Friday, 12 April 2013

Cinquains

I promised some poetry way back in January didn't I? Well I've recently gotten into cinquains, which have a simple 2-4-6-8-2 syllable structure. I tend to post them on my twitter using Orjay's daily prompts (in fact the first stanza of this one is something I've previously tweeted).

This here is a Garland Cinquain, which wikipedia says - though I hope it would be easy enough to see from my poem below - is a series of six cinquains in which the last is formed of lines from the preceding five, typically line one from stanza one, line two from stanza two, and so on.

So here is my attempt. And after this, I have a small anecdote about my past relationship with poetry (it's not a good one :P):


I ask
did you miss me
at all, as we slowly
pick up the oddments of the past
and stare.

Thinking.
What happened here?
When fractures grew deeply
into the memories of those
moments.

At last,
when all is said.
The vultures come to call,
to feast on dying hearts and the
love gone.

Lost now,
like soft childhood
innocence and calm hope,
to love's last frozen leftovers.
Ice cold.

Final
words; this morbid
poem soon must finish.
You answer me no, I cry
and ruin.

I ask.
What happened here?
The vultures come to call,
to love's last frozen leftovers,
and ruin.

Cheery isn't it? Well, as I said, poetry and I didn't get along when I was younger (or perhaps poetry got along with me, I just didn't get along with it). In year 4 (3rd grade to any Americans), my class were all forced to write poetry for a national competition. I argued about this, as it wasn't supposed to be compulsory and I absolutely hated poetry (at the time believing it to be writing for lazy people. It's not.) but ended up writing something anyway.

Somehow I got a place in a poetry anthology they created out of the winning entries, in a move that baffles me to this day. That poem was awful. I still have it, and would post it, except it's never ever going to see the light of day again except when I want a giggle. I never really liked poetry until year 11 (Sophomore year) when we were introduced to Robert Browning, at which point I decided I didn't mind poetry so much at all...

Anyway, see you next time,
Zahra.

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