Red Flag Warning

Hooray! Spring is officially here. I’ve started to see flowers poking their way from the ground. The scenery is greening, and the trees won’t be naked for long. I decided to start the month of April writing Diminished Hexaverse poems. I’ve never attempted this style, but it could be an exciting adventure in meter and word placement. It would be helpful if my muse made an appearance. I’ve heard rumors that he was booked in the delinquent Muse jail on a DWI charge. We need to have a long talk if he ever makes bail. I look forward to the challenge of writing in this style during April. I call this poem Red Flag Warning.

Diminished Hexaverse and Red Flag Warning

What is a Diminished Hexaversa poem? I’ve read several definitions of what makes up one of these poems. The easiest way to explain the process is as follows.

  1. The poem typically consists of five stanzas
  2. Five lines = stanza one
  3. Four lines = stanza two
  4. Three lines= stanza three
  5. Two lines = stanza four
  6. One line = stanza five
  7. This form might have more than five stanzas.
  8. The syllables correspond to the number of lines in the stanza.

It sounds like a simple form of poetry, but the writing could turn complex as the month unfolds.

Red Flag Warning

A red flag warning
On a bright morning
Means there will be a
Fire burning mid-day
When fairies come to

Play in tall grass
Wings that flicker
While elf’s bicker
And discuss  why

And bad dreams
Are filled with

Lies and
Blue skies


Who is Molly Shea?

Molly Shea is an accomplished fictional short story writer from Indiana who writes short stories and novels about a fictional town called Tecumseh.  To read more of her short stories and adventures, click here.

Be sure to follow Molly on Twitter!

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Published by henhouselady

I am the author of Saving the Hen House. I didn't know when I started it would turn into a series. I love to ride motorcycles, the blues, my family, and going on adventures. This old hen rocks.

4 thoughts on “Red Flag Warning

  1. The wind is a spirit
    It speaks in the pines, sometimes
    It may be speaking oak or poplar
    If the Sun is out
    That is a good time to listen

    It’s always that still, small voice
    We might mistake it for a whisper
    From the forest floor
    We must look upwards

    Then we see the sway of its mouth
    Forming words out of no words
    That say, here!

    And we say, “No!”
    You got it wrong.


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