Crapsey Cinquains
The Crapsey cinquain is a 5-line, non-rhyming, accentual or accentual-syllabic form created by Adelaide Crapsey (1878–1914), inspired by haiku, and popularised by William Soutar (1898–1943). There are several definitions of different levels of strictness.
The simplest definition is that the lines have 1/2/3/4/1 stressed syllables. The next-simplest is the same, except that each line has as many unstressed syllables as stressed onces, so there are 2/4/6/8/2 syllables total. The most complex definition is that the meter must be strictly iambic or trochaic.
There are several variations, e.g. the reverse cinquain and the butterfly cinquain. The reverse cinquain's pretty obvious. For the butterfly cinquain, merge the patterns of two cinquains, one regular and the other reversed, so the syllable pattern is 2/4/6/8/2/8/6/4/2 or 2/8/6/4/2/4/6/8/2. You can also use the cinquain (and reverse cinquain) as the stanza form in a longer poem.
Notes
I've written using a mix of all the definitions except the simplest one, sometimes using both trochaic and iambic in the same poem (switching at punctuation).
As for speaking, I imagine the lines get faster as they get longer, with the longest line taking, say, only twice as long to speak as the shortest despite being four times the number of syllables. Maybe the syllables are shorter, or maybe the shorter lines have pauses. Either way, the overall effect is a slow start, then a rising pace, and finally a sharp cut or sudden slowness.
The form doesn't inherently involve rhyme, but I sometimes find myself adding rhymes, often internal.
Poems
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2026-02-22
Half-days When clouds cast winter into spring— A desperate darkening Against the dawn It brings.
This is the 1000th poem I've written since starting regularly writing in mid-March of 2025 (You won't learn anything new), excluding fragments.
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2026-02-01
So cold… The desperate dead Who've burned all memories Collapse in bone kaleidoscope— Big Bang!
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2026-01-27
For sale! One taxidermied angel hide, Museum-quality I guarantee On God.
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2026-01-27
Famished, The rain-drunk earth Now sweats and salivates And opens up its million mouths And eats. Look there— The hilltop! The trees Disappear.
A Crapsey cinquain with a little extra.
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2026-01-21
Storm reigns Throughout the land— That savage lilac sky Transfixes us with wrathful eye All night.
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2026-01-17
Rise up! Through mist and mud, Mosquitoes out for blood Rise up and taste the sun and feed The birds.
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2026-01-17
Red-hot Horizon slime All seeping through the clouds— Amoeba furnace burning bright Tonight.
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2025-12-31
The year's Midwinter sky Sloughs its rags of cloud, And in its last colossal breaths, Gives birth.
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2025-12-31
Precious Museum-piece, A puddle locked up tight In panes of ice, while docent sylphs Tell lies.
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2025-12-14
Rotten Dust-blown phantoms Murmur their final message: Even old eternity Can die.
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2025-12-13
Dead Languages Their GamesThe ghosts That live in names— Dead languages their games— Spread gossip in the tongue of flames And wait Calendrical millennia Until some other fish Crawl from the mud And speak.
A bit of a connection to a blank verse couplet I wrote a while back. I also thought about ending this “Until some other race / Crawls from the mud / To speak”, and it started very differently when I first started writing it: “Twelve beasts / That once had names— / Dead languages and games—”.
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2025-12-08
Lost In the library, The claustrophilic cat Contorts themself between the spines And waits Till lantern-head librarians With atlas catalogues Reorder the world In ink.
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2025-12-04
Moonshot Glows painful hot— The light of brighter days All ripped away from earth in cosmic Spite.
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2025-12-04
Gripping Your purity So rigor mortis tight, You drip with spite and drop your lust For life.
Some similar wording and a vaguely similar idea to an oddquain from the same day.
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2025-11-28
The hole Beneath the Earth Knows nothing of the hands That work the knife, that vivisect Our world, But our chewed-up gristle-Gods know When people pray to nothing, Nothing answers —
I broke off the last bit to create a very short epigram.
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2025-11-25
Each house The last high monument to pain— Each son an epitaph, Father's chisel In hand.
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2025-11-24
We hang Our coats of rain And wander through the rooms, But storm holds court throughout our house Of tombs.
More on the same theme as a haiku from the same day and an earlier Kelly lune.
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2025-11-21
Seizing The book of life In many-fingered hands, The earth devours each scattered leaf And grows wise.
