM OF ALL THE PLACES I HAVE NEVER BEEN
The poem of all the places I have never been
The poem of all the dreams I have not seen
The poem of others poems written in lines I have never imagined
The poem of the infinite – what-is- not and ‘what- will- never- be
The poem of seas and suns and sounds and Shakespeare’s sonnets,
The poem of words and only words whose sounds do not mean what we feel
The poem of all I would not and cannot write
The poem that is not and never will be in me
The poem I do not write
The poem I am not
The poem lost
The poem which itself is not a poem
The poem of the last contradiction and the first
The poem beyond the poem hidden within the poem
The poem which will never be a poem
The poem which is not
The poem I cannot dream.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Nothing Is Being Done
NOTHING IS BEING DONE
Nothing is being done-
Time is passing-
What will be?
Will I do nothing for the rest of my life?
A small poem is being written-
Am I alive again?
Any lines even bad lines are better than none
When one can do nothing-
Am I writing a poem?
Is something being done?
Or am I simply fooling myself
And doing nothing as I have always done
And always will do?
Or have I really done something?
Is this nonetheless a small poem?
Perhaps I have written something real in my life
Perhaps
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Have No Poem Now- At The End Of Hoshanah-Rabbah
I HAVE NO POEM NOW- AT THE END OF HOSHANAH RABBAH
I have no poem now-
I want to have a poem now-
I try to write a poem now-
Is this a poem now?
All the lines of my life are written in water.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Sinking (Octelle)
Freedom, you're on a sinking ship
Blinded, tossed about, losing grip!
Enemies laugh, as you drown
With your flawed throne and false crown
Free yourself! Open your eyes!
Deceit has slipped through with lies
Freedom, you're on a sinking ship
Blinded, tossed about, losing grip!
'Ships sail on water, but if the water gets in slowly,
even a battleship will sink. Nations do not fall instantly,
they get corrupted inside very slowly.'
cynthiabuhainbaello11.28.12
*Octelle poem - 8 line poem with aa-bb-cc-aa rhyme scheme
and 88-77-77-88 syllable pattern. The first 2 lines are
repeated as the last 2 lines.
It uses personification & symbolism and it written in
a telling manner.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Unraveling My Poem Unraveling My Life
you think you know me
every inch every color
since you have read
every poem i have written
you equate what i am
with what i have written
and your equation goes
through and through the lines
of logic like a telephone
pole connecting two islands
every sigh is learned
from every syllable of my lines
every yawn is discerned
from every sleepy letter that you
meet and see
are there no strangers there
that you meet? did you not
care to ask for his name?
are there no oceans there?
if there are, there must
be some oceanfloors
some sinks sinking
some whales occupying
so much space for your
kind understanding and
you may find yourself
hard of breathing, like a
diver whose oxygen tank
is leaking. You don't die
with me. You don't like my
sickness. You don't like to
get this infection beyond
my own solitude.
you unravel a poem you
discover that i have become
more covered. A voice tells
me, i am not my poems, i am
more than them. I am not just
a syllable, a word, a line.
I am more than what you have
tried to swallow inside your mouth.
i am blood and i am flowing.
you dip your finger once and
taste a dropp of my blood and
then in a second, i am no longer
there. I am a flowing blood and
what you have are stains, yes,
only stains turning into scars.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Only Poem Is The Poem/ At The Moment Of Its Writing
THE ONLY POEM IS THE POEM
The only poem is the poem
At the moment of its writing
The poem being lived now
The poem I am trying to make
The poem of these lines.
The only poem now is this one-
And this poem is so small and so self- reflexive
That it is not much of a poem at all.
The only poem is not much of a poem at all
This one
And me now? .
But what about everything else I have not done?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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In Search Of Aphrodite
A Sideline Sonnet
(letters on the left side of the poem make the 15th line, which is also written out in parenthesis at the end of the poem) This poem, instead of being displayed with either 12 lines on the left margin, with the 13th and 14th lines indented in modern format, or with the first 8 lines on the left margin, a line skipped and then the next 4 lines on the left margin with the couplet indented in the style most commonly used in the days of Shakespeare, will be posted in 4 line stanzas to make it easier to read the side line, which will be three 4 letter words, and one 2 letter word.
May I behold a girl this fair:
A girl whose presence makes a light;
Kindles a flame that burns so bright
Eclipses it the moon. With hair
Lost stars that from the heavens fall –
On falling do submit their glow,
Vile stars, on one I cannot know.
Enraptured though, I make the call.
While all my starving total seeks,
In endless hunger, for the dear
Temptation that, though hov'ring near,
Hears not my voice: yet not she speaks.
May I but see her, then will I
Entreat her, listen to my cry…
(make love with me)
poem by James Walter Orr
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The Feeling Of Poetry Is Lost
THE FEELING OF POETRY IS LOST
The feeling of poetry is lost -
Lines are written,
But they are without poetic feeling.
Dutiful lines which do not inspire.
I try
Line by line
To restore my soul.
I do not feel I am doing this.
Can a poem be written without poetic feeling inside?
Is what I am doing now
A poem?
Or is it simply one more small delusion
Through which a life is gotten through?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Hard
I try to write about my feeling
Though for others they don't have meaning
First few lines I can write easily
But those last ending lines are silly
To write it takes a lots of time
Hours to just complete last line
My few poems are not even complete
I try and try but cant, so I omit
And move to next poem
And finally complete
I now know to write it's too tough
So to all, who pour their feeling on paper "hats off"
The end
poem by Sushanta Rokka
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The Poem Was Destroyed By Its Own Words
The poem was destroyed by its own words
And could not be written-
The words were not good enough
The words were not exact enough -
The poem nonetheless wanted to be
It waited in longing for other words-
Other words came
But they were not the poem either-
The poem it appeared
Was never to be -
The poem disappeared
Before it could be written
That poem forever is not
And in its place only these lines
Barely a poem at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem That Perhaps Never Should Have Been Written
THE POEM THAT PERHAPS NEVER SHOULD HAVE BEEN WRITTEN
Not the poem of yesterday
Nor the poem of tomorrow
But the poem of today-
What gives life meaning now.
Not the poem as it is read
But the poem as it is written.
Not the certain poem
But the poem that does not know
If it truly is a poem.
The poem that gives hope only when it is written-
The lesser poem-
The poem that perhaps never should have been written.
The poem I am writing now,
Perhaps for myself alone
The lesser poem
The poem that perhaps should never have been at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Poet Without A Poem/ Empty and Desperate
A POET WITHOUT A POEM
A poet without a poem
Empty and desperate
Forces a few lines
As way of reviving himself.
The lines lead to other lines
A poem begins to come.
The poet hears his hope as he writes
And then when there is a poem
He just rests happily
Knowing he is alive again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Alankar(Decor) -106
Memorandum(Acrostic Dectina Refrain)
10 letter title written acrostic in 10 lines with
syllabic pattern 1to 1o each line vertically
10th line is a refrain of first four lines
with 10 syllables
Memorandum
Mind
Ever
My sweet heart
Off life will go
Recall now your past
Avail yourself of yours
Nighted or godly harvest
Do urge to rectify counting
Umpteen your sins and their evil crops
Mind ever my sweet heart, off life will go
poem by Indira Renganathan
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