Bundled Up:
Quintains, Cinquains, Tankas
Turning Left on Quintain Lane
By Mike Garofalo
667+ Quintains, Cinquains, and Tankas
(5 Line Poems)
Research
1.
Eskimos have many words
for snow—
falling from my lips
many words for electricity.
Places dictate vocabulary.
2.
my zazen was writing
pencil in hand—
sitting still for minutes
no special breathing
just moving my hand
3.
The Supreme Being thing
a theological dream
compared to Billions of Things—
Taking a bite of Reality
spitting out the seeds.
4.
Opened the Gateless Gate,
creaking hinges sang,
a narrow passage opened;
saw a iron Temple Bell
never ever rung.
Quintain Poetry Sections on this Webpage
Poems 1-99
Poems 100-199
Poems 200-299
Poems 300-399
Poems 400-499
Poems 500-599
Poems 600-699
Poems 700-799
Research
5.
The silence of decades dead
echo endlessly
in every muscle and vein;
Her kisses are remembered
by my tender love lips.
6.
One Picture of Me
This bony skull of mine
electrified
pictured onscreen for me.
Doctor recommends
some oral surgery.
The brain disappeared,
an empty space
sliced from
X Ray images retraced.
Eyeless in inner space.
Monkey nose holes,
bony eye glasses,
teeth glowing in the dark.
Inner spaces never seen
underneath my very being.
Skinless, noseless, earless,
a shape, a form—
the images informed.
Stripping away the unneeded,
revealing my inner core.
7.
in-breath
out-breath
unconsciously
enables me
to Consciously Be
8.
Emily D. said she Knew Poetry
when her sober "head top
was suddenly taken off."
Wow! Complex tight Poetry
from the Topless Emily D.
[Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
American poet.]
9.
Laugh at the dying of the Light
Embrace the Uncertain Night
Useless to Rage and Rage
Boozing your guts away
Rather Face the depressing day.
[Dylan Thomas (1914-1953),
Irish poet and author.]
10.
Hegel touted secular spirituality
Carlyle cheered rising unbelief
Neo-Pagan myths and rites appeared
Christian motifs shook and swayed
Later, Buddhists answered with the
No Mind Way.
[Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881),
author, historian, essayist, poet;
Sartor Resartus.]
11.
The Dalai Lama opened the door
making Love, Helpfulness, Decency
the Essence of the Religious Core;
Not beliefs, not creeds, not lore
not arguments; show Kindness.
[(Dalai Lama (1935-)
author, Tibetan Buddhist
leader,
world renowned spiritual guide.]
12.
my tired eyes
closed—
memories slowed
dreams flowed
time dozed
13.
he walks alone
he carries a fossil bone
he cries about his wife who died
he whispers prayers into the fog
he slaps his cane against stone walls
14.
Broken Down
My great nephew,
Joshua Loya his name,
a troubled, sick, tired man;
We tried to help him and failed.
A soul free of conventionality.
He was a homeboy styler
a skinny fellow
dressed in
baggy pants.
Hanging out with cholos
for a fine machismo time.
His mom died when he was 10
he never recovered!
From auto accidents and hepatitis
and fun drug usage most days;
he slowly slipped from us away.
He lived with us for a year
a lazy fellow
straight F's in high school,
some thieves and stoners for friends.
Still, we wished him well to the end.
My son and we tried to help
Joshua when down
and others did contribute,
to bring him better around
but his failures ground him down.
He phoned every so often
babbling and rude
wandering in a broken brain;
His long letters, indecipherable,
but with artistic Tagger displays.
He lived in County jails
for petty crimes
and old half-way houses
time after time after time.
In garages of friends sometimes.
He called his Aunt Blanche.
He was homeless again
hoping for help from friends.
Sadly, he was sick again.
He wished her well at the end.
Yesterday, Josh's sister said,
a sheriff told her:
Josh was shot dead!
They found his slumped body
on bloody asphalt
in a City of Industry
vacant parking lot.
Bullets through his broken heart!
(Josh Loya: 6/1980-10/6/2024)
15.
Pruning bonsai with keen eyes
carefully cutting
for structure and size;
Visions in the artist's mind
Coaxing beauty by his design.
16.
The day dribbled to buzzer's end
but ties are forbidden
so overtime dramas begin;
Or, just drop lose or win
Letting wu wei begin.
Ripening Peaches
Taoist Studies and Practices
17.
Life is a problem
without One solution;
not a theorem, not a catechism.
A challenge, not The Answer!
A restitution of creative innovations.
18.
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost
are not enough
for a Spiritual Family.
Where are Mother, Daughter,
and Legions of Wee Folk?
19.
Rain ing IMAGES roll
a r o u n d on the Words
NOthing Special:
Listening to lectures.
Picturing the Page.
20.
My vein is the literal
not the symbolic,
fantastic, abstract, free;
Lost in meaninglessness,
too clever for me.
21.
Liminal spheres
between Selves—
opening up
closing bad habits
redesigning oneself.
22.
Bookstore Dilemma
Barnes and Noble
bookstore browsed—
the smell of new books
and coffee brewed,
tasty poetry books to peruse.
Poetry books
on fifteen shelves:
which one? which one?
My wallet wants to force a choice:
just one! just one!
Louise Glück or Sylvia Plath
which one? which one?
Hungry to meet and hear them speak;
[ignoring my wallet]
I Bought them Both!
Books are alive and talk repeatedly.
23.
She shouted and honked
Road Rage beyond reason
Loosing control, pissed off
Cussing, fuming, Over the top;
Then God told her to stop.
Definitions: Quintains and Tanka
25 Steps and Beyond: Collected Works
24.
"What do you Love?" he asked
"Waking up today!"
she said with gusto keen.
Gave herself an insulin
shot,
nursed her sugary wounds.
25. Old Age
Being 79 is fine
but still running out of time;
so I cope lest
I read less and slower
or think past nowhere.
Reaching 80 soon
four good seasons slowly loom
passing quietly too;
"Don't waste one minute now"
Uranium can't buy any time.
26.
December fogs—
among the rotting brown leaves
a squashed dead frog;
Winter is a Brutal King
freezing beings one by one.
27.
Keep it short, concise, precise
Don't be wordy, verbose, to wide
Keep it focused, on target, aimed
Don't wander, delay, no silly play...
Sadly, a poem imprisoned by Brevity.
28.
to my harmonica:
every color is silver
every note is sharp
every lip is luscious
every player a lark
29.
I meditated often
hour by hour—
watching tiny juncos
listening to firs swaying
waiting at Nothing's Door.
30.
Comfortable outside my skin
While embracing a world within
Both In and Out are One
Undivided as seasons and sun...
Illusions of separateness done.
31.
my dog, Bruno, lifted my spirits
living with me
We were Buddies, Dog and man.
Bruno got cancer and He died,
i walked alone and i cried.
32.
At dusk the winds picked up
shaking the tent,
snow fell from dark cold skies;
we bundled up warm inside
and played chess passing time.
33.
I will be gone someday
never returning
to walk or play.
Signed my Last Will to say
my possessions are given away.
Coming in
let me nourish
like rain on a garden.
Going out
let me disappear
like geese going south.
34.
Asking myself "Why?"
Which software to master?
What better poems to write?
Why Not! Is a good answer.
As long as there's time.
35.
Lamenting his obscure lines,
lack of specificity—
feeling stupid, locked out;
can't fault the reader,
the poet is a mediocre mouse.
36.
Junior Varsity soccer game
22 boys hustling at play
sweating this April day
perfect passes on the way...
Referee's whistle— Stop!
37.
crawling under the house
sewer pipe broke
puddles of stinking crap...
fixing, reconnecting, glued;
spreading sand on the smell.
38.
Longing
for learning
to make others
surprised
by my words
Trying
to find
the perfect rhyme
and symbolic metaphors
offered in lines
Seeking
the insightful words
and clarity;
that is the goal
ahead for me.
39.
He was there
at first-hand;
hiding inferences
resisting interpretations—
not being second-hand.
40.
About the Greeks and Chinese
I eagerly read
their writings from 550 BCE;
nothing interesting for me in
the falling walls of Jericho.
41.
Blinded by the obvious
he often forgot
to sink heavy anchors;
ideas swaying to songs
floating aimlessly along.
42.
His conclusions were dignified,
and elaborate, but wrong in the end,
aimed well but missing the mark,
his answers did not light up the dark,
not even well-said, said Professor Rend.
43.
Roethke in Seattle
Uplifted and impressed
reading Roethke's
Northwest sketches fine.
Birds flew off the page.
Lizards sunned in his lines.
U-Dub students studied
Roethke's methods
for years closely aligned
walking together the Far Fields
with many creative minds.
Roethke's soaked in hot tubs
his sweat refined
lulled into organic bliss—
laughing in the fog
languishing like a dog.
He lingered by the rivers
topping Puget Sound
listening to beauty;
stepping into forests
around Seattle Town.
[Theodore Roethke (1908-1963)
poet, teacher.]
44.
Leafless Trees of February
February sculptures
of leafless trees—
emptiness on display.
Gray-brown branches and twigs
embraced in Winter's Arms.
fog crawled into branches
of leafless trees—
invisible leaves.
A sweet gum murmured low
a soft lullaby to the snow.
The trunks and branches
of shrubs and trees—
unabashed exhibitionists.
Buff nude bodies exposed,
careless, free, willingly.
Morning opened in sunshine
brilliant crisp blue.
Twisted branches knew
Spring is coming soon.
Leafing, leaves, renewed.
45.
He kept his secret like a shark his fins,
close to his heart like a pacemaker's wires;
proud of his reticence, not showing his hand,
keeping it close to his vest like Charlie Chan
not spilling the beans until the final scene.
46.
Tried to build my Muscles
of Intentions
to strengthen my Will;
tear the muscles a little
if you want to build.
47.
Planted a climbing rose
to tie to a fence—
optimistic gardeners
endlessly puttering
sworn to thinking ahead.
48.
His walker wobbled looser
the sick man fell—
cancer is serious hell.
I helped him stand and walk,
thinking of myself in his lot.
49.
Hiding in the Junipers
Three ladybugs sit so
cozy together—
the junipers don't really care
who sits here or who sits there
just clean the mites off their hairs.
Shiny orange shimmering shells
black etched eyes—
crawling silently
hiding from enemies
ladybugs jump and fly
Ladybugs by another crisp name
Coccinella novemnotata—
five thousand species of Coccinella
mostly farmer's friends
who live just two short years.
Ladybugs can't all be Ladies—
otherwise
there would be fewer surprises
sans some randy
Guybug's pickup lines
50.
Drifting to My Mind's Edge
The drifting pebbles
slid on the sandy shore
up to me;
my thoughts drifted
outside my mind.
Boy's flying stunt kites
in flying dives and figure 8's
wind at their backs;
our sand castle
remodeled by in-coming waves.
Hot sun and sand burnt
bare fee walking
away from the sea;
grabbing my shoes
touching my toes tenderly.
Black mussels cling to stones
eating in high tide zones
hundreds huddling;
I stumbled hungry
in surf up to my knees.
Only beach grasses
uncontrollable
can live on the dunes;
my thoughts zoomed
hypo-mania loomed.
Bundled Up:
Quintains and Tanka Poems
By Mike Garofalo
51.
subtle hints
of availability—
Tempting me
to taste
her skin
52.
robins chatter
jubilantly—
sounds of love
sounds of hope
I imagine I hear
53.
A whole Billy Collins poem
equal to the sum of its parts.
A whole John Ashbery poem
greater than the sum of its parts.
And both their parts
have become part of me.
Only the ‘parts’ really matter.
54.
"Eternity in an hour"
billions born from a dime
kilowatts from nuclear power
millions of sperm working overtime—
blows my mind
55.
Tired but not sleeping
awake—
stretched out on the floor
wearing worries weighing me down
into the depths of Insomnia's Sea.
56.
Time waits patiently for all.
Tiger hiding
in a blind, eying Us—
Our clocks ticktocked,
The Tiger of Death Leapt.
Pulling Onions:
Over 1,043 One-Liners
Quips, Epigrams, Jokes
57.
alone
on the trail
steep switchbacks
ahead—
my autobiography
58.
they bashed in her windows
with a bat:
vandals chose her car
for no reason whatsoever
but delight in destruction
59.
On the Vernal Equinox,
staring at the calm sea;
Mallard ducks,
peck the grassy ground.
Drizzle coming down.
60.
wasting away
cancer's curse—
can't stand now
wobbly legs
pain cried today
61.
Woman: making dinner stew
Man: working hard
Children: playing games in yard
Family: growing older further
Life: Uncertain At Large
62.
Arts of Colored Lights
Paso Robles nights—
"A Sensorio Field of Lights"
filling the dark with colored lights
mazes of colors subtle
dazzled by a flipped switch.
Shore Acres Park
Christmas art—
garden lights
flashing empty flower beds
dispelling darker thoughts
Monterey's hip shops
decorated—
Santa Claus is back
colored bulbs bright
gifts galore in sight
Cape Kiwanda dunes
July 4th—
fireworks flared
colors galore
my eyeballs gorged
Skagit Valley tulips
springtime blooms—
tourists flock
like bees to flowers
sweet treats for hours.
At the Edges of the West
Highway 101 and 1
63.
Larger than the longest
short by seconds—
can't measure Infinity
slipped into a Black Hole
the speed of light is too slow.
64.
Befuddled by
a poet's words—
repeating rereads
increased the blur.
No pearl in the oyster.
65.
Titled head
floppy arm—
longstanding guards
in fields and farms;
scarecrow alarmed.
66.
Rising expectations undercut
friendships faltering;
disagreed to agree
end clearly seen
no future for you and me.
67.
Turned Off the TV
empty screen;
lost time remained
stuck in my brain
wasted days, hours decayed.
68.
Father Priest once
counseled me—
while on my knees
in the dim confessional box.
Stopped kneeling for sanity!
69.
Is Mu Dark Matter?
Is Light Speed Time?
Is Gravity a Ball of Strings?
Is a Mind a Body-Brain?
Questioning, wondering, ideas rain.
70.
The oak tree in the courtyard
sheltered many a thought.
Better than hissing "Mu";
Nothingness shouted.
Profound silences of Emptiness.
71.
The Wind swept East away
West was cleared of Gray
The Sun split Skies to Blue
Bright gleaming green Yews
Hard Cold! Smell of Firs...
72.
A quatrain with
an extra line
is not a Tanka;
rather 3+2 brief lines,
without the rhyme.
73.
another life on paper
words aligned;
crossing metaphors
images sketched so fine,
tidbits spilling onto lines
74.
Father Priest
scolded me:
hell was my destiny
unless I Believed.
How incorrect was he?
75.
Hammering roofers
step gingerly ...
dusty boots
slippery slant—
Two stories to the ground.
76.
blood pressure
higher...
cuff around hand
sitting taller—
fearing the measure
77.
Listening to Jazz
Dave Brubeck Quartet—
Carnegie Hall
Blue Rondo a la Turk,
Take Five with four guys.
78.
washer spinning dry:
pants and shirts
socks and skirts—
electricity at work
chores not shirked
79.
"Not a second to waste"
was a lie—
workaholics disagreed
trapped by a pernicious OCD.
Mystics use seconds otherwise.
80.
fewer painful
confessionals to share—
secretive
closed
unpacked dirty underwear
81.
Crawling on my knees:
pulling weeds
planting bulbs
pruning stems...
Wives like such deeds!
82.
The tangled hair of Akiko,
the sad toys of Takuboku,
the penny world of Sanford—
Japanese poets succeed
sowing clever seeds of imagery.