At first this read more like “Seizing / The book of life / In black embalming mud, / The earth preserves it page by page / In mud.”, but “preserving” kinda contradicted the lifecycle thing I wanted here.
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2025-11-21
In fear, The sun retreats Withdrawing all its gifts— Our golden clouds transmute to leaden Rain.
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2025-11-20
Beguiled By smirking stars, The magi waste their lives And follow lyric lies to find Void child.
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2025-11-16
Tonight, The city reels In starlit agony, As parasite humanity Digs deep.
Some similar wording to another Crapsey cinquain from the same day.
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2025-11-16
Asleep, Our cities reel In ancient agony, Dismembered titans who forgot Their names.
Some similar wording to another Crapsey cinquain from the same day.
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2025-11-15
Our sky, So tired of life, Now gathers dusty stars And turns a darker shade of black And falls.
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2025-11-10
Hear this: The City calls For scholarly young stars To fill our dull corrupting spires With noughts.
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2025-11-05
Standing Eye to eyeless, Only anxious angstroms Separate the desperado From Death Whose angel fingers coax a croak Of cold, serene contempt Before the crook Drops dead.
Some wording shared with a crooked quad from the same day.
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2025-11-04
Listen: Though streets speak The city solipsist Hears only aggregates of slag And slurs— But in our collective dreamyards And the factory floors New dialects Are heard.
Kind of a mix of syllabic and accentual.
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2025-11-04
But God Delays the end, And stays its teasing hand Before the holiest of holy Orgies— Maybe fear of disappointment? The waxy stars won't burn, Our hands won't grasp Its flesh.
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2025-11-03
Small gods Reign hard on us From suburbs in the sky And palaces above rain gold On them.
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2025-11-01
Haloes Dull and lifeless, Angels shrieking paeans Block the light on European Pogroms.
Similar subject to a crooked quad I wrote the same day.
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2025-10-29
No More Work Or WarDon't trust The swordhead sort Soliloquising drunk On paradise's endless war For peace.
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2025-10-28
Delinquent RainTonight Delinquent rain Falls up into the sky Defiant, drop by drop, until We die.
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2025-10-28
A message In ancient skies Sketched by solid lightning, But caveman chemtrail theorists Can't read. And yet, The words hold hard through silent years Reflected in our eyes Until their time Is right.
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2025-10-28
A maze, Your walls of death Crowd haphazardly With watching windows, pained and dark And jealous.
I also thought about ending this one “sympathetic / Witness”, which still would've preserved the syllable count.
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2025-10-27
No care— Prepare the noose To hang the king of grief By order of the emperor Called “smile”, Whose upturned words are absolute And court delights all seem, Beneath the masks, All spite.
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2025-10-25
The wretched Of the Earth Escape between the lines And find an acid refuge in lives Unread.
Accentual meter.
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2025-10-25
Gambling on the Bandwagon to NowhereWith whip And cap in hand, The barker–banker leers: “Your doubled nothing gleams like gold, You'll see!” Listen: The screams inside the big-top vault Aren't born from childish glee— Their clowns wear angel Skins.
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2025-10-24
Tonight, The wick that drinks the wine ignites— Your tender citadels Of strange delights Explode.
I also thought about “harsh delights” instead of “strange delights”, since it contrasts better with “tender citadels”. Still not sure on this one.
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2025-10-23
Royal Corrosive eyes Corrupt the world to pure Unsightly gold and atomises Us.
Midas didn't need the touch, he just needed to exist; such is the nature of the crown.
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2025-10-23
Don't delve The typewriters' ossuary Without an offering Or else they'll take Your teeth.
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2025-10-23
Against The bloody sun, A bannered plague of saints Advances on the ziggurats And preys.
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2025-10-22
Muses Clasp corpse-fast The pen Promethean Whose inks write over rot in living Blues.
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2025-10-20
The iron And abstract crown, Dissatisfied with living trees, Builds mockeries from which to hang The free.
Going for a kinda ponderous first two lines.
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2025-10-19
To arms! Great spectral reds Loom titan in the sky— Our slaver's paradise must fight Or die.
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2025-10-19
Let's trace The scrimshawed bones Of better memories— We'll try to build a better world, Won't we?
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2025-10-19
Last dove, Fly out across this fossil land, Its fields fertilised With gunpowder And pus— Don't linger here Where even hope can rust, But find a place that trusts the dream Of peace.
