that shrunken head has the angriest eyes, I said.
Is it because he is dead? Because he is dead?
No, that one is Fred. He’s always been mad.
Maybe he’s sad, I suggested, maybe he’s sad.
Fred glared at me and stuck out his tongue.
Another head threw snot my way, not to be outdone.
Why do you keep these? I asked my friend Shay.
They creep me out but keep salesmen away.
Iffat o paak damani, ab shaaz shaaz hai
Baatin mera ayyaar, main mashhoor daghaal hoon
Bazaar mein har shay ki qeemat to hai magar
Main har shay se arzaa'n, faqat ek riyal hoon.
Haseeno ko hun hasil, main aurat wabaal hoon
Tum bhi haseen ho? To main tumhara hi maal hoon
Titli hoon, khushnuma phoolon par hai nazar
Tum bhi jo gul-badan ho? main tum ko halaal hoon.
Masoom dikhti hoon, bazahir paarsa bhi hoon
Parday ke peeche burai ki a‘la misaal hoon
Aashiq kare israar to kapray utaar doon
Taqaddus ke naam par, bamsil fitna-e-Dajjal hoon.
Mera har rang hai dhoka, mera har roop pur-fareb
Main baaghi, main sarkash, main zehr-e-qital hoon
Yeh husn, yeh nazakat, yeh kirdar sab fareb
Chadar bhi barhana, main jahannum ki shaal hoon.
Paarsayi ke libaas mein paarsa nahin hoon main
Main faasiqa, main faajira, main Iblees ki chaal hoon
Yeh rasam asr-e-haazir hai, na sharam hai na ghairat hai
Hoon to main paarsa, magar! main ek chhinal hoon
We were both called Shorty, me and this new cowpoke Shay.
He had a disappointed attitude that could be seen a mile away.
I did not like him instantly, he annoyed my organized mind.
He was not to my liking or taste, we were not two of a kind.
Shay was a loud mouth, thought his jokes were a hoot.
He was a weird co-worker, an ornery, persnickety coot.
I could not stand him until I got in trouble one day.
Who came to my aid? That ornery guy name of Shay.
We became friends after that; I taught him to shoot
He taught me to keep folding money in my right boot.
That Needham rifle was his, but he gave it to me.
When he was sick with the cancer in 1873.
She was bumfuzzled in many ways
Where had her dog been all those days?
He came home with seventeen puppies to play
And a wife, courtesy, of her neighbor Shay
Balancing her elephant on her wrist was fun today.
She sang a teensy bit, and this shook her blues away.
You have to come back tomorrow she told her friend Shay.
He said he would try, but he usually only escaped on a Friday.
The hoot owl was on the fiddle, the frog was dancing away.
Faeries, brownies and Luna moths joined in this October day.
Their frolicking was so much fun, they brought in a blue jay.
He stood back by the piano, giving their jive a bit of sway.
Nothing gloomy about tonight, they finally said as day went away.
They were now dancing in the moonlight, with a sky of gray.
The hoot owl gave the fiddle playing over to his cousin Shay.
The dancing continued through the night until the next day.
My aunt Shay was creative, inventive and fun.
She made dolls for us out of scraps of our clothes.
It was terrific to see what she concocted and constructed.
She could make things out of ribbons, yarn, bits of nothing.
She was clever and playful, and the dolls reflected it.
She had the personality and the childlike qualities of a pixie.
The things people do with the poetic forms:
the Japanese nature’s to keep the thing short;
the Welsh and the Irish like gnashing their teeth.
They’re smashing glass ceilings and breaking the norms.
Just add one more rule, and we’ll name it for you.
The things people do with the poetic forms…
The tanka’s a haiku plus two line retort;
The monoku rests on a line of its own.
The Japanese nature’s to keep the thing short.
Seems ‘seadna’ is shay-nay, and ‘gywydd’, good grief!
Six consonants strung and you say it ‘gee-youth’?
The Welsh and the Irish like gnashing their teeth.