83.
my young son visits us
for a few weeks—
boxes of medicines
pilled high
failed kidney dialysis time
84.
Father Priest
and I
standing seriously at
my dying father's bedside.
Last Rites Sacrament time!
85.
David Attenborough's words
Al Gore's lines
we did not listen—
plasticizing our dying world
denying Ozone Holes in the sky.
86.
Homophobes and racists
sadly multiply—
underlying hostilities,
inner repulsions unjustified.
Wasted energies and lies.
87.
Covered in clothes and throws,
Coldest night in February.
Shivering in Shore Acres,
a canvas yurt in which to hide.
Bitter cold seldom lies.
88.
First time talking to psychologist,
[revealing some .. hiding some]
seeking something not known;
but optimistic nonetheless
I won't regress from being my best.
89.
"When does God sleep?"
asked the child;
Jesus answered
with a smile:
"Nunca oí a Dios roncar."
90.
The Zen archer's bow becomes
One with the Universe.
Despite aiming carefully,
breathing properly,
he missed the target anyway.
91.
Why am I Here
Rather than Elsewhere?
Stop questioning
this or that.
Be Here, take off your hat.
92.
The bloodless sea—
painted red tides
gathered triple toxins
spewed wavy purple streaks
on bays and beaches we see
The bloodless sea—
picturing crashing white waves
bulldozing the thick brown sand
reshaping the shorelines destiny
relentlessly, impulsively, creatively
The bloodless sea—
written about by poets for centuries
rudely calling my bluff
challenging me aggressively
pushing me past my petty me
93.
Walking
sand in my shoes
beachcomber blues.
Low tide flotsam line
shattered clam shells my Finds.
94.
Spiritually, the skeptic in me,
Is not very religious, conventionally;
But the ebullience of nature mystics
Is often very inspiring to me.
Silence, poetry,
and music
are Forms of Spirituality.
95.
quite dogmatically gray
these rain clouds arrayed
these last days of March
heavy rains today
on the first Spring day
96.
Fell asleep on the floor.
She covered me as I snored:
turned off the lights
closed all the doors
while I just snored and snored.
97.
She was quite talented
I will agree.
She managed to win
prizes and trophies.
Yet, when losses came
she remained unchanged
using her clever coping brain.
98.
Living on the edge of destiny
precariously. What can I be?
Answering: What do I want to be?
What must I Give Up
to really be me?
99.
three
men
cleaning a Indiana
power plant smokestack.
All Suffocated!
100.
bought a lottery ticket
and lost again—
hoping Santa Claus
will help me win
before Winter begins
Quintain Poetry Sections on this Webpage
Poems 1-99
Poems 100-199
Poems 200-299
Poems 300-399
Poems 400-499
Poems 500-599
Poems 600-699
Poems 700-799
Research
Bundled Up:
Quintains and Tanka Poems
By Mike Garofalo
101.
my mom died
one April day—
before her hospice end
she brushed her teeth
in a satisfied way
102.
Life's not a bowl of cherries,
Nor a bed of roses.
Nor a dream within a Dream
of a tired black butterfly
Sleeping on a laurel's leaves.
103.
The sea made clouds,
Clouds birthed rain.
Falling on the sea again
recycling itself—
an Endless Chain.
104.
I returned to the Bandon cliffs
year after year.
To savor art works
Carved into the sands
then Erased by the Surf.
- Highway 101 and 1: Docu-Poem
105.
The elderly man
hustled fast, but
pissed in his pants—
his damn zipper stuck,
he laughed.
106.
Why is there nothing
rather than something?
The hungry sage pondered—
his rice bowl empty,
weak tea in his cup.
107.
At dawn the birds began to
chirp, hoot, tweet, schreek,
Crows squaked, a dove cooed—
the splashing surf droned on and on,
I slurped some coffee down.
108.
Thunderbirds born before the Dawn
of lost human history—
Knew the Orcas in the Puget Sound,
Knew the Chelais River Salmon,
Nested on Mt. Tacoma-Ranier's
steep white glacial slopes.
109.
The stories told, perhaps centuries old,
Crawled up my skin, rather fairness thin,
Called revenge justified, against a killer's lies,
Skinwalker's son smiled; his father feared.
The Avenging Angel,
Cuts lives at an angle,
Appears then disappears,
Settling accounts in arrears,
Knocks on the door,
Of the rich and the poor,
Shows the Warrant
No matter how abhorrent.
Settles the score,
Escorts you out the door
to stand before
Judge Skinwalker's Court.
110.
gathering
fishing gear—
worms in the street
after the rain
free bait
111.
Palestinian terrorists
attacked viciously.
Israel then responded
viciously—
Revenge Insanities.
112.
Boring lecture
far too long—
Doodling abstract
pencil art; thankfully,
the ending bell sounds
113.
limping lady
laughs
heartily—
listening
to radio jokes
114.
she did not
speak
did not cry
closed her eyes
quietly died
115.
Jacaranda seeds
brown and hard—
Toys for boys
in our front home's
Cout's Avenue yard.
Definitions: Quintains and Tanka
25 Steps and Beyond: Collected Works
116.
I turned around,
heard a bang!
Bullet missed
by an inch!
Hole in the wall.
117.
no freezer
no frozen food—
bland canned
corn and beans
no ice cream
118.
Whittier Blvd.
butcher shop—
axed turkeys
flopping about
sawdust floors
119.
Wet pier boards
clomped under our boots
docked boats shined
we forgot what we left behind
fishing consumed our minds.
120.
Big Sagebrush
twisted limbs—
scabbard lands
basalt cliffs
rain on the wind
121.
I ran the mile in track
sweated and struggled
often finished dead last;
Cantwell High School track
still in my legs today.
122.
Bodhisattva Jizo or
Saint Christopher both
protect travelers from harm;
if travelers recite Sutras
or wear metal charms.
123.
Tomorrow means
nothing to some
living now, for Today;
but the Past is Present,
seldom unhitched or ignored.
124.
Contemplate-investigate
the Here-in-Now—
voices of trees
shadows of bees
incense burned down
125.
Blessings of being
Alive—
Intensity of Beauty,
Clarity of Truth,
Precious Time!
126.
Things birth ideas
Ideas discover things—
Is Spring an idea?
Are atoms things?
Poet's ponder such "Things."
127.
Watering dry flower beds
chilly April morn—
maple leafing
red Rhododendrons blooming
my fingers stiff and cold
128.
Stuck
in a poetry rut—
spinning ideas
muddy words...
Louise Glück gave me a tow.
129.
beer
guzzled
down—
chatty
clown
130.
"good morning
hello
have a good day"—
walkers
nod and say
131.
Opening her letter
again—
creative sketches
subtle words...
Why did she lie?
132.
Koan answers?
Three pounds of cannabis
Plum trees in the courtyard
Sounds of four hands clapping—
Shape the bonsai, carry the sake.
"My daily activities are not unusual,
I'm just naturally in harmony with them.
Grasping nothing, discarding nothing...
Supernatural power and marvelous activity
Drawing water and carrying firewood.
- Layman Pang (740-808)
133.
Jesus Christ must have
lost his mind—
to volunteer needlessly
for a suicide mission
to "Save All Mankind."
134.
Nemesis Club Soccer Team
2025
Girls soccer game
rough today—
two Red Cards
four injuries
parents Scream...
Playing soccer
in the rain—
spectators insane...
Referee
stops the game!
Slippery grass
cold rain—
away game
Salem's way
umbrellas sway
135.
My grand daughters
17th birthday
today—
17th of April.
Auspicious coincidences?
136.
A best friend,
her cousin,
died today—
total surprise,
healthy till 85.
137.
Two roads
crossed—
four way stop!
My engine died
travel stopped!
138.
Played the game
placed the wager
tossed the dice
won the bet—
left Vegas lucky sane
139.
Symbols shine
in metaphor time
aligning the mind—
The Flowers of Evil
in Baudelaire's lines.
140.
homely boy
worries—
unpopular
shunned
ugliness sucks
141.
Green olives stuffed with garlic
tasted fine
blended with fresh French bread—
we watched the boats in the river
while slowly sipping fine Pinot Noir.
142.
Hohner
harmonica
Low C—
blow-suck
sonorous melodies
143.
Alan Watts
made me laugh—
philosophical humor
bundled
Insights
144.
geese formations
flying by
cacophony of honking
moving
sky
145.
cut my hand
cutting wood
can't see so well
can't be as strong—
lost youth
146.
In Gushen Grove
the Valley Spirit
never dies—
Lao Tzu
opened his eyes.
147.
homeless beggar
handed $20—
he held
a cardboard sign:
Matthew 5-7
148.
the bathroom mirror
fogged—
I could not
recognize
my wet face
149.
The School buses loading
stop and go.
Red stop lights flashing,
yellow caution lights blinking slow.
I stop, wait, and watch the show.
150.
Winter killed, spring revives,
ferns recover, tulips rise,
dogs bark, crows skwack-cawk;
I read a Gioia poem out loud.
151.
my coffee cup
receiving
falling
wisteria blooms—
lavender creamer
152.
sitting on sand
gazing at the
Cannon Beach scene—
sneezing into
my sandy hand
Highway 101 and 1: A Docu-Poem
153.
eating a bowl
of steaming rice—
pure white
pleasures
bite by bite
Bundled Up:
Quintains and Tanka Poems
By Mike Garofalo
154.
Departing, step by step;
step by step, arriving.
Sitting down
boots off
feet sore.
155.
The best things in life are more expensive than you think.
Artists rearrange new objects and intellectuals rearrange old words.
To put a bigger hat on an idea─ Capitalize its Key Words.
Sitting in a garden and doing nothing is high art everywhere.
Maybe it is a Bright (blue, green, yellow) Enigma rather that a Dark (black, brown, red) Enigma?
Metaphors are a delightful, tricky, clever, ingenious ways of
pumping iron with words.
Pulling Onions:
Over 1,043 One-Liners
Quips, Epigrams, Jokes
156.
We pulled up a crab cage
from the old Toke dock
filled with five small crabs;
no keepers in this fifth pull,
a stingy bay here today.
157.
I turned right onto old
Highway 101
headed south to Olympia.
Sashaying along the Hood Canal
Oysters at every curve.
158.
Feeling my age these April days
From work in our bursting garden;
Clean up chores so long delayed
During Winter's lazy indoor pardon.
Took a nap. Dreamt about dahlias.
159.
morning walk
alone—
rehearsing
a memorized
poem
160.
Since
my friend
is gone—
life
goes on
161.
Plum flowers
in the sky—
sensory
actualities;
Noumena left unspecified.
Flowers in the Sky
By Mike Garofalo
Reference: Master Dogen's Kuge
I really appreciate positive feedback,
reviews, kudos, and encouragement
about the value
of
my free webpages.
Send your comments to:
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162.
skinned shins
bleed—
kneeling
pulling
weeds
163.
Climbing in the rain
up a sand dune slope
in quiet Nehalem Bay—
reaching the Top
of Beauty at the Sea.
164.
slanted sun rays
strike
pink cherry blossoms—
parking lot
cars shine
165.
closed down
not open now
nobody within our sight
glass door locked tight till
later tonight
166.
Bach's cello
compositions on
my cellphone MP3s,
complexities of pleasures fill
my ears.
167.
brown leaves
dead trees
damn drought—
helpless ground in
San Joaquin
- Highway 99 and I5: Docu-Poem
168.
I wrote these poems
myself—
not stolen
by machine AI
selling semi-plagiarized lies
169.
There are no ads on these pages.
Are you surprised?
Makes my webpages more dignified.
Don't need AI to sell for me.
Just offering some so-so poetry.
170.
we were
off the same page
so we stopped and talked
strategized and calmly agreed
with her
171.
move on
from garden chores
double digging more and more
hour after hours dry dust overturned
work done
172.
The still lake was green
from cyanotoxins algae,
scum floating to the shore,
harmful filth to the core;
everyone leaves the ugly scene.
The Wreck Ahead Comes Into View
173.
the basalt cliff rocks tattooed
red with graffiti
of forgotten first names enshrined
placards of insignificance
faded colors of little minds
174.
my money
root of hustling
common source of pride
only good for something nice for
my honey
175.
Three beer cans tossed in the gutter
epitome of the virtue of selfishness
shining examples of ugly clutter
clones of lazy boozer's discontents
symbols of careless abandonment.
I really appreciate positive feedback,
reviews, kudos, and encouragement
about the value
of
my free webpages.
Send your comments to:
Text Press Email
176.
hours of reading
into midnight—
cold study room
bright lights
sleepy eyes
177.
blood drips
from plastic tubes
replacing her lost fluids
from the Cuts from the Crash...
she drifts
178.
protest marchers
walk today
rejecting
King Trump's
dictatorial way
179.
Bible belt
buckled up for Trump.
Nazi belt emblem
Gott mit uns.
White worship.
180.
tears of pride
yells of joy
champions cheer—
loosing team
silently goes
181.
He died
then revived—
tunnels of light
stigmatic hands
Shaman's plan
182.
Standing meditation
bores me—
I'm prone to ADD
easily distracted
wobbly Roots under me
183.
telltale signs
of miseries—
cold homeless camp
stale scraps of chips
begging in the rain
184.
Patiently
waiting in line
for my appointed time,
along with other old men in
urology.
185.
Of night, or moon, or naught
of shadows tangled in knots
of dull dreams remembered not
of a sad song sung a lot...
rambling rhythms sway and rock.
186.
Five T-shirts all said in red
"Trump is God"—
The five enjoyed the Disneyland rides
pleased that Pope Francis had just died.
Lucifer's faithful on parade.
187.
Emily D. loved the em dash—
—not a macron or en dash—
to signal shifts of her mind—
—to highlight a verse's charm—
to strengthen or stop a line—
"First—Chill—then Stupor—
—then things letting go—" ED
188.
he ran
as fast as he can—
finished last in the race
proving his manly tenacity,
nobody clapped
189.
e.
e.
cummings
Typ0
Graph Ical
Obsc
UR
Ities
190.
spiders weave webs
we weave words
skylarks sing
poets pen odes—
meanings unfold
191.
fashion power
restrain power—
a balancing act
to create great art
controlled and smart
192.
He had the courage
to say:
I'm not going to be
the center of the rest
of my life."
193.
time has a rhythm
beyond ticktock—
a string quartet waltz
a dying walker's walk
a stewing pot
194.
sleepless in pajamas
awake with worries—
mind buzzing
ideas racing...
moonless night
195.
Thoughts as
real as rocks—
piled up stones
ideas stocked:
quartz and fools-gold.
196.
Not Forcing
going with the flow
finding the groove
being Cool—
Taoist roles.
197.
Where are the bees?
Why have they died?
Without Them
plant life will disappear
and animals/humans will die.
Pesticides increase production
for awhile while
profits for corporations rise;
imported grapes and avocados
out of season
this worlds awry.
198.
thinking about thinking
can be useful
as a rule—
too much just thinking
creates clever lazy fools
199.
The world has sadly been
Americanized—
leaving junk
piled high
polluting the earth and sky.
The Wreck Ahead Comes Into View
200.
This world projects me
emanates, creates, grows me
births me, radiates me, plays me—
yet needs me to see,
It is Not about illusions of me.
Bundled Up:
Quintains and Tanka Poems
By Mike Garofalo
Quintain Poetry Sections on this Webpage
Poems 1-99
Poems 100-199
Poems 200-299
Poems 300-399
Poems 400-499
Poems 500-599
Poems 600-699
Research
201.
There is no Boss of Nature
No King of the Universe
No Ruler over all—
Just Happenings of Itself,
just so, it is just so.
202.
My body is not
a horse I ride;
not a Brother Ass
I work till it dies.
