Cinquain  is a form invented by American poet Adelaide Crapsey which for the most part is in iambic meter. It typically consists of 5 lines of non rhyming verse with respectively 2,4,6,8,2 syllables. Below is repeating Cinquain, not necessarily in meter. I enjoy fitting words into a constricted form. I also like the physical look of the verses, as if the upper lines are being supported by the 8 syllable line.

Click on any of the following poems:  Daydream;    Promise to Love;   Twinkle;    Sixteen;     Transition
                                                        A Dream; 

Copyright © 1979¹, 1980², 1981³, 1982⁴  by David Owen Kubiatowicz

Daydream²

In mind
she danced through fields
of trumpet daffodils,
violets, crimson clover and
daisies.

A child
of yesteryear
chasing an elusive
monarch beneath the summer sun
alone.
       ____________
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Promise to Love²

Footprints
and scattered sand
tell of a passing some
hours ago.  Flood tide begins to
erode.

No one
witnessed sifting
of sand by hesitant
feet and close bodies in summer
sunlight.

Two walked
along the shore
in silence, not caring
which spoke first, lost in yesterday's
memories.

Aware,
too aware they
soon would part.  Already
sensing pain of separation
and loss.

Forced smiles
dissolved into
moist eyes, as long pent-up
emotion brought tears.  Finally
each shared.

They spoke
in soft murmur
resolving conflicts and
fears of days ahead, promising
to love.

Hands clasped
but hearts apart
they said a last farewell.
No one witnessed the path she took
or he.

Footprints
and scattered sand
recorded their passing
hours ago.  These too have washed
away.   
        _______________
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Twinkle ¹

          [For daughter Julie's 9th birthday and
                 1st Communion 12/1/79]

Winter:
red poinsettias
contrasted a new snow,
while adding color to Christmas
inside.

Frosty
window panes
complained of blistering cold.
Earthlings warmed before a roaring
fire.

Angels
frolicking in
heaven’s radiant light,
looked down this Tuesday wintry day
toward earth.

"Silence!"
said the Oldest.
"God has commissioned one
of us to scram from this place, like
right now!

Today
is December
first, nineteen hundred and
seventy, in the year of our
dear Lord.

A young
mother has just
given birth to a girl
who needs an angel soon! She’s named
Julie." [Diane Kay]

"I’ll go!"
A little voice
squeaked from the multitude.
But the Oldest frowned and shook his
head no.

"Listen
Twinkle. You want
to laugh and play all day.
This girl needs a responsible
Angel."

"But...I
am." she answered
quite unsure what that meant.
"I’ll watch over this baby girl
Julie.

And as
she grows, so will
I. We’ll have a grand time
together chasing snowflakes in
Winter,

picking
wild violets in
Spring, and running after
Summer butterflies. Come Fall, we’ll
kick leaves."

The old
Angel began
to soften as he saw
Twinkle’s enthusiasm and
bright eyes.

He said,
"Remember how
God spoke to us Twinkle,
when we were last in His holy
presence?

That our
primary work
when we were sent to earth
was to watch over and protect
humans?"

Twinkle
nodded her head.
"And to return them here
someday in reasonable shape?"
He quipped.

Again
she nodded, this
time vigorously.
"I will, I promise you Oldest,
let me!"

Oldest,
his rigid face
looking down, pretended to
study angels’ names on weathered
parchment.

Finally
a slight grin edged
the corners of his mouth
and Twinkle knew before he spoke
She’d won.

Nine years
have passed since this
exchange between Twinkle
and Oldest in God’s heavenly
garden.

True to
her word, Twinkle
has enjoyed every earth
day, romping in the rain or sun
or snow.

Julie
and she have had
a marvelous friendship
(Although Twinkle has not once shown
her face).

Each year
Oldest contacts
Twinkle to say hello
and check Julie’s progress over
the months.

His call
always occurs
on December first, as
Julie celebrates another
birthday.

Twinkle
is bubbling
with excitement today,
anxious to tell Oldest of her
grand news.

"Oldest!"
She blurts, before
he says two words or three...
"It’s Julie’s first Communion
today!

Yes, and
just wait until
I tell of our past year.
You will not believe the good times
we both..."
     _________________
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Sixteen²

     [For son John's 16th Birthday]

Sixteen!
Hexadecimal
years into adulthood.
Ten thousand binary digits
fly by.

Einstein
conceived warped space
and "Relativity",
but you, John, ponder far beyond
these lags

of time
to consider
n-finite dimensions,
not permitting mind constraints to
hinder.

Machine
language,library
and bowling programs in
Basic, endless game ideas,
"hacker"!

"The brain"
they say of you,
little knowing how much
you'd give to win a hundred yard
dash...once!

Or dance,
or date, or swing
a normal gait...just once!
Instead "log e of five point three"
you say.

But gifts
gets passed out where
they may by the Giver,
and what's more precious than a mind
which soars

to His
heights, is able
to understand His thoughts,
and feels this joy of communion
with Him?

You are
not left out of
His directory! The
perfect plan for your life is in
progress.

Birthday:
the twenty-eight
of October, nineteen
eighty; sixteen years. For you John,
from Dad.
           _______________
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          Transition³

Shadows
sheltered her face
from view as they left home.
Only memory recorded
her tears.
   _______________
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