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2025-10-19
It's time! Let's fill the graveyards of our minds With parasitic wills For colony And coin— Let's clear the way For bright-eyed juggernauts, For everyone for everyone, For us!
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2025-10-17
Devo(ra)tion as a moral rightToo deep Inside the game, The anglerfish's lure Alights with rage and blames its prey For its fame And all the darkness, fat with eyes, That light can't drive away— But was this not Your aim?
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2025-10-16
Megastructure Fucks (B)In a haze Of cosmic dust And macroscopic lust The megastructure fucks itself Through us.
Similar subject to another Crapsey cinquain I wrote the same day, but with the opposite sentiment.
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2025-10-16
Megastructure Fucks (A)In a haze Of concrete dust And mechanistic lust The megastructure fucks itself To death.
Similar subject to another Crapsey cinquain I wrote the same day, but with the opposite sentiment.
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2025-10-15
Listen: The mineshaft sings And curses, groans, and weeps And you'll soon echo this cold soul— You're lost.
I think the end of the fourth line (“this cold soul”) should run a bit slow. At first it was “this old soul”, which is a lot easier to put alternating stress on, but I think with “cold” it has more interesting scansion and deliberate flow.
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2025-10-15
I crew The listening post For the local lightning farm, So let me tell you something strange: God's wife Has lately done the work of Man And killed Him in His sleep— The Devil weeps Forked tears.
Thematically kinda related to a previous Crapsey cinquain, I guess?
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2025-10-13
Blue boats In the deep blue sea Carry living hopes That gunboats crewed by smirking ghosts Deny.
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2025-10-12
The Man in Lichen ChainsCondemned To fester in the tower high, The man in lichen chains Sheds spores of hope On the wind.
I thought about putting the middle line in title case (like the actual title), but it somehow didn't feel earned, like it's not descriptive enough of the “Man” themself. Also, the last line used to be “Below”, but it felt awkward, so I replaced it with “On the wind” (condensing the first two syllables as a hasty, unstressed pair).
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2025-10-12
Brave words You said last night— Your vomitorium Poured out a crowd of phalluses, But no heart.
My idea in the first line is to put emphasis on “words” rather than “brave”, for thematic effect. That side, the last line has one extra syllable but I'd condense the first two (“but no”) as hastily-spoken unstressed syllables.
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2025-10-10
They drink Effluvium from butchers' shops And belch the facts of life In column inches— Old tripe.
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2025-10-09
Never To leave this room, I'll join my flesh with wall And turn inside to birth anew world I.
Inverted the first foot.
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2025-10-08
Fools fly While angels lurk And wait for better days When only bones of better souls Remain.
Also thought about ending this one “Till every better soul they know / Is gone.” or something similar.
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2025-10-05
Tonight, All daydreams die— Our lodestars rise and burn To forge a black-hole path beyond Our yearning.
I kinda wanted to expand this into a butterfly, but I felt it'd mess with the pacing.
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2025-10-05
Time rusts, And skeletons shall walk the earth In great unnumbered mass And cry for death To die.
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2025-10-03
The Great Theodiot Permits that evil rots Our vast and starlit library Of flesh.
I couldn't decide whether the second line of this poem should be “Theodiot” or “Illiterate”, so I did both. Anyway, the phrase “vast and starlit library” comes from an old misread I made when I saw a blog post about a library of modules for the role-playing game Vast and Starlit.
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2025-10-03
The Great Illiterate Parades his court of flames Through vast and starlit libraries In fear.
I couldn't decide whether the second line of this poem should be “Theodiot” or “Illiterate”, so I did both.
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2025-09-29
Windswept GloryFrom far The wind carouses night by night Through border fortresses And distant wars Echo, And private wars In hollow officers Are lost in silent cannonades Of time.
After The Tartar Steppe/The Stronghold by Dino Buzzati.
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2025-09-29
A corpse! The Juggernauts Have had their way with you, So sleep and hope for better dreams Than life.
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2025-09-28
Ignored Beneath the courts, New moralist grotesques And cops recast as bureaucrats Rejoice! Through amniotic sewerworks Their headless king of cons, Leviathan, Gives birth.
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2025-09-27
Young tree, Your “ageless” trunk Was never yours, you know— Old Moss and Fungus now reclaim The weight Of all our black and humid gifts That let you stretch your crown, Your Heaven wide And white.
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2025-09-27
Lets coax An angstrom smile From iron expressionless Beneath mechanical fatigue At dusk.
