Friday, May 31, 2013

Wrapping up May in cinquains from other years

May 3 --

this season's spent
Easter lily to my
side-yard assortment of foliage
and blooms.

May 8 --

I snap
my summer robe
all the way down against
the coolish, early-morning breeze.
Brr! Brr!

May 9 --

To my
Mother, a bag
of potting soil and a
flat of dianthus that I'll have
to plant.

May 12 --

Nature answers
our need for moisture, but
on the weekend when a book fair
is planned.

May 13 --

"Let me
paint your toenails,
Grandma," the 5-year-old
said. Might as well live it up while
I can.

May 18 --

A bird
flies to the high
wire, but with the dense oak
leaves, all I can see is its tail

May 27 --

Gosh! You're
a noisy bird!
Are you a teenager
who hasn't learned to modulate
your voice?

Thursday, May 23, 2013

World War II poster, from an email
(a cinquain sequence)
Dressed in
red, white and blue,
my dear mother thumbtacked
the flag across the top of her
front porch
myriad warnings
never to climb a stool
or ladder without someone near
to help
if she
happened to lose
her balance, black out, fall.
But she didn't, and I told her,
The man
across the street
hollered, "I like your flag!"
They met near the road and chatted
a spell.
With towel
and water, he's
off to "run the bleachers."
"Wanna'go?" he asked her, smiling.
"No way!"

Thursday, May 16, 2013

I don't really want to go

Emma - granddaughter

(a Minute pattern created by the late Verna Lee Hinegardner)
I stand alone beside the spring
before the fling
called Senior Prom.
I need the calm
those water-lilies, frogs bestow.
(Breathe deeply, slow.)
I lean from hip
but then I slip!
My blue chiffon's all crushed and wet
(I don't regret.)
--tell Tarrio
that I can't go!

Thursday, May 9, 2013

Merry, merry (snowy?) month of May

pic of southwest bed at Couchwood
[parody of "May You Always" by Larry Markes & Dick Charles, for May meeting of Malvern (AR) Poets]
May's the month we laud our mothers
though we love them all the time.
Give them flowers, gifts or candy;
let them know with us they're prime.
May is always graduation;
school is over for awhile.
Any student you encounter
may have on a happy smile.
May, you always bring the roses
--yellow, red and white.
The privet, honeysuckle, pollen--
allergies both day and night.
And May, you're always such a beauty,
gentle showers, morning dew.
Till the year rolls round again,
we'll say goodbye to you.

Thursday, May 2, 2013

School's (nearly) out! Woo-hoo!

Daughter Anna and granddaughter Emma

by Pat Laster


Each day Home Ec teacher Miz Florence
would spew out her anger in torrents.
        "Stop talking and clean!"
        Girls glared at her--mean.
A dirty fridge was an abhorrence.

A wild English teacher, Aegean,
attempted a task Herculean:
     "You'll write every day
     a good one-act play."
Her students became quite protean.

World history was Miz Samples' thing--
The difference 'tween premier and king
        she carefully taught,
        but all was for naught.
Our ears only heard the bell ring!


My psyche's fragile, weak and frail;
I'm resting for tomorrow's hail
of energy when testing's done
(they'll need some time to hit and run).

Two hundred kids: 'way, 'way too many--
my patience's fled--I haven't any.
So if you have a bone to pick,
please call tomorrow--tonight I'm sick.

[from Variations published 1994]