I thought I’d try a cinquain next (hey, only 52 different types of poem to go) but the classic style is a bit cheesy for my taste, so my effort below complies only with the basics (22 syllables over five lines of two, four, six, eight and two syllables respectively).

It’s about a guy (Colin) I’ve worked with for the last three years, who suddenly quit without notice, and who I’m unlikely to see again.

As always, your feedback is appreciated. This is only the fourth poem I’ve ever written in my life, so I expect it to be shit.




Old friend.

So, where are you?

And who’s got your rear end

now, when things go bad (as they do)?

Miss you.



Erik Kaisson, 2017

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