St. Francis lied.
203.
Learning how
to let go—
participate,
don't dominate,
enjoy life's show.
204.
religions mostly
define sex as sin,
immorality,
a pest—
Nature laughs
205.
Your mind can be
like a mirror—
keeping you distant
from intimacy...
touchless unreality.
206.
fat radishes
red and round
seasonal shifts
vegetable prices
coming down
207.
My balance unravels
if I turn to quick;
my age is 80,
what the shit;
I'm amazed
that I still exist.
208.
poet's confess—
loneliness
loss of love
distress
words of regrets
209.
She passed
the pipe—
cannabis
fine,
I declined.
210.
walked
an hour—
dogs barked
birds fled
azaleas red
211.
tired
sleepy—
gas
tank
empty
212.
dead bird
in the gutter—
street sweeper
coming
distant roar
213.
thinking
about thinking's themes;
Not thinking about Not-Thinking
[what can that really mean?]
"thinking"
214.
only
a cloud of gnats
circling the dirty birdbath
inviting the midges who are
lonely
215.
napped
three times today
aching body led the way
fatigued from stress and overwork
zapped
216.
empty
page of blue lines—
notebook silent
wordless sonnet
underlined
217.
Contesting Poets
She entered a poetry Contest
for a $1,500 prize,
1,100 other poets
also tried and applied,
sending their two best poems via online.
Judging poetry
is hardly any fun
while reading
2,200+ poems
piled one on one.
To be
The One of 1,100
who got the coveted prize—
Lady Luck was
clearly on her side.
But don't be discouraged
by the ridiculous odds;
pay the $15.00
entrance fee
and toss the dice of poetry.
If you don't gamble
you can't win; or,
just keep your fifteen bucks
to spend
on some other sin.
The American poet
with the most prizes,
awards, grants, citations:
John Ashbery!
[A very fine poet to me.
Only lacking a Nobel Prize.]
Or, consider, Anthologies:
Editors/Judges read 18,000 Tankas
for Take Five, Volume 4,
to select 400
"of the very best"...
[The Master's Opinions! Yes?]
A poet's
introduction—
[where he was published]...
far longer than
the one sonnet
he read.
Poetry contest winner
reading his long poems—
listener's yawned,
then clapped.
Nobody laughed.
[My preferred publishing style]
218.
Becoming colder
I move to the corner
where it was always 90 degrees—
laughing loudly
the riddle sneezed.
727 Riddles, Jokes, Brain Teasers
219.
aches
and pains today
reminded me—
buck up buddy
fight life's dis-ease
220.
brushing my teeth
water running
gargling; suddenly
like a Pavlovian dog,
the urge to pee
221.
In general, be more specific.
Absolutes squirm beneath realities.
Dogmatists are less useful than dogs.
Roundness is the Holy Shape.
The real "miracle" is cause and effect.
Pulling Onions
Over 1,000 Quips
One Liners, Epigrams
222.
unseen
unknown
unspecified
unconnected
unborn
223.
I watched the old woman
trip and then fall in her yard.
Bashed her lips, bloodied her arm,
laid still for awhile,
cussing, pissed off, assessing her harm.
224.
The stupidest President
elected twice—
defeating two women,
easy prey,
to be kept in the kitchen
out of real men's way
he spit words at me,
tipped his red cap,
a bitter MAGA devotee,
unwilling to tolerate
anyone but he
listening to myself
complain about Trump—
Am I a glutton
swallowing
self-punishment?
225.
the waves
sang
incessantly—
a mournful dirge
about the dying sea
226.
a cool breeze
caressed
my skin—
sunbath
this day in May
a single fir needle
fell on my skin—
I brushed it off,
gently it seemed,
barely a tiny thing
227.
silence might heal
silence might reveal
silence might conceal—
hidden mysteries
drowned by sounds
228.
can't touch silence
can't hear colors
can't see sounds—
my speaking me
let's words conjure up
possibilities
229.
warm day
sun conspired—
getting me
to walk outside
despite my lazy mind
230.
Poetry contest winner
reading his long poems—
listener's yawned,
then clapped.
Nobody laughed.
231.
My mother
used to say
"mind your own business";
so, I try to be focused and stay
busy my way.
232.
I once thought
life is a riddle,
Death is a riddle—
but after wise experiences,
the riddle does not exist.
233.
Ethics is not transcended,
no matter what Wittgensten said—
ethics is feeling
friendship, compassion, helpfulness,
even dread.
234.
One person
heard the notes.
Another person
listened to the pauses.
Another the music.
235.
Endiku said
"Gilgamesh is given
Powers and Kingship, and
the Courage to Face
Zarathushtra Incarnate."
236.
I hiked to the Top:
Mount Whitney and Mt. Lassen,
Mount San Gorgonio and more—
but only imagined seeing
the idea of Mount Analogue.
[René Daumal, Mount Analogue.]
237.
Can't see God
in every
nook and cranny
everywhere;
like Meister Eckhart's mind.
238.
planted
cream white
Rhododendron
inside a blue pot—
Watering
239.
I imagined two haiku—
pencil lead broke
finished none.
Sharpened my pencil;
forgot what to write.
240.
Walking
alone in the dim
twilight zone—
wild driver coming,
I jumped off the road.
241.
sweet candies
tempting me
remembering
me...
—diabetes
242.
lichens:
on rocks
on trees
in the sun
in the sea
243.
Calling
an old friend
to tell her bad news;
a fine colleague of ours
had died—we sighed.
244.
The very little boy
at the soccer game fence,
with his back to the crowd,
unzipped his pants
and peed.
[everyone smiled]
245.
Jetty Stones, rocky levees,
embrace the River
Columbia to the Sea;
Seagulls and noisy geese
shit on the dirt levees.
246.
lichens on trees
lichens on rocks
lichens on shrubs
lichens on docks...
humans everywhere
247.
Home again home again
crows in the firs:
squak squak squak squak squak squak
signals-messages by air
Stellar Jays aware.
248.
Petals
open by day
closed by night.
Cafe open at 7
closed at 2.
249.
Frosted Flakes
soaked in milk
floating food
sugarfied
spoonfuls-GREAT!
250.
Repeating
patterns multiplied
multi-layered synthesized—
Metamorphosis by Philip Glass.
Overlapped...
Bundled Up:
Quintains and Tanka Poems
By Mike Garofalo
251.
Squirrels running
past my chair—
hummingbird
hovering
above my head
252.
reading
post-modern poetry—
sexually explicit
free verse randomness
pulsing crazy
253.
washing
my hand
germs
soaked
away
254.
Cinco de Mayo
celebration—
nimble dancers
strut and stride
colorful time
255.
Laying on the floor
pillowed by my arm
covered by a quilt
pajamas soft and clean—
awake for hours it seemed.
256.
Pretending to be me;
such a boring chore.
Clowning around with
dull masquerades of me.
Misplaced my fragile identity.
257.
old age
"creeps in its petty pace"
day by day—
slowly dying
going away
258.
I did that
I did this;
He showed me that
She showed me this—
chosen or given makes minds.
259.
No Guru talking
to me;
No Master over
me.
Free to invent me.
260.
"For though my rhyme be ragged,
Tattered and jagged,
Rudely rain-beaten,
Rusty and moth-eaten,
If ye take well therewith,
It hath in it some pith."
- John Skelton
261.
Commercials tease,
fake you out,
trick your brain,
sneak and fib—
your money their aim.
262.
COVID days—
staying at home everyday,
quarantined like everyone,
hoping to avoid the flu's
morbid way.
263.
sore shin
red and inflamed spots
stinging raw
not healing—
remedies saught
264.
Wonder:
buds in Spring
wedding ring
vivid dreams
bread and beans
265.
going
coming
leaving
entering—
long walk home
266.
stuttered
stopped
lawn mower—
so pissed
off
267.
easily
distressed and
pissed off by little mishaps
that my work plans stop
frequently
268.
cell phone
turned off—
missed
sales calls
no loss
269.
May Day:
rhododendrons
multi-colored
vibrant displays—
tints of sunshine
270.
bird
shit
drops on rocks—
lichens
thrive
271.
my tire
blew out—
Interstate 5
roadside
ROAR
272.
Bandon
in June:
cranberry
shops
stocked.
273.
One dreary winter day,
I spotted Big Foot drinking coffee
with Paul Bunyan and Vampire Vlad
in a cozy Tillamook Starbucks Cafe.
Nobody was fazed;
figuring,
just Hollywoody Cos-Play.
274.
We can't deny Fukushima's tsunami demise,
Our West Coast shares that Ring of Fire Alive.
We shudder and shake in earthquakes strong.
Yes, it can suddenly become horribly wrong.
Where will the tens of millions go?
When Florida's Turkey Point melts down
during a horrendous hurricane blow.
The Wreck Ahead Comes Into View
275.
wet grass
a robin hops
digging worms
grubs and such—
"Call of the Wild"
277.
Thrice beautiful
are Beauty's Eyes—
crying over melodies,
opening wide, seeing bliss,
closing at midnight time.
278.
Took a shower
my garden chores done
dressed in sweatpants and T shirt—
read John Ashbery's poetry,
fell asleep between the stanzas.
279.
Are my quatrains
worth reading?
I thought—
Not as tasty
as her enchiladas.
280.
Then
it became clear—
as my vivid dream ends
and my waking mind gently asks,
"When?"
Then
one morning in May
the kitchen sink leaked—
not the best way a Saturday
Began
Then—
Mother's Day
cards opened and read
a flower bouquet beside her bed a
Trend
Then
wondering, on edge,
would the expensive gift given
communicate the message I wanted to
Send
Then,
We drove to the sea—
Found a cozy motel by the shore,
Made acrobatic love for hours with
Bends
Then—
the End!
281.
Packing my bags
for another camping trip—
medicine bag, wood cane,
box of food, coat for rain,
clothes for cold, books for my brain.
282.
Maps studied
for my guides—
new places
new finds,
unknowns uncovered.
283.
President Carter
died today—
a Decent man
All the way.
I ate some peanuts today.
284.
NBA games
every day,
NBA TV
all the games—
boredom delayed.
285.
She grabbed my hand
as the airplane bucked
in a Palm Springs takeoff—
we both feared
a plane crash was near.
286.
Sitting stopped
in traffic between
Olympia and Tacoma—
bad accident on I5,
overturned tanker burning.
287.
A subtle message
somewhere hidden away:
obscure metaphors
striking images
Obscenities!
288.
Envelope Quintain Rhyme Prosody:
A Always keep an apple
B By your bed
C Granny Smith apples green
B Best for your lazy head
A As tasty as a Fuji Frapple
289.
4 am
wakening,
staring at the fireplace—
coffee
steaming
290.
dulled black
2HB pencil
sharp blue
ink pen
words on white paper
291.
Our adopted grandsons,
Nerdy Men,
Science Project Winners:
Growing plants on Mars research,
Complex programmed video games.
292.
cup slowly again
of drank a
tea a cup tea
warm of cup
hand tea empty
empty
tea
cup
washed
again
clean
tea
cup
shelved
again
Tea
Cup
Empty
in the
End.
293.
She’s the Empress of Beans.
He’s the Emperor of Sour Cream.
Their daughter’s the Princess of handmade dreams.
Their son’s the Prince of clever memes.
Or, so Imagination portrays Royalty.
294.
My hands felt the salty sea
my fingers ran
across the sand...
she hummed a melody,
held her cup of ginger tea.
295.
I tossed the bait
into the surf
fishing for a silver perch—
my fingers stiff and cold,
reeling-reeling in a naked hook.
296.
My hand held an agate jewel
carved slick by the tumbler Sea
polished by a million grains of sand—
rock-smooth in my caressing hand,
amazed I was by rocky headlands.
297.
I splashed words on the page
like Jackson Pollack's random sprays;
I laughed and played—
streams of consciousness went dry.
I tossed the scribbles in the trash.
298.
garbage trucks
backing up
beep, beep, beep, beep, beep...
Wednesday morning
ritual dump
299.
The noun asked the adjective,
"Why do you speak of superficialities?"
The adjective replied,
"Because your not very interesting
as a mere noun, unqualified."
300.
liking this world
as it is
not easy, occasionally wise
changes yourself
by little lies
Bundled Up:
Quintains and Tanka Poems
By Mike Garofalo
Quintain Poetry Sections on this Webpage
Poems 1-99
Poems 100-199
Poems 200-299
Poems 300-399
Poems 400-499
Poems 500-599
Poems 600-699
Poems 700-799
Research
301.
Exterminate diversity:
kill the elephants
for piano keys, or slaughter
all rhinos for aphrodisiac greed.
Deny diversity and we will die.
302.
RUN fast, slow Down,
SHOUT out, be Quiet,
Spinning CENTERED Ideas—
Reading Michael McClure's
Whirlpool POETICS wash.
["LIFE IS A CURTAIN
draw across the past.
- Michael McClure]
303.
Intricate memories
of traveling—
Ayahuasca brew in Costa Rica,
in a circle of seekers,
wholly holy transformed.
[Morgan Paige, Blue Morpho]
304.
The Littlest Things:
old, worn,
impermanent,
imperfect—
wabi-sabi style.
305.
Lone Ranch Beach black rocks
covered in lichens and seaweed locks
faced the splash of the surf—
a Sea Scooter crushed
a mussel in his gizzard.
306.
Or, consider, anthologies:
Editors/Judges read 18,000 Tankas
for Take Five, Volume 4,
to select 400
"of the very best"...
307.
hand-still-unmoving Death
grabbed his failing breath
shook his ego till it expired
handed him oblivion
took from him all desire
308.
Ribbons of trickling streams
colorless shards of fog and rain
guided down by the hands of gravity
to disappear into
the Mouth of the Sea.
309.
the telling weight
of the yellow stone
held in my fist—
memories of riverbanks
left unmined
310.
splitting wood
this campfire needs
to light the dawn—
she read sad poetry
he gently cried
311.
my fantasies
meant much to me—
never confessed
embarrassing,
hidden between my legs
312.
I buried my dog
big Rowdy the Rottweiler
under a blanket—
shoveled dirt
respectfully
313.
the wet dog
smelled of grass;
my damp sweatshirt
soaked from work
smelled of me
314.
my pants
slipped down
my skinny ass—
fallen suspenders
a broken clasp
315.
the dirty old man
bent and down
without a smile
said "God Bless"
and passed me by
316.
Trump flags
in trailer town—
don't need no Harvard nerds,
don't like Queers or foreign breeds,
favor American beers and Fox TV.
Trump improvements:
nobody eats dogs
or cats anymore; instead,
the poor eat canned
dog food from the store.
317.
reading the thick
Tanka Anthology—
between the lines
of brevity, many seeds
were planted in me
318.
white bird shit
on my bonsai pot—
a patina of elegant
naturalness,
I did not wipe it off
319.
A fluorescent bulb
fell and bounced—
then broken glass
spewed smoky
argon, xenon, neon,
mercury and
krypton out.
320.
Blossoms gone
from cherry trees—
flying bugs
bounce off the screen;
Spring a faded memory.
321.
my high school
basketball coach
had no right hand—
an Anzio grenade
blew it away and
killed another man
322.
little lady
thin and prim
beautiful blouse
hair perfectly trimmed—
I want to kiss her ear
323.
Darkness brewed:
unsettled thoughts
crowded anxieties
helter-skelter memories
all dispelled by sleep.