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2025-09-26
Blood bursts As nuclear tumours drain the eyes And scorch the earth and sky And eat the birds Of peace.
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2025-09-25
Your roots Hang loose outside The flimsy plastic pot, Low white and tender limbs that stretch And die.
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2025-09-25
Beneath Incautious feet, The fence-piledriver's blows Alert the Meadow, nightmare-deep In sleep.
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2025-09-24
The Rapture DemonBehold! The Rapture Demon climbed from Hell, And all of Christendom That slurs and whines Looks swell.
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2025-09-24
The cat Plays hide-and-seek But vanishes in sleep; A little grief still waits for you Upstairs.
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2025-09-24
In Hell, The concierge Makes room for three more guests; The skies of heaven couldn't hold Their spite.
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2025-09-22
The Law: A million roads Encircle and enshrine The Wandering Jew, whose path divines God's Truth.
A kinda Borgesian premise.
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2025-09-22
Our Earth, All planetary golf-course greens— The players richly hate Our sandtrap towns Between.
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2025-09-22
Decline To shrivel up On vines that tie you down— Just fall and rot in fruitful peace Divine.
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2025-09-21
Babble Fills the airwaves, Reaching up and bouncing Round the ancient tower's space Debris.
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2025-09-20
Last Corpse Alive Turns Out the LightsI watch Leviathan crawl on fungal legs, Lapping up the decay Of the soil sea Beneath me, Then haul up its dreadful weight And release its myriad young To the space between The stars.
A kind of asymmetric butterfly cinquain. Adding to the roughness, it's accentual rather than accentual–syllabic. Anyway, I'm not sure whether this is about the total annihilation of humankind or a newly-immortal transhuman or posthuman exodus.
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2025-09-15
Those fools The trees are dancing in the wind! Their disobedience Will do them in, You'll see!
Went for a walk on a very windy day and wrote two poems from the point of view of an asshole who hates the majesty of nature; here's the other.
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2025-09-13
Havoc! Our turpentine Cloudprows breach the skywall And bombard Kinkade's fortresses With Dark.
Started from the same place as an oddquain I wrote the same day.
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2025-09-13
Blindfolded Fluorescent monks Flicker and stumble blind In the dark places where the moon hides Its bruises.
Accentual instead of syllabic.
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2025-09-12
Yellowed Invitations Fade to dreamy mapwork Plotting futures in our unused Past.
The same opening and basic idea as another poem I wrote the same day, but a different ending.
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2025-09-12
Yellowed Invitations Creak like shipyard timbers Hauled away to burn in death-dream Winter.
The same opening and basic idea as another poem I wrote the same day, but a different ending. Also, I was originally gonna end this “Hauled away to burn for Winter / Warmth.”
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2025-09-08
Lonely Silver nettles Sag into the footpath, Hoping for a touch—a chance to Screw you.
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2025-09-05
Dull husks Of summer suns, Drained by fool's nostalgia, Hang tangled in the autumn haze, Dead dusks.
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2025-09-01
Yours/Mine— The Hand of God Grows strong in every tree That in its fall will crush the fence Between.
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2025-08-28
Pawprints Twinkle coyly In the dawn-damp garden, Laugh at all the constellations, And die.
Similar to another Crapsey cinquain I wrote the same morning. I prefer this one overall, but I like the intro in the other one, too.
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2025-08-28
Pawprints, Husks, and feathers In the dawn-damp garden Mirror all the constellations Of the night.
Similar to another Crapsey cinquain I wrote the same morning. I prefer the other one, but there's something interesting about this one's opening, too.
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2025-08-25
Hear this!Hear this! The master, War, Draws near the City Free Where no-one can agree our right To fight!
Based off the 1937 radio play The Fall of the City.
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2025-08-25
Crooked Light-YearsHe walks A crooked mile, But look beyond the twist— His crooked light-years plot an arc Sublime.
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2025-08-21
PiranesianThirsty Deep-sea branches Swallow sunlight's echoes In the Piranesian Abyss.
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2025-08-13
Avert your eyes, Sweat fire— All groped by hands of heat Beneath the cataracted sun of Man.
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2025-07-17
Omens Crowd the newborn, Fistfight for the right to crown her doom her or consume her: Last birth.
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2025-06-30
Feeling Coarse and caustic, Making myths and systems Out of broken glass and boiling Acid.