----------
A Cascade: this one seems full of possibilities. You write a stanza
of N lines, then write N more stanzas where each line from the first
stanza is the last line of the subsequent stanzas. There's no other
requirement, but I added a little rhyming: ABC/axA/bxB/cxC.
https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/poetic-form-cascade-poem
Shay was as understated as an orange peacock in a purple tutu
None of us knew what to make of her
She blew in on a Tuesday, and we all knew about it by three
Towns our size only has four people boxes
She did not fit any of them
We could see she would dance her way out of all.
We who had never left Smallville
Had no idea
That bigger places have more boxes.
Shining-shimmering shoes should something
Shirley shopped at Shalanee’s shoe shop.
She should have not shopped with shy Shay who
only shops shorty-shorts at the shopping mall and
shoots gold at Sharon’s pawnshop.
Shirley could have shared a pair of sheering shoes with Shandy
if it wasn’t for Sheena who shamelessly
showed her shocking-shindy shopping spree
manic shimmying for a Penshoppe…
Shivering Shirley should have shopped to Shoppee;
shipped Shandy's shiny shoes and pays the shipment fee
instead of shopping with Shay and Sheena
who shadowed and shrilled her shopping “Shoe” day.
Hillbilly magic in the heat of the day
Playing homemade fiddles in the middle of May.
Blowing into Grandpa’s jug with a merry hey.
Knee slapping melody with my cousin Shay.
Adding to Arkansas lazy ambiance in every way,
Black comb with waxed paper kazoos added to the fray.
Consuming Bob’s moonshine in secret shadows of dark gray.
Good ole’ fashioned downhome fun on a June like Saturday.
Little jellyfish was jealous of the fish and the coral
Especially the sea horse ridden by mermaid Laurel
She was by far the prettiest siren in the blue sea
He dared not touch her, but he loved her truly.
His mama berated him in an ocean whirl.
So he turned his mind to her sister, the lovely siren Pearl.
Pearl loved starfish but starfish was grumpy and old.
Jellyfish might ask her out, this mermaid, hair of gold.
Snail friend stopped him, pointing out loud and sharp.
Beautiful music Mermaid Shay played on her pretty harp.
Shay is the one to date, and she is close at hand.
We can use her talents in our ocean friendly band!
None ended up with the mermaids that fateful cool day.
For the sirens moved on that night to a place far far away.
Jellyfish pouted the rest of his sea worthy salty life.
He never married or played again, and took no one for wife.
Shay play chowder me, a miracle of motion still a movin’
Just a waste masks the Master of all design
Walk we upright in the deficit of night
Depth of darkness not repeated in the generations of beings
Bent a willing root dimension three
Welcome gnashing, it’s only me
Pass me by again today, no message to receive
Partition-on my friend to survive sureality
Shay wore her hat lop-sided, in a jaunty, chic way.
On her it looked adorable, made her look exotic!
On the rest of us it looked silly, ridiculous
And we could not keep it on our hair any way.
Shay was the first one to paint her nails orange.
We had never seen that before. Where did she get orange polish?
This was the sixties. No one had any idea where she got it.
When we finally found it and put it on we looked like Halloween rejects.
Shay was from a big city; we tried to do everything she did.
A couple of weeks or months later, when it was out of style
or maybe we were just not sophisticated and smooth as she was.
When she went back to Des Moines she took her snappiness with her.
Clyde Pucelli was known as The Rembrandt of The Great Midwest!
He was an itinerant painter, esteemed as one of the best!
With his brushes and well-blended oils he'd render a masterpiece;
His fame spread since he specialized in hues of white and cerise.
He traveled in an old shay with his faithful horse Dan at the helm,
Brightening the households of Hoosier Land, Clyde's singular realm.
It took a couple of days to complete a painting then he'd move on,
Leaving folks to marvel at his handiwork long after he was gone!
You'd be surprised to learn he didn't do oils to display on a wall;
No, he painted ramshackle barns, outhouses and sheds, that's all!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.