324.
walking home
in the dark—
moonlit path
spooky
sounds
325.
saying
the rosary,
world peace
sought—
childish thoughts
326.
two plus two
equals six—
she failed
the math quiz
four times
327.
blocked shot
rebound sought
put back in—
popcorn dropped
cheering stopped
328.
summertime
swimmers
towel off—
children grin
in umbrella shade
329.
sunny angles
bright and shadows
half-lit leaves—
obscure memories
half-hidden dreams
330.
In the Port Orford
rain and wind—
myrtlewood shop
carved souvenirs
dry indoors.
331.
Logging trucks
on Hwy 101—
passing me
speeding
to the Aberdeen mills.
332.
fast wind
shaking everything—
reading indoors
don't hear or feel
cold air streams
333.
rat race
ain't bad,
snails pace
ain't bad—
any pace please
334.
a keepsake
an ornate shell—
remembering
my childhood's
prosaic home
335.
my daughter
a grandmother
will be—
my grand daughter
a mother...
decades flew by
336.
A poet's
introduction—
longer than
the one tanka
he read.
337.
Halloween:
she set
an extra
dinner plate
for hungry
dead friends
338.
My grandmother's
Family Bible—
a big heavy tome
unopened for years
a dusty history.
339.
Talked with
a Two Spirit man
on a beach in Chinook lands
we laughed and said goodbye,
did not kiss.
340.
Nonna
once
making sauce—
decades lost
empty pot.
341.
memories
of mom—
playing canasta
on the beach
blanket hot
342.
For 50 years
we laughed
we cried—
and still
happily alive.
343.
pasta
sauce
bubbling—
my dead dad's
recipe
344.
the family
we choose
and the
ones
we inherit
345.
dancing
in the dark—
embracing
silent
remarks
346.
old hurts
can get in the way
of new beginnings—
my mother
used to say
347.
The cold dead heart
of practicality—
kept me away
from someone
I wished to be.
348.
gopher snake
crawls to his hole—
my growling dog
snarling craves
snake sushi
349.
smiling
bidding goodbye—
carried her
carry on
out of sight
350.
No Rock of Ages
under which to hide
from rain and snow—
the forest cut down
for clapboard homes
Bundled Up:
Quintains and Tanka Poems
By Mike Garofalo
351.
The day began
with a BANG—
Mt. Saint Helen's erupted
45 years ago,
melted all the snow.
352.
Digging wild carrots
"Yampah, s-luk'um"
Little Fingers—
Oreille River
Spring greens.
353.
plucking huckleberries
sucking juice
fingers in our mouth—
humming
"numanumanumanuma"
354.
holding tightly
to the ladder's sides
stepping carefully—
unsteady lately
my 80th birthday
355.
sand sculptures
in Saint Helens
sit on the shore—
river will rise
erasing the art
356.
shot in the arm
a bullet of vaccine—
working on trust
she takes a chance
on a little bit of the disease
357.
The store detective
shuts off the alarm—
offender escorted,
paperwork prepared,
elderly thief sits on a chair.
358.
Called by the School Principal,
my son in a fight—
defending or offending
the issue at hand,
we wrestle with "facts."
359.
evening walk
around my block—
dogs bark
squirrels dart
children talk
360.
heartwarming
film
ended—
we were both
teary-eyed
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361.
opening
the book
adjusting
the lamp—
wiping my glasses
362.
"Effigies of Indifference"
Idles scarecrows goofing off
Full bellied Rich sleeping it off
Freeway racers cutting people off
Drunken homeboys steal and scoff
Burn them all, buy them off
Deny them any energy
Toss them off the Thomas Bridge
Cheering as they screaming fall
Relics of Responsibility
Hung on sacred olive trees
Cheered by people good and free
363.
Streams of incoherence
Rivers of incomprehensibility
Oceans of meaninglessness—
Occasional glimpses
of fools-gold in the poems.
[Reading Ashbery-Verlaine]
"The idea is to reach the unknown
by the derangement of all the
senses."
- Arthur Rimbaud (1854-1891)
"Let your verse be
aimless chance."
- Paul Verlaine (1844-1896)
364.
muddling
my way—
not understanding
hardly coping
crippled by ignorance
365.
touching
her hand
gently—
wedding
vows
366.
tired
sleepy—
tossing
turning...
Insomnia
367.
old computer
screen
flickering—
elderly sick
pixels
368.
Winter yurt camping
at Nehalem Bay
my favorite—
annoying crowds
stay far away.
369.
Many mosquitoes
on Memorial Day
biting and stinging—
kept unsafely away
by poisonous spray.
370.
fallen
faded
rhododendron blooms—
hot days in
June
371.
Driving by my
old Bandini home—
it is 80 years old
as I am today.
Both a bit worn and frayed.
Definitions: Quintains and Tanka
25 Steps and Beyond: Collected Works
372.
moonbeams
brighten
meadow foam
Flowers—
Willamette night
373.
the bird
Crashed
into the window glass—
flapped for moments
then died
374.
Morning...
Arch Rocks,
Spruce trees on the top—
I sit dazed...
Amazed!
Highway 101 and 1: A Docu-Poem
375.
That I will become
the roots of a tree
bothers me—
preferring to be
a sweet cherry
376.
fatigue
leaves me drifting
half-asleep
in my sinking body
motionless
377.
Barber's
Adagio for Strings
transports me—
to the rolling green
Palouse Hills.
378.
These hands
shaking
unintentionally—
telling me
unpleasant things.
379.
Old age:
black bananas
moldy cheese
broken toys
rusted dreams
380.
Tempted
to cut my wrists
to end the pain—
worn out body
mind mislaid
381.
moonbeams
make visible
shaking leaves
of willow trees—
June breeze
382.
these hands
write on
blue lines—
Notebook
guidelines
383.
My blue notebook's blue lines
Guide my pencil's trajectory
Space out my words
March them straight in line.
Mysterious marks on white wood.
384.
two squirrels
spinning around the
tree, up and down—
rituals of
romance
385.
I Don't own a Moleskine Notebook;
Sleek, black, hip design, $25.00.
I Own a Top Flight Wired Notebook;
Pack of three for $15.00, good utility.
Filled mine up with thoughts from me.
Traveler's carry their Moleskines
to China, where its made, a
handsome accessory in their hands—
jotting down the names, addresses,
and costs of places they crave to see.
Some folks fill their Moleskines
with drawings and sketches fine,
with diaries from their daily lives,
with notes and lists to organize,
to document their moments lost in time.
- Roland Allen, The Notebook: A
History of Thinking on Paper
386.
Buckets of piss
cured hides for parchment
and pulp rags for paper in 1568—
from 1568 to 1968
writers All needed this: Paper!
387.
holding an axe
heavy and sharp—
showing my
young son
how to chop
388.
conspicuous consumption
parked at the curb—
toys for the rich,
RVs and trailers
gathering dust
389.
obscure metaphors
random adjectives
pointless words
askew verbs—
post-modern gibberish
[Verlaine-Rimbaud,
delighted
would be.]
390.
worm in my hand
Wiggling—
returned to the earth
where It wants to be
Living...
391.
A picture of treason
hung on the wall—
my father tore up
the picture of Buddha,
not allowed.
392.
Catholics and Baptists
new ecumenical friends:
conspiring to defy
secular trends—
Christian Nationalism.
393.
I've never done
LSD, cocaine, or ludes,
not my mug of tea—
ordinary me
is quite satisfactory.
394.
green steel
blue sun
orange plums
red seals—
color-blind nun
395.
Piers of silence
sway in the fog
shaking their legs
in salt-water taffy.
Fishermen smoked stogies.
396.
The birds saw
hiker's parading
down the dusty trails—
geese flew south
by invisible trails.
397.
Invisible particles
of atomic mass
infinitesimal weight
holding immense energy
spinning space
398.
Time handed itself
Diaries from the past—
It remembered, read,
It recollected, reviewed
It spit out stale old news.
399.
Her arithmetic
was faulty,
but it did
not matter—
her kisses counted
400.
Everybody
wants Love—
Loneliness
can Crush
one's Soul
Bundled Up:
Quintains and Tanka Poems
By Mike Garofalo
Quintain Poetry Sections on this Webpage
Poems 1-99
Poems 100-199
Poems 200-299
Poems 300-399
Poems 400-499
Poems 500-599
Poems 600-699
Poems 700-799
Research
401.
Earthquake rubble
Bodies buried
Wails of mourners
City destroyed—
Even Titan's Shocked!
402.
dead bodies
rotting
in the rubble—
earthquake sirens
silent
403.
grief
holds all—
gutting
our guts
—stalled
404.
The Columbine killers
in trench coats black—
asked victims
"Do you believe in God?"
then shot themselves.
405.
Timothy McVeigh
killed 300 people
to set an example
of Right Wing Pride;
then tried to hide.
406.
He blew up a
Planned Parenthood Clinic—
to stop STD prevention,
to stop birth control,
to control women more.
407.
Nagasaki
flash of flames
flattened city—
burning omen
of Cold War
408.
He killed his wife
with a kitchen knife:
jury returns,
judge pounded his gavel,
killer's children cry.
409.
Hate
motivates,
greed
gravitates—
the ruthless congregate.
410.
I tried to tolerate
his many hates.
But, he polluted my mind,
wasted my time;
so I never talked to him again.
411.
mushy oatmeal
milk and sugar
stirred gently
tasty treat
breakfast treat
412.
Doing nothing
erases time—
sleeping mind
413.
"an inexhaustible wardrobe
has been placed
at the disposal
of each new
occurrence."
- John Ashbery, Scheherazade
414.
slowly becoming
someone new
instead of me—
transformed
intentionally
415.
Can't
turn off my brain
thoughts blowing like rain.
Midnight! Just can't turn off the
Rant.
416.
Another fine book devoured:
[schifanora, a boredom buster,]
swilled down, eaten up,
digested whole, feeding my mind,
for hour after hour.
"Of fingers on a book
suddenly snapped shut.
- John Ashbery, A Man of Words
417.
The future bounced off
my fingers while too tightly
holding the past.
The past slipped through
my fingers while readily
reaching to the future.
My fingers touched my fingers
praying in the Now.
418.
My middle finger says "up yours."
Fate might give us the finger,
and, as a rule of thumb, we
must accept the bad some.
I thank my middle finger
for sticking up for me.
Fist Up, Fuck You Racist America.
419.
Powered by my fingers my
cellphone works for me
pressing, sliding, scrolling,
from screen to screen;
the main App is my hand.
420.
I've always been
just a little
out of hand
out of touch
with Reality.
421.
"One primary color can make me feel mellow
when warm like honey heated up or like rays of a golden sun.
It’s flax, saffron, blond, and canary yellow,
cheerful like a daffodil and bumblebee fun.
It’s bananas too and a well-buttered bun!
- Adrea Dietrich
"Never paint except
with the three primary colors
[red, blue, and yellow]
and their derivatives."
-
Camille Pissarro
422.
= Hands Down =
= their real =
= their true =
= their here =
= their new =
423.
Memorial Day
end of May—
remembering
dead soldiers who
lost all their days.
424.
He sure Fooled me
as I could see—
to late
to unbuckle
my Stupidity.
425.
Ten o'clock
time for bed
just a habit
in my body's head—
to close another day.
426.
The marvelous minuscule
Has Magic for its Curse
Taking it away from itself
Not great, just common place,
Tricked out of its rightful state.
427.
Yes, I wish Milton's Heavenly Muse
would dictate beautiful poetry to me. But,
unfortunately, She never appeared you
see, leaving me seriously, with
the only Muse I hear—Me!
428.
aching hips
skinned shin
hurting shoulder
stupid grin—
wishing I was 50 again
429.
Driving up to Siskiyou Summit
on Interstate 5:
trucks lumbering up,
cars slowing down, then
everyone speeding fast
Down the steep Mountain side.
430.
University of California
at Santa Barbara
at Santa Cruz—
seaside campus life
shaping student's minds.
431.
When my mother died
we all cried;
When my father died
sadly
hardly anyone cried.
432.
To-ing and Fro-ing
Com-ing and Go-ing
Tip toeing through
Time Zones—
Seeking Unknowns
433.
Listening to teachers speak
and reading what they wrote—
writer or actor,
performer or author;
significantly different insights.
434.
Asked my Voyager Tarot deck,
"What will inspire me today?"
It said: "Steer the Chariot with Strength,
Learn, Aspire to be a Hierophant"
Vague, but somehow wise.
The Hierophant respects the Past
but wisely adapts
to the present tasks—
teaching others how to be
peaceful, good and wise.
"Poets are the Hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration; the mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts upon the present; the words which express what they understand not."
- Percy Bysshe Shelley, A Defense of Poetry, 1820
435.
ACE hardware store
Spring Plant Sale:
veggies and roses
flags and hoses—
Memorial Day
436.
Walking today
so slow—
a snail
slimed
on the go
437.
Tulips
erect
red & cream—
gentle breeze
fans my dreams
438.
watering
parched plants
dutifully—
June sunshine
sucking energy
439.
birds in the bird bath
flapping their wings
drinking and bathing—
eying each other sexually
seeking a fling
440.
she quoted her poem
held in her hand—
some poets in line
ready to rant
at Open Mic time...
some bitter minds
441.
June is her name
June is a month
June is for weddings
June is when school's out
June is before July
June is ...
442.
downtown Vancouver
at dusk—
homeless men
hitting their heads
mumble and shout
443.
San Andreas Fault
below Tomales Bay—
experts warning
seaside folks
move away
444.
hung up our flag
in our front yard—
not to proclaim MAGA
not to tout freedom...
just Memorial Day
445.
tired of everything
nothing interesting
bored and bitter
deepening funk
can't laugh
446.
family dinner
Memorial Day—
nobody mentioned
what dead soldiers
Gave
447.
External validation:
a printed book of your poems,
a positive review
a prize in a poetry contest
people actually buying your book.
If not, internal satisfaction.
Reviews of Mike Garofalo's Websites
448.
one
day she
said to me,
"your going to hell
before you die in 2035"
449.
"Einstein, the frizzy-haired,
proved E equals MC squared.
Thus, all mass decreases
as activity ceases?
Not my mass, my ass declared!"
"If God is good
half the Bible
is libel."
- Michael R. Birch
450.
Shapely as a
pile of dung.
Shapeless as a
pile of crap.
Which one?
Bundled Up:
Quintains and Tanka Poems
By Mike Garofalo
451.
Slept well
all night.
Refreshed!
Nobody cares.
Morning light.
452.
She heard
his engine start
and rumble—
he leaves for work
at 3am alone
453.
The "New York School" of poets,
a brand, a moniker,
an ad man's ploy:
O'Hara, Koch, Schuyler, Ashbery, Guest ...
Sustained a new movement's lively arc
of the post 1950's avant-garde.
454.
'To sustain a language that is both mucky and perfumed, to bring us face to face with the Now in which everything must happen, to have the reader speak the poem, to communicate something unknown to the reader,
to write the poem fit for the occasion."
- Paraphrase of David Herd, JA&AP, p.7 and John Ashbery
455.
You can smoke some shit,
drink until your shit faced,
buy some more shit,
feel like shit,
and find yourself in a boat load of shit.
456.
Knock! Knock!
the door was locked.
Richard Braudigan was dead on the floor,
shot himself and left a note:
"Sorry for the mess."
457.
convoluted
contorted
confusing
Prose—
delighted me
458.
mowed the lawn
pulled some weeds
watered plants—
an old gardener's
ritual deeds
459.
the hostess with the mostess
hosted another party fine
poured the wine
told jokes
dined
460.
showering
warm water
comforting my body
tired from working today
toweling off, ready to lay
461.
Stopped watching TV
all week
eliminated—
900 commercials
polluting my brain.
462.
waiting for sunset
late May day—
listening to cello
playing softly
time away
463.
