Cinquain/XLII

navy
fabric naps near
platinum blond wavy
hair; how those cold carob eyes spear
my cheer

Cinquain/XL

quaintly
by the seaside
Bain bides with his saintly
folks yet laments for fate denied
a bride

clowning
kelpies beaming
at damp damsels drowning
in a wintertide of teeming
screaming

gleaming
sandals glide by
faint figures of scheming
mortals, fore flying to this shy
steel sky

———–

The subject of this cinquain is Talaria, the golden winged sandals which Hermes wore.

outside
this humble place
poor potato fields cried;
famine’s fatal fingers erase
my face

white wings
shelter spare frames
from nefarious things
as the trumpet of slumber claims
gray names

seasons
of illusions
offer ample reasons
to float towards dark delusion’s
sly skins

this pit
in which we sit
prunes me with wounding grit;
how can we restore peace and quit
this skit?

pages
new, to peruse
revise eyes in stages;
by half past midnight I diffuse
and snooze

again
sweet summer ends
in humid torment, then
gnawing, natty fraught autumn bends
and wends