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2025-06-22
Each day, Our mother's disappointed sigh Catches in the cobwebs Thick with echoes Of joy.
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2025-06-08
Soon tired Of rainbow neon Soho clubs, The in-crowd paints the town In bootshine black Attacks.
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2025-06-08
Locked in Attic hope chests, Spores of an erased life: Bromides festering with gleeful Lynchers.
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2025-06-06
Feeling Warp-and-weftish, Weaving steel-wire cages For a future where I'm free from Freedom.
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2025-06-02
The 51st State of MindFive feet Of spotless steel— This hood will wear the head Of any passerby who dares defy The truck (Whose windows never face the wind, Whose mudflaps don't know mud, Whose suburbs dress In white).
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2025-06-01
Sound-Booth RomanceAmp up Sound-booth romance, A foley fantasy Where lovers' murmurs sleep in Drawers.
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2025-05-30
Numbers Astronomic— Universal learning Saddles us with cosmic burdens Of glass.
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2025-05-30
Cut-up Flatworm stories Spawn more unread letters, Filling all the shelves with holy Babble.
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2025-05-28
Holy Feet of rubber Tread the asphalt carpet— Dye it crimson in their honour, Won't you?
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2025-05-28
Feeling Free and loose-leaf, Risographic layers Slowly making sense together— In you.
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2025-05-26
No path Remains in stone, No fox's furrow, yet Our signs, though vandalised by time, Point true.
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2025-05-25
Girls eat Public schoolboy Helicopter daydreams, Then grow rich and unexamine Their lives.
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2025-05-25
Bright kids Are urbexing The new-build office parks Where the adults of today die Working.
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2025-05-22
London Over the HorizonTonight, The dismal blaze Of cottoned sodium— Our cheapskate Götterdämmerung— Repeats.
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2025-05-19
Stand still, Unmoving clay In antimatter's path, Declaring only matter matters To me.
Eh.
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2025-05-16
Feeling Stricken benthic, Peering up at lightships Latching on to angels' anchors In hope.
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2025-05-15
Etaoin ShrdluThe shade Etaoin sighs, His tongue of lead too soft To move cold Pluto's iron soul To tears. “To tears!” This psychopomp of ignorance And poisoner of wells Was one more pawn For toil.
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2025-05-13
Rehearse Your corpse at dusk? You'll never get the part By wasting life imagining Your death.
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2025-05-13
Jerusalem Revisited“Halal” And “ninja swords” And “voodoo medicine”— Let's keep such violence out of England, Where we wash bloodstains out with blood, We waitlist you from life, We masturbate To death.
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2025-05-12
Children Don't march neatly Till you beat the joy from them— Then all bets are off, it's deathcamp Playtime.
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2025-05-10
Even Emperors must Groom themselves and put their Necks beneath the barber's errant Razor.
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2025-05-09
Playing in the MarginSurfing In the backwash Of Devourer Europe; Please ignore the bodies, they are normal. Close-up: Please don't ask about the children's Toys (how worn with ages), finger-paintings, poems.
Follow-up on a previous poem.
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2025-05-09
Feeling Thrum and vesper, Chafe against my tether To a world of midday paper Lifetimes.
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2025-05-05
Surfing In the backwash Of Devourer Europe; Please ignore the bodies, they are normal.
Expanded in a later poem.
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2025-05-03
“Kinghead, They've identified the body Found at God-damned Graceland.” “Elvis again?” “Ayup.”
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2025-04-30
We turn a profit on every house built WrongIt wails Beneath the roof— Suburban demonhosts Have caught the spirit of the air For cheap.
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2025-04-30
The nerves An orchestra, Its players out of tune, Yet in their millions, harmonies Of you.
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2025-04-30
Saviour Resurrecting Plainly, without warning, All the birds that hit your windows; Gospel.
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2025-04-30
Revise Nuclear physics: What holds “us” together So violently tears apart Our selves.
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2025-04-30
I work The starlight shift At Cadaveryard Five— They brought in the body of God And prayed.
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2025-04-29
The sun Still marches proud, Not knowing of the pain Its bleaching footprints leave behind In night.
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2025-04-29
Breathe slow. Don't wake the kings Whose jesters slipped their bonds And fled these ageless palaces To die.
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2025-04-28
The sun Will remain young Even on its deathbed; Spitting fury happy madness Alone.
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2025-04-27
The HedgeMachines Obliterate The fortress of the meek Whose armies will inherit Earth In time.