Holding a eucalyptus seed
gnarly little balls
round and hard—
fragrant memories
of Tomales Bay
The Eucalyptus Trees in Tomales Bay
464.
Confessional poets expose:
their mental illnesses
their drug addictions
their failed love affairs—
Please, more privacy.
465.
Friday afternoon
suburban silence
accompanies walkers—
dogs bark
under trees
466.
back muscles
cramping up—
old age
creeping up
unfortunately
467.
Mourning
her death
yesterday—
passing
images of graves
468.
drugstore shelves
full and neat—
clerks working
overtime shifts
for birthday gifts
469.
commotion in
the check out line—
no ID
for a bottle
of wine
470.
tempted to buy
a cannabis joint—
reminded myself
of the slippery path
to Excess
471.
A penny saved
a worthless act.
A million dollars
saved—
unnecessary
472.
Little boats float down
the Cowlitz River
scooping up Eulachon smelt.
Oily slimy skinny fishlets
flopping wildly into nets.
473.
reading e.e.'s poems
in the campus shade
students walk by silently;
somewhere in a library
hangs another painting by e.e.
[e.e.cummings (1894-1962),
American painter, author, poet.]
474.
being baffled
spurs a fight
to find
solutions
to the bind
475.
"Our novels get longa and longa
Their language gets stronga and stronga
There’s much to be said
For a life that is led
In illiterate places like Bonga"
- H. G. Wells
476.
The plot opens a non-distinct door
into a room as bland as a broom
where four people who never met before
face each other for evermore entombed
a No Exit sign on every locked door.
477.
Different voices counseled his listening mind
Poised like a sprinter at the white chalk line
Ready for the pistol's blank Pop-Shot
Carrying the baton of rapt ears and mind
To philosophically fly towards the finish line.
478.
comatose in Room 205
fourth floor of hospital—
family gathered
waiting patiently
for me to die
479.
"The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveler hastens toward the town,
And the tide rises, the tide falls."
William Wadsworth Longfellow,
The Tide Rises the Tide Falls
480.
corn on the cob
cooked and buttered—
where did it
come from
in cold May
481.
Neighborhood fat-men
talking outside—
every fourth word "Fuck"
every sixth work "Shit"
"God damn" for emphasis.
[Current American Eloquence]
482.
Legs like cement bags
heavy to lift
sluggish to stride—
nodded and smiled
at other old passersby
483.
"Earth raised up her head,
From the darkness dread & drear.
Her light fled:
Stony dread!
And her locks covered with grey despair."
- William Blake, Earth's Answer
484.
Reading John Ashbery
at 11:05 under a night light
despite tired eyes—
puzzled by ironic asides
surprised by metaphorical twists
485.
I was under his thumb:
disgraced, put down, numb.
I was under her thumb:
loved, uplifted, fun.
Utterly Different Thumbs.
486.
"A triangle of light against the wall,
as though a lizard—no, a lizard’s dream—
luxuriated there, pleased with itself.
With time it shifts, though imperceptibly:
an arrowhead of aimless, seamless stealth."
- Humphrey Astley, The Quintains
487.
Up at 5 am
still dark outside—
water steaming
coffee brewing;
later sunrise.
488.
"Helen, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicaean boats of yore,
That gently, o’er a perfumed sea,
The weary, way-worn wanderer bore
To his own native shore."
- Edgar Allen Poe, To Helen
488.
The Flashing Lights of Destiny
grabbed his wallet
and his keys and
drove home—
could not remember
where he lived
Dreaming
he could not
remember
important things—
a Nightmare!
light bulb
burned out—
sat in the dark
alone
for hours
Forgot his
ATM password;
Misplaced
his cellphone—
baffled and alone.
forgot to
take his medicine—
slowly digging
his own
grave
489.
"In everyone there sleeps
A sense of life lived according to love.
To some it means the difference they could make
By loving others, but across most it sweeps
As all they might have done had they been loved."
- Philip Larkin, Whitsun Weddings
490.
The garden glowed red rain
His mental state was insane
He stumbled and fell in his sleep
Walked backward in the street
Crushed bananas with his cleats
491.
She wanted to be adored
bought lingerie
at the Fredrick's store—
for an hour
his interest flared
492.
"Some primal termite knocked on wood
And tasted it, and found it good!
And that is why your Cousin May
Fell through the parlor floor today."
- Ogden Nash
493.
"Life is an immobile, locked,
Three-handed struggle between
Your wants, the world's for you, and (worse)
The unbeatable slow machine
That brings what you'll get.
- Philip Larkin, Life with a Hole in It
494.
The Tower in Astoria
high on the hill
a monument to one history—
selective rendition art homage
to past portside pioneers.
495.
twisted mind
denies his crimes—
jury must decide
separating truth
out from lies
496.
colored fantasies
vivid dreams
shades of insights
scraps of epiphanies
boundless sensuality
497.
He spied a sea shell at his feet
gleaming gris azul shimmering
sat in bubbles on salty sand—
much younger than he
dead already, flipped by the sea.
498.
It took him hours and hours
To figure a proper solution
Out. Quitting was not
Optional. Not right.
Thinking bites!
499.
Too Hot!
Sweat
Dripping
Down
Now
500.
Colored flashes in the window pane
Christmas lights glowing red and green—
The homeless man has no name
Sits in cold dark tent unseen
Wearing a sock cap of red and green.
Bundled Up:
Quintains and Tanka Poems
By Mike Garofalo
Quintain Poetry Sections on this Webpage
Poems 1-99
Poems 100-199
Poems 200-299
Poems 300-399
Poems 400-499
Poems 500-599
Poems 600-699
Poems 700-799
Research
501.
Taste?
A matter of opinion?
No.
A matter of will, of choice,
of a moral and social voice.
502.
No Trumps in my Hand
I find Trump tasteless:
no music, no literature,
no dogs, no joy ...
just angry Twitters from a
rich, bitter, petty, lonely boy.
Blue suit, blue tie,
a red hat on his orange head.
Mumbling nothings disconnected,
bragging, criticizing,
bouncing golf balls off our heads.
Even the First Lady dislikes
this phony fellow,
staying away from the White House,
to avoid this lying felon,
a goofball red hat devil.
Mao devotees had their Red Book,
Trump devotees their Red Hat.
Dictators both full of wrath.
Destroyers of the culture of history.
False prophets of our solipsist destinies.
503.
Turned the pages one by one
reading slowly in the shade
stopped at the start of Chapter 5—
went inside
sipped a beer, then slept.
504.
"Over the river, and through the wood,
To grandfather's house we go;
The horse knows the way
To carry the sleigh
Through the white and drifted snow."
- Lydia Maria Child, Thanksgiving Day
505.
“If it
Were lighter touch
Than petal of flower resting
On grass, oh still too heavy it were,
Too heavy!”
- Adelaine Crapsey, The Guarded Wound
506.
"Moments come and moments go
as time keeps marching on;
hold me now and kiss me slow
‘fore sunlight breaks with morning dawn,
and wills this precious moment gone."
- John Dondolf, A Moment Frozen in Time
507.
"Love built a stately house, where Fortune came,
And spinning fancies, she was heard to say
That her fine cobwebs did support the frame,
Whereas they were supported by the same;
But Wisdom quickly swept them all away."
- George Herbert, The World
508.
Three Post-Modern Poetry Rules
The poem
Stands for Itself;
Not for something
Outside of
Itself.
Allow chance
to procreate—
open doors
for randomness
to integrate
Play with your work
work more with play;
Creating words a game
the game here is to play—
write poetry this way
[Fairfield Porter's 'Three Rules'
for avant-garde poetry, 1959]
509.
Smells tantalized his tongue
Bells rung in his soul
Visions of ripening plums
Lifted his fork to his mouth
Tasted the pulse of paradise.
510.
watermelon juice
dripping from my mouth
down my shirt—
juicy June
fond memories
511.
"A flea and a fly in a flue
Were imprisoned, so what could they do?
Said the fly, "let us flee!"
"Let us fly!" said the flea.
So they flew through a flaw in the flue."
- Ogden Nash
512.
DON'T YOU BELIEVE?
In what? I asked.
IN JESUS CHRIST?
Not really. Don't shout.
I prefer a Buddha's doubts.
513.
Is it a poem or a telephone call?
A 'phrasemakers panache"
or shouts down the hall?
A profound insight or song at a bar?
Ask Frank O'Hara about the Blue Guitar.
514.
Paper for notebooks was a revolution,
Typewriters gave us another way to read,
Personal computers changed our minds,
Internet brought information to our finger tips...
What's Next?
AI robots composing/singing songs we all like?
515.
Happy
Perhaps
Sometimes ...
| [engaged romance] |
{surprised chance} |
!thoughtless dance! |
| =pleasures enhanced= |
#warm pants# |
@spurious rants@ |
| $wallet fat$ |
&enthusiastic claps& |
....... |
516.
Seriousness not happiness
Intensity not flippancy
Playing not winning
Something not nothing;
One or the Other, or Both.
517.
I tried to make, to paint
the Pacific sea Moon tonight,
but ran out of paint, brushes to0,
a glueless collage waved apart,
the canvas burned in the dark
the Sea in a thimble would not fit
now on the burnt canvas tossed away,
brushes floating in grating surf
a hundred Lowe's paint cans unleashed
to color the kites at Klitsan Beach
the collage reassembled, laughed and cooed
showering implications on our shoes
skipping by condos at Ocean Shores
painters all wept, locked their doors,
painted starfish on concrete floors
I gave up unhandy tasks for me
wording and naming better pants a fit,
the painter's lot is not my thing;
gave away my painter's smock,
took up a notebook, walked to the dock.
518.
Dead house plant
withered and brown—
Old glasses now,
frame bent and broken;
need visit optometrist now.
519.
Some family and friends
homosexuals, not queer,
ordinary folks of good cheer,
hardworking, smart, nice;
no reason to fear.
520.
A nonce word, a cryptic term,
specified to a specific occasion
fixed for only one case:
D-Day, Overlord, OOD:
June 6, 1944, Normandy
521.
"There was a young belle of old Natchez
Whose garments were always in patchez.
When comments arose
On the state of her clothes,
She replied, "When Ah itchez, Ah scratchez."
- Ogden Nash
522.
"There was an Old Man with a beard,
Who said, "It is just as I feared!
Two Owls and a Hen,
Four Larks and a Wren,
Have all built their nests in my beard!"
- Edward Lear
523.
Pismo Beach trailer park
packed full of old folks
huddling in their metal box
from dawn to dark;
never going beachcombing.
524.
Body like the valley.
Blood like the river.
Mind like the sunshine.
—ideas shaped by words
similes like analogies
525.
tip tap
raindrops
on my vest—
a morning walk in
June
526.
Nataraja, Nataraja,
Shiva Nataraja—
yoga hymns a
floating chorus over
our solemn mats
527.
cold winds
Netarts Bay—
on Three Arch Rocks
tuffed puffins
fly and play
528.
Tuffed Puffins—
bright orange beaks
long yellow head tuffs;
congregate and breed
near Netarts Bay.
529.
Puce bustier
not for the shy—
elegant cleavage
caught his eyes
aroused his mind
530.
"Hickory dickory dock,
the mouse ran up the clock;
the clock struck one
and down he run;
hickory dickory dock."
- Mother Goose
531.
I Do This I Do That:
Like O'Hara's rat race
from cafe to subway
gallery to Queer Baths;
from here to there, Fast.
- James Lehman,
The Last Avant-Garde
532.
"I hear the sewage singing
underneath my bright white seat and know
the somewhere sometimes it will reach the sea
gulls and swordfishes will find it richer that a river."
- Frank O'Hara
533.
It is just the thing
this thing in my hand,
unlike other things—
something to hold
a brown rubber band.
534.
She was a hot tamale
He a cool dude
Together a Love Couple
Hip and real rude
Young with fast moves
535.
control freak
pushy boss
loud mouth
rants and raves
pain in the ass
536.
Poetry reading
cool night,
audience clapping
from delight—
Ghost Town crowd.
- Vancouver, WA
Ghost Town Open Mic
537.
"Sumer is ycomen in,
Loude sing cuckoo!
Groweth seed and bloweth meed.
And springth the wode now.
Sing cuckoo!
Ewe bleteth after lamb,
Loweth after calve cow,
Bullock sterteth, bucke, verteth,
Merye sing, cuckoo!
Cuckou, cuckoo"
- Anonymous, 1250
538.
trimming my beard
shaving my face
my bald head—
needs little attention
but for some cream
538.
I learned Roger died today.
We lifted weights at the gym
four days a week in Red Bluff
for three years together;
His legs were stronger than 50 men.
539.
Reading Billy Collins:
ordinary, direct,
down to earth, lived,
relateable, complex—
Readers are so fortunate.
540.
Midnight in Mendocino
Dawn in Eureka
Noon in Port Orford
Dusk in Coos Bay—
Highway 101 was slow today.
541.
"But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.
They begin by beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means."
- Billy Collins,
Introduction to Poetry
542.
this uninterrupted
series of fads—
flashing by
like advertising ads;
flashes of fools-gold
in a bottomless bucket
543.
"From a small vase, sparking blue, lift
a yellow pencil, the sharpest of the bouquet,
and cover pages with tiny sentences
like long rows of devoted ants
that followed you in from the woods."
- Billy Collins,
Advice to Writers
544.
Not lonely when I am alone
Content with busy invisibility
A movement of One, not avant-garde
Not steered by a crowd
By agendas other than my own.
545.
"So you read 'Billy Collins'"
she bandied with a smirk;
preferring The Beats,
not a homespun bourgeois teacher.
He bristled around this poetry snob.
546.
She laughed at his innocence:
he frowned,
to much diplomacy
and faked charms
to bring her around.
547.
cutting up Smooth Cat's Ears:
pulling them out
from the drying lawn—
bend down
hard ground
548.
My poems often collapse
into bad art, boring stanzas,
ho-hum themes, empty memes,
trite things, wasted moonbeams.
But, every so often a good one.
549.
Reading interviews
with haiku poets—
doctors, dancers, managers,
publishers, artists, teachers...
fine kind souls.
550.
they came
they wrote
they lived
they died
planted words for us
551.
summer surf
so cold—
surfers in Westport
float near jetty rocks
in wet suits from neck to toe
552.
cold hearted killers
In Cold Blood—
chain sawing up enemies
for a drug lord's rule
heartlessly for cash
553.
Up at 3 am
Sleepless in Red Bluff—
listening to a string quartet
playing Philip Glass
into my green silent room.
554.
At 80 years Old:
still walking on flat ground,
still gardening on the land,
still doing yoga on the floor...
staying grounded, hoping for more.
555.
For Krishna
Black is Beautiful—
Shyam (blue-black)
he is colored by kids
in India's religious coloring books.
Mysterious Dark,
Mystical Blue,
as bright as midnight—
Wisdom, Compassion,
Singing, and Righteousness
are his true hue.
556.
"These two spring from the same source
but different in name;
This appears as darkness,
Darkness within Darkness,
The Gate to All Mysteries."
- Gia-Fu Feng and Jane English
Dao De Jing, Chapter 1
[Dao De Jing,
Concordance and Anthology,
by Mike Garofalo.]
557.
"Life is disjointed, repetitions,
and a meaningless wicket"
said Samuel Becket;
a dog-eat-dog world,
a rat-race Theater of the Absurd.
558.
His poem didn't depict one thing
Or paint a photographic scene
Or tell a good story to me—
It just was, on it's own
Just, actually, just Something.
