Poetry Friday: Cinquains

 I've been experimenting with writing in forms recently and found that I like the very simple cinquain.

A cinquain is a five line poem with syllable count in each line of 2, 4, 6, 8, 2. Paul Janeczko, in his book, A Kick in the Head, says that "a good cinquain will flow from beginning to end rather than sounding like five separate lines."
       
While Fat Tuesday is long gone and we are well into the Lenten Season, I want to share this poem, "Mardi Gras," from Myra Cohn Livingston today. It comes from her book, Celebrations, which has several poems written in cinquain form. I like this one especially because of the repeating phrase that shows up in variations in each stanza.

Mardi Gras
by Myra Cohn Livingston

Throw me
something, Mister, 
I shout to the krewes on
their floats, rolling down Bourbon Street.
Throw me

something
from behind your
mask, a string of glass beads,
purple beads for justice, beads of green
for faith

doubloons
of bright gold for
power. Throw me something
now that it's Fat Tuesday and its's
time for

music,
dancing, singing,
and you, Mister, on your
float reaching for something you can
throw me--

Mary Lee hosts the roundup today at A Year of Reading.

Poetry Friday: Dear March -

Oh, Spring, where art thou?  Winter was long and hard. The snowdrops and phlox are blooming and today it was almost 80 degrees. Please no, Spring, do not leave so soon. Give us a little time to enjoy your fragrant blooms! Summer leave off for just a little while. 

Dear March - Come in –

By Emily Dickinson

Dear March - Come in -    

How glad I am -

I hoped for you before -

Put down your Hat -         

You must have walked -

How out of Breath you are -          

Dear March, how are you, and the Rest -

Did you leave Nature well -

Oh March, Come right upstairs with me -

I have so much to tell -

I got your Letter, and the Birds -    

The Maples never knew that you were coming -

I declare - how Red their Faces grew -                

But March, forgive me -   

And all those Hills you left for me to Hue -    

There was no Purple suitable -       

You took it all with you -           

 

Who knocks? That April -

Lock the Door -

I will not be pursued -

He stayed away a Year to call        

When I am occupied -              

But trifles look so trivial    

As soon as you have come

           

That blame is just as dear as Praise

And Praise as mere as Blame -

More Poetry Friday with Julie at the Drift Record.

Poetry Friday Perhaps

My one little word/thought/phrase for this year was a sense of expectation that something new, some kind of change was in the air. It seems to be the case. And while new exciting changes can be wonderful, they also come with challenges. 

This poem from E.E. Cummings captures my mood as spring steadily approaches. 

Spring is like a perhaps hand

by E. E. Cummings

          III

Spring is like a perhaps hand

(which comes carefully

out of Nowhere)arranging

a window,into which people look(while

people stare

arranging and changing placing

carefully there a strange

thing and a known thing here)and

changing everything carefully

spring is like a perhaps

Hand in a window

Read the rest here.

Kara hosts the Roundup at Rogue Anthropologist today.