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2025-04-26
The din Of churchspire buoys Can't bring the sinners in— Beneath the seas of apple trees We sing.
Same inspiration as a haiku I wrote the same day.
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2025-04-25
A chair Alone amidst The trees its roots once knew, To boast of all the rich behinds It seats.
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2025-04-24
The Stage, a WorldEnter. Spit on a fate Of playing chorus roles In someone else's one-man show, Or worse, In Act Three of a one-act play, The audience all gone. Exit, pursued by fear.
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2025-04-24
Feeling Far and yardang, Waiting for the winnow; Blow my dust away to cosmic Beaches.
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2025-04-24
Afraid To leap and fly And plunge like burning pitch, I wait up here where hungry stars Can't reach.
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2025-04-23
Just wait: The shepherd Wind Collects its rainfall flock With crooked fingers gentle as The Sun.
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2025-04-22
Nettle Seeking dock leaf For a dirty threesome Of ankle sadomasochism —Call me
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2025-04-22
Listen: The cold and dark Prepare their rusty knives For when the universe again Makes sense.
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2025-04-22
I saw Their body was A sacred palimpsest Of bad ideas, faith in every Saviour.
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2025-04-22
Fingers With angels' grace Attach to torturers' Throats and sweetly coax a porcelain Stillness.
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2025-04-22
A gift From you to
meyou But through my weary hands— To drudge for your contentment is No gift. -
2025-04-20
Hush dear, A tree just fell, Collapsing every clade Into the singularity Where we, Mother Moss and Father Fungus, Weave a fleshy cosmos Yet no lesser Than yours.
At first I wrote “Gently / Moss and lichen / Nurse the fallen timber / Once so regal, never more to / See stars”, but that just felt weak.
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2025-04-19
Traveller! From the diner's Greasy panopticon, The weary road unfolds itself For you.
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2025-04-19
Message From the future: “Stain me all you like with Mercy tender—I will never Forgive.”
Nothing to do with the other Crapsey cinquain that starts the same, I just wanted to try variations from the opening lines.
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2025-04-19
Message From the future: “I can't wait to meet you So there's someone else to talk to. —Charon”
Nothing to do with the other Crapsey cinquain that starts the same, I just wanted to try variations from the opening lines.
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2025-04-19
Click–flash! The crowd agape, Who stomach any pain; The boxers' kiss will break this egg And fly.
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2025-04-18
Unmet At crossroads foul, The waiting devil sweats— And later he donates the Blues To toads.
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2025-04-18
Gaudy Trumpets blare yet Hide nor hair is seen of God the king obscene anon at His feast.
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2025-04-18
Emit: The furnace breathes One living smoke and flame— A dryad born, the soot and slag Her name.
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2025-04-12
Old man, Does this thin road, This crooked path of stones, This feeble furrow in the grass, Lead home?
Inspired by various short stories by Dino Buzzati.
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2025-04-10
They shot The preacher's son For treason to his race— At least, that's what the papers said In choir.
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2025-04-10
Never In a million, Once in a billion, Any more than that is quite Prosaic.
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2025-04-10
Feeling Vast and seaglass, Never knowing whether This is it, the chip, the shatter— Green stars.
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2025-04-08
Pebble Beaches freckled With a world's detritus— Can you see the world within a Pebble?
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2025-04-07
NoctilucentLook up: The fishbone clouds Still catch the light of day From half the sleeping world away And swim.
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2025-04-07
FleetOh knight, Our prince is weeping in the cistern— There's nothing you can do To bear an angel's Sins.
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2025-04-02
Nightcrawlers Thieving glimpses Cut the purse of time— We see things we didn't want to Again.
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2025-04-02
I find Utopia's High cardinalities Where my imagination fails; I climb.
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2025-03-31
This stone Who will outlive me Has witnessed black aeons, But bursts anew with youth through my Regard.
Variant on a poem I wrote the day before.
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2025-03-30
These stones Who will outlive us Have witnessed black aeons, But each is born anew each moment Through us.
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2025-03-21
Rotate; A plastic bag; It's hanging from a branch; Whatever stinks, it stinks like hell; Wet shit?
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2025-03-14
You won't learn anything newGood Lord, Please save me from These lurid fever-dreams Of broken empire bubbled up From Hell. And yet, Who doesn't like to see James Bond Outwit a burly goon In paradise Tropic?