559.
my mind retreated
hid today
refusing to speak—
incognito
unrecognized
560.
the poetry reader's
soft voice
slow pace—
became unheard
lost in space
561.
sunny day
end of May—
mocking bird
changing pitches
stretching sounds
562.
she called
to say
he left
her today—
they both cried
Definitions: Quintains and Tanka
25 Steps and Beyond: Collected Works
563.
The green of Spring
lawns mowed down
glowing at dawn
bordered by trees—
ignoring me.
564.
We did the same things
Almost nothing!
Sipped coffee and cream.
Watched walkers walk by.
Day-dreamed.
565.
Maybe the syntax is haywire
wrong the yes spelling maybe
maybe the semantics wavers
down upside negatives tripling
clearly obscurity unintended.
566 to 593
Hood Canal
Dosewallips State Park
Washington State
566.
Highway 101
winds past
Brinnon to Potlach—
from forests to the edge of the seas,
the Hood sea flapping endlessly.
567.
O! Amazed! The pale blue sea—
The Hood Canal’s little waves
slapping the rocky shore.
Happy oysters settling—
Oh! Took my breath away.
568.
The buzz of aircraft
over the red cedars
fading...
a big black ant
crawled over me
569.
No ancient ruins
no famous folks
no documented histories
no great battle scenes—
just fish in the Hood Canal.
570.
Seal Rock campground
concrete picnic bench—
slight breeze
dappled shade
nobody here but me
571.
Heartburn’s heavy
painful stab—
pharmacy had
what I need
Rolaids' Tabs
572.
Occasional red
Pacific Madrone trunk—
roadside decoration
sprinkled amongst
spruce and cedar trees
573.
A couple walking
the Seal Rock path—
he very tall
she very short
hand in hand
574.
Not a single boat
of blue or gray
speeding by
anywhere today—
Monday workday!
575.
Keyboard singing
from the French Suite
or Well Tempered Clavier—
J.S. Bach by Argerich
in the dark woods on MP3s.
576.
Surprisingly,
the campground was empty
these final days
of Spring—
Twilight Zone scene.
577.
The cafe was empty
except for me
eating fried Hamma Hamma oysters—
the perky young waitress
told me her stories
578.
One blooming rhododendron
on a sloped dressed in spiky ferns—
one girl and four boys
waiting for the school bus
coexisting amicably
579.
emptiness hums
a solemn tune
clothed invisibly
hiding in
branches of hanging skies
580.
Rainbow View Falls trail
steep and long
for an 80 year old—
my knees and thighs
ached for two days on.
581.
Mt. Walker flanked
deep Rainbow Falls—
salmon hatchery
on the tiny Quilcene stream,
returning hatchlings to the sea.
582.
The Hood waterways
blurred in hazy mist
dull gray obscured today—
flashes of sunlight
cut through the trees.
583.
From Chimacum
to Quilcene, picturesque
rolling hills of farms—
faster cars
Speed around me!
584.
“DosEwallips” they say
not “Doswallips” like me,
spelled “Dosewallips” correctly—
Saying “pOtato” or “poTato,”
tastes so good either way.
585.
In heated afternoons
I sit in the shade;
reading dead poets
still alive
in printed words on paper trees.
586.
Many see them in clouds
faces and animals
appearing and disappearing.
I see them in photographs
as if captured alive.
587.
She told me
“look for the Strawberry Moon”
tonight; above the Hood sea.
I did. The Man in the Moon
was munching plump strawberries.
588.
The road through Sequim—
four lanes fast pass
flat fields of lavender and grass
in the rain shadow of Mt. Olympus,
sunnier, drier, less overcast.
589.
The tourists nod as they pass
from Port Townsend to Port Angeles
on a straight stretch of Hwy 101—
sipping a cafe mocha
on the run.
590.
I’m not in Beijing, Rome,
or Buenos Aries—
just in the Geoduck cafe (in Brinnon),
eating clams, drinking beer,
listening to locals I can understand.
591.
Strawberry Moon
hung low
orange glow
midnight rose
over Lilliwaup Cove
592.
Elk heads stuffed
on the Geoduck Cafe wall.
Still life taxidermy. Hair
bristling. Comatose,
heard the elk's stifled moan.
593.
Codfish battered
and fried. French fries
stale and crisp.
Ketchup and Tartar
sauce for dips. Cold beer.
566 to 593
Hood Canal
Dosewallips State Park
Washington State
594.
The tail of the snake
is not in his mouth—
his skin sheds off
a mouse fills
his wide open mouth
595.
The Nineteenth Century
ended that day
we sang Auld Lang Syne
at a B&B parlor
in Ashland, Oregon, that Key day.
596.
Om Mani Padme Hum
Om Mani Padme Hum...
Ooooommmmmm…
Jeweled lotus in pond scum.
Chanting devotees hum till done.
597.
Snow on Mt. Saint Helens
Chocolate on a vanilla ice cream cone.
A brown hat on her blonde head.
Green lottery tickets on a white table.
Waitress wiping the counter clean.
598.
The box cars steadily passed
graffiti tagged billboard blaque
colored border impeccable to claim
residuals from the BSNF Railway
chugging to Expressionist destinies.
599.
Sloshing water
splashing waves
rocky identity—
smoldering campfires
blowing paper trash.
600.
I will have composed over 900
Quintains by July of 2025.
Many more 5 Liners to come,
even some from the past.
Savory Quintain Snacks.
Bundled Up:
Quintains and Tanka Poems
By Mike Garofalo
Quintain Poetry Sections on this Webpage
Poems 1-99
Poems 100-199
Poems 200-299
Poems 300-399
Poems 400-499
Poems 500-599
Poems 600-699
Poems 700-799
Research
601.
"Your poems."
a clunkhead said, "have grown
more open." I don't want to be open,
merely to say, to see and say, things
as they are."
- James Schuyler
602.
Let things be as they are,
that is, as we, truly,
encounter them, from
near or from afar;
elusive as they are.
603.
"If only I had
Merely watched as they fell...
The plum blossoms!
But, alas, their fragrance
Lingers still on my sleeve."
- Sosei, Japan
604.
"I shut my eyes
But nothing whatsoever
Surfaces in my mind...
In my utter loneliness
I open them up again"
-
Takuboku, Japan
605.
sun finally
arrived—
high clouds
blew away
clearing the sky
606.
The Past, Present, and Future
agreed to meet in Times Square
on New Year's Eve.
At first, words were tense,
as they all had disagreed
on when to meet for
the Big Apple festivities.
The Future said 'come early,'
the Past said 'not late,'
the Present said
'just be there' fellow time travelers,
to sip from a silver flask
whiskey from a Kentucky distillery,
and with gusto sing
"Auld Lang Syne" to celebrate.
Sombody asked the three
"Are you drunk?"
The Past said "I forgot."
the Future said "tomorrow I'll know,"
the Present sat on the ground plastered
singing Scottish melodies:
"we’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet,
frae morning sun till dine;"
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit,
sin’ auld lang syne."
607.
1234567
12345
1234567
1234567
1234567
7-5-7-7-7
7 5 4 1 2 5 7 3
5 7 6 5 3 7 7 3
7 5 4 5 6 7 5 7
7 7 5 5 6 7 7 5
7 7 5 5 6 7 5 7
[Explain]
fenced in by five lines,
boxed in by seven sounds—
still, meaning flows out
a fixed playing field for words,
a frame for our honest doubts.
608.
Flying flies
jumping butterflies
busy bees—
a million movements
between blooming shrubs.
609.
Bonsai pot empty
twisted tree died—
judging nursery plants
for appropriateness
for a new bonsai.
610.
Packing the car:
camping gear
close and tight;
extra blankets
for colder nights.
611.
Slipped and fell
to my knees.
Knocked my head
into the door.
Luckily, I’m still me.
612.
Taking up fallen limbs
scattered randomly—
my back ached
bending down
no stopping now
613.
The soccer pitch
slick from dew—
players wore cleated shoes
but they knew
falling hard could be bad news
614.
It was raining
on the day I was born:
January 23, 1946 in Los Angeles.
I’ve been quite cold and wet
ever since.
615.
I was wobbly
legs unsteady
balance marginal
a little light-headed—
Hung Over unpleasantly!
616.
More bombing in the
Ukraine and Palestine—
civilian casualties climb
Terror reigns
criminal politicians lie.
617.
Counting the millions
killed in the Great Wars—
uncounted corpses
in the rubble of war
uncountable horror.
618.
Don’t dream very much
never did!
Or, I can’t remember
the dreams I did
have but lost.
619.
Consciousness
like a knock-knock joke:
Who’s there? Me!
Who? A Basket of Impressions
passing through...
620.
Dogs eat chicken
dogs - don’t eat - dogs;
men eat beans and corn
unless starving
then eat their dogs.
621.
I watched my
mother and father
Die!
Unconscious before me,
drifting away so peacefully.
622.
Beauty, indeed,
is a bit unendurable—
a little goes a long way
a lot leaves us empty handed
when it’s gone, we stay.
623.
lulls, breaks, stops:
pauses in doing,
lunchtime on the job,
night closing days
dying at dawn
624.
Reading Robert Hass:
standing at Inverness
picking huckleberries
staring at an egret eating;
from the corner of his eye.
625.
Woe to him
whose wasteland is within.
Woe to them
whose wasteland is without.
Wastelands in and out!
626.
He’s been dead
for forty years:
he’s dead now
dead tomorrow
unclocked forever anyhow.
627.
I saw him renege
playing with Tarot cards:
riffed the Hanged Man,
misplayed the Fallen Tower,
miscounted the Judgment card.
628.
bookstores glazed
in memories—
decades of bookshelves
becoming me
I listen as I read
629.
The Tarot spread
before my teller’s eyes
speaks optimistically—
the Hierophant
never dies.
630.
“I write poems
for a stranger
born in some distant country
a hundred years
from now.”
- Mary Oliver
631.
I’m not a real poet,
just faking, actually,
pretending to be
a word-smithing hacker,
too often unsuccessfully.
632.
Two different views—
contradictory ideas
clashing tastes;
cooked in an artful balance,
steeped in irony.
633.
It requires just
one poem, really,
one really fine poem...
To keep you as a footnote
in the poetry history books.
634.
cordiality:
nice to you
you nice to me,
not a rarity
most places
635.
Opening the door for
a charming elderly lady with white-grey
perfectly coiffed hair—
we smile, flirt a pinch,
pass on by, don’t touch.
636.
Chanting melodies
In German—
Hildegard Von Bingen
ethereal beauty
in pure sound
637.
Others know us
as we behave
as we say
as we reveal
till our final day.
638.
Vulgarity disdained
Ambiguity proclaimed
elegance praised
collegiate framed—
New Criticism (1950) Ruled the Game
Elegies to dead animals
multiplied like odes to joylessness
lacking spontaneity and frivolity
formal, polite, mythical, contrite
lacking vernacular bouncing delight.
639.
Sailing around the room
with Billy Collins at the helm—
the fan clicks above my head
the words bounce off the walls
ideas splash off the bow of brains.
640.
I left my childhood behind
at some unspecified time
between 13 and 19—
my loyal dog
seemed suddenly old.
641.
Drowsy afternoon
upward bound,
dinner done,
crows squawk loud,
cellphone buzzes randomly.
642.
Bottles of glue creamy
neon. Papers untidy.
Rubber knives in steel
suitcases. Unlocked.
A license to kill.
643.
Covered with wind:
a tornado. Broken roof.
Cars tossed like loaded dice.
Windows sliced by 2 by 4s.
The crying silence after the storm.
644.
See it again?
Pointless expanse,
wanderlust compulsions,
unreasonable geographic obsessions—
frogs in a boiling pot.
645.
Thoughtless in Port Angeles.
As imprecise as moonlight.
As old as the Hiroshima blast.
As sad as an empty whiskey bottle.
Lotion on my sunburnt back.
646.
Noisy neighbors!
Boys bounce a basketball,
Mamma talks to loud,
baby cries. Children
scream in my dream.
647.
coffee cold
black bitter
ugly mug
souvenir
Stolen
648.
I once remembered
a better version of myself
figuratively. Clear
to the horizon of Being
crossing the edge of emptiness.
649.
Indifference a place,
faceless effigies of fate,
quitting this shallow job,
roaming to another State,
eating stale peanuts from a can.
650.
Trees together
silent speech—
fungi chatting underneath,
coordinating
October leaves.
651.
The painting slept in the truck
of her Ford unlike a log. Paint
puddled. Smeared in the heat.
Buckled the frame. Finally, died!
A muddled self-portrait without a name.
652.
His door was once always open
so mosquitoes flew in
his generosity faltered
his mood chagrin, so he
closed the door and locked within.
653,
Outside the cafe doors
bulletin boards with
pinned on business cards...
Inside, locals gather
sitting, eating pancakes, talking.
654.
Eight Billion humans growing wilder
a Christened Cancer—
impending suicidal
millions more on the Edges
crawling to the gallows end.
655.
The desire to smoke cannabis
in my deep blood brain
soaked from habits
unrestrained;
the urges slowly leave in weeks
but guilt still leaves a scar.
656.
'The No Kings Day' Protests
Against Fascist King Trump—
He's at a big military parade
to celebrate his birthday
mumbling nonsense in his Red hat.
657.
"Get Down On It!
What you gonna do?
Wanna get in a groove.
Get your back off the wall.
Get Down On It!"
- Kool and the Gang
658.
white lilies in bloom
halfway through June—
Such a sexy smile,
I'm beguiled,
but no chance to bloom
659.
Blind Milton
feared execution
for advocating the death
of King Charles the First.
God Save the King mobs at his door.
660.
Grasping my heart
as the poet cries—
holding her pain
embracing her sadness
sharing her despair
661.
"Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds
Or bends with the remover to remove
Oh, no, it is an ever-fixed mark ..."
- William Shakespeare, Sonnet 116
662.
"May I kiss you?"
he asked. Sweetly.
A gentle shy man
kissing her hand
seeking her plush lips.
663.
It's 10 O'Clock
on the spot;
time for bed
she said—
"workday ahead."
664.
Music makes us Do
what It wants us to Do—
the rhythms the grooves
makes us tap our shoes
sing the chorus in tune.
665.
I sat shivering
in June—
put on a jacket
gloves and hat
to fool the chill
666.
Mountains are moving
Seas are rising
Universals are unraveling.
Shrubs are dying,
Particulars are crying.
667.
She loved him.
He no longer cared—
he left abruptly
never to return.
Left his three kids in a lurch.
Deadbeat Non-Dad!
668.
"Winter coming. Like the last heroic soldier
Of a defeated army, you'll stay at your post,
Head bared to the first snowflake.
Till a neighbor comes to yell at you,
'You're crazier that the weather, Charlie.' "
- Charles Simic, Against Winter
666.
Accommplish the Impossible?
Play God? Make normal passe?
Cure cancers? Make solar panels?
Create new arts? Know the future?
Ready, Go, Let's Statrt! So Soon.
667.
Accomplish the Impossible?
Play God? Make The Normal passe?
Cure cancer? Make solar panels?
Create new arts. Know the Future?
Ready, Go, Let’s Start! Very Soon!
Appropriate the Everything
passing quickly by …
a candle burning at both ends
flies on a dead dog roadside
mankind walking on the moon
Lazers opening up an eye
a skyscraper 180 stories high
a nuclear reactor making electricity
wine from California in Dubai
vaccine stalling a Black Death Doom
Computers held in your hand
English speakers in every land
millions napalmed in Vietnam
X Ray machine slicing up your brain
new seeds bio-engineered in lab-rooms
Twelve tone music squeaking in your head
an orthopedic mattress making your bed
transforming sand into computer chips
air frying frozen bagels for your lips
new, New, New even before this afternoon
Televisions in every room
Radios in every ear
Around the world jet airplanes fly
Cargo ships shipping timber to Tokyo
Basketball teams in Cameroon
Music playing from CDs
Oil pumped up from underseas
Satellites filling up the sky
Internet smarter with AI
Cruise ships docking in Cancun
Wonders upon Wonders New!
