New: micropoetryAll contenthive-129948hive-196917krsteemhive-183959zzanphotographyhive-180932hive-166405hive-185836uncommonlabhive-188619hive-144064hive-150122bitcoinhive-183397krsuccesshive-101145hive-124908lifehive-139150hive-145157hive-103599hive-181136hive-109690TrendingNewHotLikerswmbakester (51)in hive-161155 • 2 years agoPicking Through My Father's ThingsAfter his death, we di- -vide his life into piles of what we treasure, sell, and throw away.wmbakester (51)in poetry • 3 years agoJanuary 26th CinquainDuring the Winter Months . . . Our world constricts as the places we are willing to go are limited by cold and snow.wmbakester (51)in poetry • 3 years agoJanuary 22nd CinquaiThe Morning After . . . The sun’s glare reflecting off the fresh, untouched snow erases last night’s sins from my vision.wmbakester (51)in poetry • 3 years agoJanuary 10th CinquainOn Cold Mornings . . . I speak judiciously so that my words, as white puffs, will linger in the cups of your ears.wmbakester (51)in poetry • 3 years agoJanuary 7th CinquainDuring the Cold Winter Months . . . We move slower—muscles tighten and steps shorten— as we are aged by an icy sidewalk.wmbakester (51)in poetry • 3 years agoJanuary 1st Cinquain (in honor of Betty WhiteBetty White (1922–1921) . . . With arms windmilling through air, I stumbled into the New Year with a broken fun- -ny bone.wmbakester (51)in poetry • 3 years agoDecember 24th CinquainDriving Home Christmas Eve . . . With each mile, I slip back further into my youth— classic rock blaring on the ra- -dio.wmbakester (51)in poetry • 3 years agoDecember 22nd CinquainEuterpe . . . That damn Muse once again has dragged me from the warmth of my bed to write a cinquain for you.wmbakester (51)in poetry • 3 years agoDecember 19th CinquainFamily Obligations (aka Christmas Dinner) . . . Stepping from the shower, I paint on a smile and compose a speech about how life is good.wmbakester (51)in poetry • 3 years agoDecember 18th CinquainA Murder of Crows . . . Is perched above—their caws growing more boisterous as I near an icy patch on the walk.wmbakester (51)in poetry • 3 years agoDecember 16th CinquainWhile Walking the Dogs (1) . . . I learn how tenuous gravity's grip on me is as I slip on an icy sidewalk.wmbakester (51)in poetry • 3 years agoDecember 15 CinquainGray Day in Minnesota Snow and ice, cold and our foul moods weigh down the sun, keeping it under a blanket of clouds.wmbakester (51)in poetry • 3 years agoDecember 14th CinquainCrossing the High Bridge . . . Below me, the Missi- -ssippi stretches out her gray body across this land of snow.wmbakester (51)in poetry • 3 years agoDecember 12th CinquainOf the Things I Don’t Understand . . . What keeps us from flying off this huge spinning rock— free from the gravity of our choices.wmbakester (51)in poetry • 3 years agoDecember 11th CinquainAfter the Snowstorm The world has been muted; the rush of traffic slowed and children’s laughter muffled by the snow.wmbakester (51)in poetry • 3 years agoDecember 10th CinquainBefore the Snowstorm . . . We slow- ly shuffle to the grocery store with expectations Armageddon has come. Predictions here in Minnesota are up to 12 inches is placeswmbakester (51)in poetry • 3 years agoDecember 9th CinquainThe Wind (1) . . . It’s howl- -ing outside, rat- -tling my window, and dar- -ing me to crawl from under my blanket. I add the (1) because I expect that during this cold winter months, there…wmbakester (51)in poetry • 3 years agoDecember 6 CinquainIgnorance is Bliss . . . So I’ll forgo the news let the world go to hell deal with the hangover in the morning.wmbakester (51)in poetry • 3 years agoDecember 5th CinquainAfter the First Snow . . . The scrape of my neighbor’s shovel in the morning— an obligatory call to duty.wmbakester (51)in poetry • 3 years agoDecember 3rd CinquainInspiration (Sometimes) . . . Hits like that need to piss in the morning, an urge you can’t resist, dragging you out of bed.