Faster than a speeding bullet train
Leaping to Mars in a single bound
Yet, seeing the deadly arrow in flight
Pollution our Kryptonite.
668.
After twenty years
they sold their home
escrow closed
the house was empty
last time to close that door.
669.
He built bookshelves
from smooth clean pine
she sanded and stained
till they looked fine
then filled with books in line.
670.
tight pants
tight shirt
fat man
realizes he
needs new clothes
671.
Breakfast at Karen's Cafe
complex omelets divine
fruit compote delights
fresh biscuits buttered warm
coffee creamed with a smile.
672.
the poet
played with sounds
a perfect pitch of ideas
melodic intimacies
rhythm of rhyming phrases
673.
700.
I'm a poet
of a body, not
a poet
of a soul, yes
I sing solo.
Bundled Up:
Quintains and Tanka Poems
By Mike Garofalo
Quintain Poetry Sections on this Webpage
Poems 1-99
Poems 100-199
Poems 200-299
Poems 300-399
Poems 400-499
Poems 500-599
Poems 600-699
Poems 700-799
Research
701.
Waking from a nap
groggy mind intact
brushing cobwebs aside
rubbing tired eyes, surprised
one hour had passed.
702.
Who says that fictions only and false hair
Become a verse? Is there in truth no beauty?
Is all good structure in a winding stair?
May no lines pass, except they do their duty
Not to a true, but painted chair.
- George Herbert, Jordan(I)
703.
Walking out
running back
jogger traces
familiar paths
on a rubber track
704.
Full moon
morning sky
a white silhouette
faintly traced
for uplifted eyes
705.
Bundled Up:
Quintains and Tanka Poems
By Mike Garofalo
Quintain Poetry Sections on this Webpage
Poems 1-99
Poems 100-199
Poems 200-299
Poems 300-399
Poems 400-499
Poems 500-599
Poems 600-699
Poems 700-799
Research
25 Steps and Beyond: Collected Works
At the Edges of the West
Highway 101 and Hwy 1
Bundled Up: Quintains and Tankas
Cuttings: Haiku, Senryu, Brief Poems
At the Edges of the Fertile West
Highway 99 and Interstate 5
Texts Press Publications
Free Online Poetry and Studies
Vancouver, Washington
Texts Press Email
Quintains and Tanka Poetry
Research, Studies, Notes
Bibliography, Links, References,
Webpages, Essays, Magazines
Definitions, Examples
Research by Mike Garofalo
Jenny Ward Angyal, award-winning tanka poet and author of Earthbound: Tanka-prose & Haibun, Only the Dance: Tanka Threads and Moonlight on Water: Tanka. Her Blog.
Bathhouse and Other Tanka. By Ishii Taatsuhiko and Hiroaki Sato.
Bundled Up: Quintains and Tanka Poems By Michael Peter Garofalo.
The Quintains found on this ad-free webpage make use of punctuation and indentation, frequent rhymes, capitalization, allusions, metaphors, haiku and senryu in unexpected places, typographical variety, and other common Western poetic techniques.
It features over 650+ Quintains and Tankas by the author. Often featuring contemporary and Northwest USA settings; and, with Buddhist, Taoist, Stoic, and Neo-Pagan philosophical and spiritual themes. Some minimalist contemporary style Tanka are included.
Includes a detailed bibliography, links, notes, quatrain stylistic considerations, definitions of quatrains and tankas, related research, and the author's writing and publishing objectives.
Cinquain: "A cinquain is a poem or five-line stanza with a rigid syllable count for each line. This modern form was invented by American poet Adelaide Crapsey. The first line contains two syllables, the second line contains four, the third line contains six, the fourth line contains eight, and the last line contains two."
Cinquain Poem Examples and Activities
Cinquain - Traditional By Judi Van Gorden
"The cold
With steely clutch
Grips all the land...alack,
The little people in the hills
Will die!”
- Adelaine Crapsey, Winter
only
a cloud of gnats
circling the dirty birdbath
inviting the midges who are
lonely
- Mike Garofalo, #214
Collage Quintain: Uses quotes from other sources to construct all or part of a quintain stanza or quintain sequence on a theme. Should include reference footnotes to the source of the quote or quotes. Example:
In general, be more specific.
Absolutes squirm beneath realities.
Dogmatists are less useful than dogs.
Roundness is the Holy Shape.
The real "miracle" is cause and effect.
Pulling Onions
Over 1,000 Quips
One Liners, Epigrams
- Mike Garofalo, #221
Crapsey, Adelaine (1878-1914) American cinquain poems. "The five-line cinquain poetic form she created reflected her life. The first four lines build up "expectancy" only to be followed by a one stress line as an "abbreviated conclusion."
The Crapsey Cinquain and Its Variations.
"Listen...
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break from the trees
And fall."
- Adelaine Crapsey, November Night
"How frail
Above the bulk
Of crashing water hangs,
Autumnal, evanescent, wan,
The moon."
- Adelaine Crapsey, Niagara
we were
off the same page
so we stopped and talked
strategized and calmly agreed
with her
- Mike Garofalo, # 170
"Still as
On windless nights
The moon-cast shadows are,
So still will be my heart when I
Am dead."
- Adelaine Crapsey, Moon Shadows
Then
wondering, on edge,
would the expensive gift given
communicate the message I wanted to
Send
- Mike Garofalo, #280
Dance to the World: Tanka Society of America, Twentieth Anniversary Anthology. Edited by Michael Dylan Welch. 2020, 108 pages.
Doggerel Quintains, Limericks, Sexuality
English Quintain: "The English quintain follows a rhyme scheme of ABABB, in which the final two lines form a rhyming couplet. Though an English quintain requires an ABABB rhyming pattern, there is no established foot or measure."
"In the golden lightning
Of the sunken sun,
O'er which clouds are bright'ning,
Thou dost float and run;
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun."
- Percy Bysshe Shelley
Envelope Quintet: "An envelope quintet is a five-line verse in which the inner lines are enclosed by the rhyming outer lines. The rhyme scheme may look like ABCBA, ABCAB, AABAA, or ABBBA (in which the middle lines form a rhyming tercet)."
"An Envelope Quintet is a 5 line verse in which the center lines are enclosed by the rhyme of the outer lines. The elements of the Envelope Quintet are: Stanzaic, a quintet may be a stand alone poem or can be written in any number of 5 line stanzas; meter at the discretion of the poet; rhymed abcba or aabaa or abbba , subsequent stanzas may link or continue the rhyme scheme: linked abcba cdedc or abcba deced / continued is simply abxba cdxdc etc. x being unrhymed."
288. Envelope Quintain Rhyme Prosody:
A Always keep an apple
B By your bed
C Granny Smith apples green
B Best for your lazy head
A As tasty as a Fuji frapple
- Mike Garofalo
"Ever since seeing John Wayne
on the movie screen
I've had a thing for the cowboy.
Like them long and lean
and if shy, I don't complain."
- Judi Van Gorder
"Opening my toybox after all this time
Those within saw my look and my shame,
They knew of my life, and was not to blame.
So I spoke with, Kanga and Wambi again,
Clearing memories covered in dust and grime"
- Ryter Roethicle
"This after-sunset is a sight for seeing,
Cliff-heads of craggy cloud surrounding it.
And dwell you in that glory-show?
You may; for there are strange strange things in being,
Stranger than I know."
- Thomas Hardy, He Prefers Her Earthly
Exploring the Quintain Essay An excellent essay about Quintains from the Eminent Verse Hub.
Fifteen Quintain Poems. (Oddly, nearly every one of the examples are Quatrains or Tercets??)
The Five Hole Flute: Modern English Tanka in Sequences and Sets. Edited by Michael McClintock and Denis M. Garrison. Modern English Tanka Press, 2006. Out of Print.
Five Line Construction: Gorder, Judi Van (Tinker). Provides a very good explanation of 17 styles of Quintains. For each style-form of quatrain she provides a history of the form, the country of origin, evolution of the form, key aspects of the form, examples of the patricular form, and related information: Arkaham Ballad, Bob and Wheel, Clogyrnach, Crapsey Cinquain, English Quintet, Envelope Quintet, Lira, Limerick, Madsong Stanza, Quintilla, Flamenca or Seguidilla Gitana, Sicilian Quintet, Tanka, Cinquain - Traditional, Waka, and Ya Du.
Four Decades on My Tanka Road: The Tanka Collections of Sanford Goldstein. By Sanford Goldstein. Edited by Fran M. Witham. Preface by Patricia Prime. Winfred Press, 327 pages, Second Edition, 2012. Selections from 6 of Professor Goldstein's books: This Tanka World, 1977; Gaijin Aesthetics, 1983; At the Hut of the Small Mind, 1992; Records of a Well-Polished Satchel, 1995; This Tanka World, 2001; and, Encounters in this Penny World, 2005. Includes a selective bibliography, and a biography of Professor Goldstein. Some introductory notes. Over 500 Tanka in this attractive anthology. Good paper and clear crisp print. $22, Paperback. VSCL. Professor Sanford Goldstein (1925-2023) is often called the "The Grandfather of English Tanka." These Tanka are nearly all in lower case, using only a comma or dash for punctuation, 5 concise lines, mostly free verse style. He includes more gritty, earthy, and intimate aspects of living. These poems reflect many of his experiences while living in Japan for decades. Sometimes, the stark brevity of the Tanka style can lead one to the edge of insight, but they are often too thin to hold up the pants of a deeper understanding. I reviewed this book for Amazon.
Graceguts Website: Michael Dylan Welch.
Haiku and Senryu Poems by Mike Garofalo. Arranged by the months of the year. Composed from 1998-2025.
Last Mile on the Tanka Road. By Sanford Goldstein. 2023, 140 pages. It was reported that Sanford Goldstein wrote 10-20 Tanka every day. Amazon offers a number of books by this author. Professor Goldstein was a distinguished translator, anthologist, critic, and well known Tanka poet. He passed away in 2023 in Japan at the age of 98. Some people call him "the Father of English language Tanka."
Limerick: "The limerick follows a rhyming scheme of AABBA. The “A” lines are composed using iambic tetrameter, while the “B” lines are written in iambic trimeter. Limericks usually stand alone as a five-line poem and often contain bawdy or humorous subject matter."
"There was an Old Man with a beard,
Who said, 'It is just as I feared!
Two Owls and a Hen,
Four Larks and a Wren,
Have all built their nests in my beard!"
- Edward Lear
"The limerick packs laughs anatomical
Into space that is quite economical.
But the good ones I’ve seen
So seldom are clean
And the clean ones so seldom are comical."
- Edward Lear
"God’s plan made a hopeful beginning.
But man spoiled his chances by sinning.
We trust that the story
Will end in God’s glory,
But at present the other side’s winning."
- Oliver Wendell Holmes
"There was a young lady named Sally,
Who enjoyed the occasional dally.
She sat on the lap
Of a well-endowed chap,
And cried “Sir! You’re right up my alley!”
There Once Was a Limerick Anthology. Edited by Michael Croland. Dover, 2022, 96 pages. VSCL.
Little Poems. Edited by Michael Hennessy. Everyman's Library Pocket Poets Series. 2023, 256 pages. Harcover, VSCL
Mad in Translation: A Thousand Years of Kyoka. By Robin D. Gill. Paraverse Press, 740 pages, 2009. Humorous, witty, naughty, earthy, sexual, bawdy.
Master Class on Quintains
Here are the Eight most common types of quintains:
Cinquain, English Quintain, Limerick, Spanish Quintain,
Pentastich, Sicilian Quintain, Tanka, Envelope Quintet.
"A quintain (also known as a quintet) is any poetic form or stanza that contains five lines. Quintain poems can contain any line length or meter."
McClintock, Michael Winston (1950-): Website, Hyper Texts, Anthology, AYSO Flash.
Minimalist Tanka. This style of English language
quintain poetry features, primarily:
All words in lower case font; except for Proper Nouns.
Mostly unrhymed, free verse style.
Little or no punctuation.
All text left justified.
Twenty sounds or less.
Not limited to season words
or key words used in Japanese Tanka.
Mostly contemporary settings.
More like Senryu thematically.
Examples:
in-breath
out-breath
unconsciously
enables me
to consciously be
- Mike Garofalo, #7
alone
on the trail
steep switchbacks
ahead—
my autobiography
- Mike Garofalo, #141
unseen
unknown
unspecified
unconnected
unborn
- Mike Garofalo, #222
Modern Japanese Tanka. Edited by Makoto Ueda. Columbia University Press, 1996, 288 pages.
A rather expensive $115.00 rare book.
A Monchielle Quintain stanza poem is usually six syllables, or iambic trimester, with a rhyme scheme of abcdc."
"I dream in arcane blue
as stars begin to shine,
in sleep, I feel your love
as heart entwines with grace,
I touch the night above"
- Jem Farmer, Arcane Blue
Mukhammas (Arabic 'fivefold') "refers to a type of Persian or Urdu cinquain or pentastich with Sufi connections based on a pentameter. And have five lines in each paragraph. It is one of the more popular verse forms in Tajik Badakhshan, occurring both in madoh and in other performance-genres."
Pentastich: "A pentastich is a free verse or blank verse form of quintain poetry. Each five-line stanza contains no rhyme or meter."
sleepless in pajamas
awake with worries—
mind buzzing
ideas racing...
moonless night
- Mike Garofalo, #194
"This little black
Circle, with its tawn silk grass, babyies hair.
There is a green in the air
Soft, delectable.
It cushions me lovingly."
- Sylvia Plath
Quintet: "A stanza of five lines. Also called a quintain, it appears in various forms, from the clever English limerick (which rhymes aabba and thus relies on a principle of return0; and, the classical Japanese tanka (each line contains a set number of syllables: 5,7,5,7,7)... There seems to be something a little beyond reason and emotionally excessive in punching past the symmetrical quatrain. Thus the possibilities of five unfold..."
- Edward Hirsh, The Essential Poet's Glossary
Quintain Poetry - Wikipedia Poems with only five lines: Pentastich, Quintilla, Cinquain, Quintains, Quintets.
Quintain Rhyme Scheme. By Pat Bibbs.
Rhymed Quintain: Using end rhymes, lead rhymes, or alliteration in a Quintain stanza. Example:
time has a rhythm
beyond ticktock—
a string quartet waltz
a dying walker's walk
a stewing pot
- Mike Garofalo, #193
River of Stars: Selected Poems of Yosano Akiko. By Yosan Akiko (1873-1942). Translations and editing by Sam Hamill. 1997, 160 pages. 91 Tanka and numerous longer poems.
Saigyo Hohsi (1118-1190) was a Japanese monk who wrote many tanka. For exmaple, Gazing at the Moon.
Seltzer, Jacob D. Haiku and Tanka author from Vancouver, WA. Author of numerous books. A Pacific Northwest poet, artist, and editor.
"I have been writing haiku, tanka, and haibun in English since 2006. I was a past managing editor of Frogpond: The Journal of the Haiku Society of America (2023-2024). I am also the founding editor of Mayfly Editing and the Haiku Poet Interviews blog, and serve as a co-commentator for the Haiku Commentary blog with Nicholas Klacsanzky and Hifsa Ashraf. I am also an artist. My drawings and paintings can be viewed in my online art gallery."
Sicilian Quintain: "The Sicilian quintain employs an ABABA rhyme sequence. Though the original form of the Sicilian quintain had no specific form or meter, it is now common for it to be written iambic pentameter."
- Shakespeare, Sonnet 99
"The years have worn my body down;
and soon, I'll breathe my final breath.
Life has left me tired and rundown;
but I am not afraid of Death;
though I'll meet His gaze with a frown."
- Emile Pinet
"Home is so sad. It stays as it was left,
Shaped to the comfort of the last to go
As if to win them back. Instead, bereft
Of anyone to please, it withers so,
Having no heart to put aside the theft
And turn again to what it started as,
A joyous shot at how things ought to be,
Long fallen wide. You can see how it was:
Look at the pictures and the cutlery.
The music in the piano stool. That vase."
- Philip Larkin, Home is So Sad
"And on and on it goes, on through endless time
Never letting go of the person we love.
Two souls always searching for a path sublime
Connected yet apart, always cognizant of
That to others we will always be, a paradigm."
- Ryter Roethicle
Spanish Quintain: "The Spanish quintain (also known as the quintilla) is a type of five-line poetry that is eight syllables in length, each line written in iambic tetrameter. It usually follows a rhyme scheme of ABBAA or AABBA, but this five-line poetry form can follow any rhyme scheme (including ABAAB), as long as no more than two consecutive lines rhyme at a time."
"A flickering flame, on the wall
The sound of a, coyotes call
The desert winds, singing at night
Sandstorms dancing, in the moonlight
Embracing lovers, to befall"
- Pat Bibbs
"Madrid, castillo famoso
que al rey moro alivia el miedo,
arde en fiestas en su coso,
por ser el natal dichoso
de Alimenó de Toledo."
- Nicolás Fernández de Moratín,
Fiesta de toros en Madrid
Quintain Poetry Sections on this Webpage
Poems 1-99
Poems 100-199
Poems 200-299
Poems 300-399
Poems 400-499
Poems 500-599
Poems 600-699
Poems 700-799
Research
Stacking Stones: An Anthology of Short Tanka Sequences. Edited by M. Kei. 2018, 204 pages.
Sunflower Tanka: An Anthology of Tanka, Tanka Prose, and Experimental Tanka. Colleen M. Chesebro and Robbie Cheadle Editor. 2024, 126 pages.
Take Five: Best Contemporary Tanka, Volume 4. Editor-In-Chief : M. Kei. 2012, 264 pages. "Six editors/judges from around the world read 18,000 Tankas and selected 400 of the best. Includes a very good informative introduction by M. Kei. Indexes of poets and poems. Nice clean, uncluttered paperback. The main editor, M. Kei, said this will be the last Take Five Anthology because he is suffering from poor health. All Tanka are mimimalist: lowercase, no punctuation, free verse, 5 lines, in English. Very good information on other sources for Tanka poetry. Some Tanka sequences are included. Overall, a fine collection for a reasonable price."
From my Amazon review.
Tanka: "The tanka is a Japanese form of quintain poetry. Much like a haiku, the tanka has particular syllable requirements. In Japanese, the tanka is written as one unbroken line consisting of 31 syllables, but when it is converted into English poetry, it is usually broken up into five lines. In this case, the first and third lines contain five syllables, while the second, fourth, and fifth lines contain seven syllables." The Master Class definition of the Japanese form. Contemporary English Tanka is different.
The Tanka Anthology. Edited by Michael McClintock, Pamela Miller Ness, and Jim Kacian. 2023, 240 pages. Here is my Amazon review: "800 of the best tanka in English by 69 of its finest practitioners. This is an outstanding collection of Tanka poems in the English language. Easy to hold in one's hands, light, compact, good quality print and paper. Very good choices by the highly qualified editors. Most Tanka are in the minimalist style: lowercase, no punctuation, 5 lines. For a paperback, a bit expensive at $34, but worth the higher price. Includes biographies of the authors. No introduction. Good enough for many rereads!"
Tanka Poetry: A Home for Traditional Tanka
Tanka Poetry Books at Barnes and Noble
Texts Press Publications
Free Online Poetry and Studies
Vancouver, Washington
Texts Press Email
This Short Life: Minimalist Haiku. By Sanford Goldstein (1925-2023). 164 pages, 2014.
This Tanka Journey: A Tanka Poetry Chapbook: Collection of Experimental American-Japanese Poetry. By Susanna K. Hutcheson.
Three Part Harmony: Tanka Verses. By Debbie Strange.
25 Steps and Beyond: Collected Works. By Mike Garofalo. Includes haiku, tanka, quintains, rhymed verse, short and long poems. Ad-Free webpages. Google Translate drop down menu on each webpage.
Featuring: Docu-Poem: Highway 101 and 1. At the Edges of the West.
Typographical Quintain: Using unusual spacing, typographical arrangement, indentation, punctuation, capitalization, or broken words in a Quintain stanza. Mostly 5 lines; but, occasionally, 4 to 8 lines. Example:
e.
e.
cummings
Typ0
GraPH Ical
Obsc
UR
Ities
- Mike Garofalo, #189
the hostess with the mostess
hosted another party fine
poured the wine
told jokes
dined
- Mike Garofalo, #459
"The uta in Arthur Waley's translations from the Japanese are poems of file lines (also known as tanka, meaning short poem, or waka) in which the first and third lines contain five sound units or on (loosely translated as 'syllables') and the rest seven. Almost all classsical Japanese poetry is written in this form, which contrasts with the range and technical freedom of Chinese poetry."
- John Carey, A Little History of Poetry, p. 225
Waka, By Judi Van Gorder.
"If only I had
Merely watched as they fell ---
The plum blossoms---
But, alas, their fragrance
Lingers still on my sleeve."
- Sosei (859-897)
The Way of Tanka. By Naomi Beth Wakan. Shantee Arts LLC, 2017,
146 pages. $15.00. VSCL. Here is my Amazon review: "Tanka are brief 5 line poems, typically using 19-33 sound units, uncapitalized, with little punctuation. This is a good brief introduction and guide to the reading and writing of Tanka style poetry. Many fine Tanka are included and briefly analyzed. She provides a few insights into the proper construction of the Pivot Point, Turning Point, the Volta, the Twist, usually in the 3rd line. (I have added more comments on the Pivot Line above.) She emphasizes the importance of a dramatic and surprising phrase in the last 5th line. She makes clear that writing English language haiku cannot follow some Japanese Tanka standards or sensitivities because these two languages have many differences in the sound elements, homonyms, more rhyming in Hiragana, culture, and poetic heritage. The Tanka form has been used since 800 CE in Japan. She includes a few of her longer Tanka sequences. She discusses tanka collage, tanka montage, Haibun, McClintock's Taika, Kyoka tanka wit and humor, minimalist tanka, response/dialogue tankas, Ekphrastic tanka, love tankas, travel/place tanka, diary tanka, tanka strings, nostalgic tanka, tan renga, confessional tanka, and tanka sequences. Japanese terms like wabi, sari, aware - mono no aware, kyojo, makoto, shibusa, and kokora are briefly explained. Ms. Wakan provides a brief bibliography and lists of online resources. She talks about the authors that influenced her. A fine companion to The Tanka Anthology (Edited by McClintlock, Ness, and Kacian, 2023) or Four Decades on My Tanka Road: The Tanka Collections of Sanford Goldstein, 2012."
Wind Five Folded: An Anthology of English-Language Tanka. By Jane Reichhold and Werner Reichhold. Gualala, CA: AHA Books, 1994.
Writing Haiku: A Beginner's Guide to Composing Japanese Poetry: Includes Tanka, Renga, Haiga, Senryu and Haibun. Tuttle, 192 pages, 2022.
Zen Poetry Anthology, Research, Bibliography, Notes. By Mike Garofalo.
As for my personal
Quintains Style of
writing,
here are my tendencies:
I frequently and freely use:
Rhymes, alliteration, assonance,
allusions, metaphors, symbols,
and other poetic devices.
Punctuation: — ; . ! : () [] & * " '
Indentation and spaces for
typographical variety.
All of my poetry webpages after
2023 are CSS
formatted, and are easily
viewed on a
typical cellphone.
All my poetry webpages have a drop down
Google Translate menu included.
With Tanka style Quintains, I try to use Pivot Points (lines 3 & 5) effectively for for impact, kicks, abruptness, contrasts, changes, etc.
My lines are often longer/fatter prose than other contemporry Tanka.
A few of my poems are in the minimalist Tanka style.
I find that using a photograph with a poem
is an effective
means to stimulate my thinking.
I mostly write first in a notebook with a pencil.
I try to learn by reading the best Quintain writers.
Clearly, I imitate some of the best already in print.
I connect to my various related webpages with Links.
I began studying and writing Quintains in 2021. I have read lots of Quintain and Tanka poetry. I am learning from those who have written noted Quintain and Tanka poems, and who have written usefully about this form of poetry. I plan to study, work, and make some progress in understanding Quintains and Tanka. I must be patient with myself, be steadfast, endure:
"Talent is insignificant. I know a lot of talented ruins. Beyond talent lie all the usual words: discipline, love, luck, but, most of all, endurance."
- James Baldwin
I intend to enjoy the creative playing with words and ideas.
I have considerable experience with both writing, reading, and studying Haiku since 1998. I read all of R.H.Blyth's essays and haiku books in the 1960's. Zen poetry has always appealed to me.
Tanka Poetry Research
English Language Quintain Poems
By Mike Garofalo
Research, Studies, Notes
Bibliography, Links, Docs
19 to 33 sounds/syllables/On
5 lines for traditional Japanese Tanka: 7-5-7-7-7
Modern Japanese Tanka poems:
5 lines, 31 sounds.
Naomi Wakan defines the Tanka line
length pattern as:
Long, short, Long, Long, Long
I have read Tanka in a:
Short, Long, Short, Long, Long;
and other variations.
Minimalist haiku might go down to 19 sounds.
Of course, if clear intent and meaning can be
conveyed with fewer words - Bravo!
The 7-5-7 pattern is the norm for Japanese Haiku.
I have also seen 5-7-5 patterns for haiku,
and many other variations.
Haiku are normally just 3 lines.
Most Tanka poems I have read are left untitled.
Occasionally, longer sequences of Tanka
on a
particular theme might be titled.
I have a propensity for using rhymes,
capitalization, and punctuation. Therefore,
I am a bit outside the norm for Tanka.
Readers are forewarned!
Normally, I read Tanka in English
that are unrhymed quintains, free verse,
no capitalization except for proper nouns, little
punctuation, and 19 sounds or less; sometimes
called "minimalist Tanka."
Syllable counting in the Japanese language for Tanka or Haiku is somewhat easier than in the English language. I believe, for another case, that the Italian language sounds favored the birth of rhymed sonnets.
Pivot Line, Volta, Twist, Turn, Shifting the Focus
In a Tanka Poem
“The pivot line means one thing as a finish to the first couple of lines and something else as a herald to the last two lines.” - Naomi Wakan, p. 36
The third line in a five-line Tanka poem.
Voltas or pivot lines are also used in Sonnets to shift the focus.
The Pivot Line might Shift or Pivot the Focus:
Pivot from the general to the more specific, or vice versa
Switch from the impersonal to the personal, or vice versa
Change from one time to another, e.g., past to future,
past to present, etc.
Pivot from abstract to concrete, or vice versa
Shift from a limited to a more extended view of a thought
Change from a word choice to a pun or homonym for contrast
Move from one thought to a contrasting or contradictory thought
Vault from one emotion to a related emotion
Pivot from one idea to an associated or related idea
Contrast a physical thing image to a related concept or idea
Switch from a clear image or idea to unrelated arbitrary ideas
Pivot from nonsense into more nonsense
Shift from obscurity to clarity, or vice versa
Change from free verse to rhymed verse, or vice versa
Move from many nouns to some verbs, or vice versa
Shift from the historical to the ahistorical, or vice versa
Detour from the everyday to the universal, or vice versa
Pivot from the spare direct immediate Haiku
mind to Tanka complexities
Change from one religious perspective to another
Move from technological to pastoral, pagan, earthy
Change from no punctuation to using punctuation
Shift from secular to Buddhist or Taoist thinking
Detour from the non-human to human emotions and feelings
Pivot from satisfied to dissatisfied or unhappy, or vice versa
Switch from one simile or metaphor to a related one
From facts to feelings and emotions, or vice versa
From emotions related to love or those of hate, or vice versa
From life to death, elegies, or vice versa
From the workday ordinary to celebrations, or vice versa
From Death day and ending poems to birth and beginnings
From a woman's interaction with a man, or vice versa
From minority views to majority views, or vice versa
"Tanka are not just stretched haiku." - Michael Dylan Welch
"Tanka are the perfect vehicle for capturing the swift, direct, pulse of emotion." - Carl Sesar
"No art form is more stubbornly national than poetry." - T. S. Eliot
25 Steps and Beyond: Collected Works
Cuttings: Haiku by Mike Garofalo
Uncle Mike's Cellphone Poetry Series
Mike Garofalo's Internet Web Publishing
Objectives, Aims, and Policies:
Provide open access to people worldwide.
People can read my poetry for free: 24/7.
Google translate drop-down menu included.
No advertising or pop-up ads on my webpages.
No cookies log-in steps.
No irrelevant graphics.
No AI generated ads!
No requests for your email to read.
Not promoting chapbooks or books of mine or from others to sell.
Since 2024, my webpages are in
CSS format and cellphone readable.
I use my Cloud Hands Blog for
poetry posts, posts on a variety
of topics, promoting others,
and selling books.
I research and study poetry at my home.
I am outside of Academic or
Poetry "Schools"
involvements.
In 2025, I am carefully studying
the poetry of
John Ashbery
and Billy Collins.
My academic backgound includes:
philosophy, information science,
education, and business.
I don't submit my poems to Contests:
saving me time, money,
waiting, and competing in
unnecessary races with others.
Feedback or suggestions are welcome.
25 Steps and Beyond:
The Collected Works of Mike Garofalo
Texts Press Publications
Free Online Poetry and Studies
By Mike Garofalo
Vancouver, Washington
Text Press Email
Michael Peter Garofalo (1946-) grew up in East Los Angeles, was educated in Catholic Schools, lived with two other brothers, graduated (B.A., M.S.) from local universities, married Blanche Karen Eubanks, served in the US Air Force, worked in and managed many City and Los Angeles County Public Libraries, raised two children, socialized, traveled, and learned. Retired as the Regional Administrator, East Region, Los Angeles County Public Library in 1998. We moved to a rural 5 acre property in Red Bluff, in the North Sacramento Valley, CA. Webmaster since 1999. Worked part-time for the Corning School District (Technology and Media Services Manager and District Librarian); and as a yoga, Taijiquan, and fitness club instructor until 2016. Traveled extensively in Northern California, Oregon, and Washington. We both retired, and we moved to Vancouver, WA, in 2017. Currently in 2025: reading, writing, gardening, harmonica playing, home chores, yurt camping, exercise, traveling in the Northwest, web publishing, family events, poetry research, photography, Northwest research, Nature mysticism, Buddhist and Taoist literature, walking, sports events, etc.
25 Steps and Beyond; Collected Works
Texts Press Publications
Free Online Poetry and Studies
Vancouver, Washington
Texts Press Email
Quintain Poetry Sections on this Webpage
Poems 1-99
Poems 100-199
Poems 200-299
Poems 300-399
Poems 400-499
Poems 500-599
Poems 600-699
Poems 700-799
Research
I really appreciate positive feedback,
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about the value
of
my free webpages.
Send your comments to:
Text Press Email
This document was last edited, revised,
reformatted, added to, relinked,
changed, improved, or modified
by Mike Garofalo
on June 15, 2025.