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Quatrain Patriotic Poems | Quatrain Poems About Patriotic

These Quatrain Patriotic poems are examples of Quatrain poems about Patriotic. These are the best examples of Quatrain Patriotic poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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My Cloud white and five-point stars 
join royal blue and strips of red,
stitched into a familiar pattern,
folded and temporarily put to bed.

The first time up the pole, crisp 
edges flap and crack in the breeze.
Frosty air and rain pelts my sides
as I stiffen with winter freeze.

The sun burns through bones
and fades my vibrant hues
while wind-force snaps me about
to give me tattered shoes.

Until the last sigh, I give all 
who view my face, bluff with hope,
a rousing sound of freedom's ring
before the slackening of the rope.


Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014

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My Country

My country is home, 
I have no fear. 
My country is home, 
and I am here. 

Copyright © Lilith Rodriguez | Year Posted 2014

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St Patricks Day

The poor lad was sixteen when they kidnapped him
They took him from England to Ireland but the boy did not sin.
His father was a Deacon and his grandfather was a Priest
Who would have thought this would have started
The St Patrick’s Day’s once yearly feast.

A feast back in tradition that was of bacon and beans
Not only has that changed, but the colour has from blue to green
Patrick did escape his capture; he said God told him he must.
He returned to England where he took his confessor into his trust.

He studied to be a priest and then set back off to Ireland
He was a clever man; he taught and held up in his hand…
A piece of shamrock, to us the three leafed clover
A teaching for the trinity and he won lots of them over.

Upon his death on Patrick’s day the feasting and drinking does begin
The wearing of the green and there is a little bit of sin
The pubs were closed at one time, to stop the Irish fun
But now it has spread worldwide so Happy St Patrick’s everyone.

 © 06/02/2013
Contest entry for: An Irish Poem

Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2013

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Skinny Giants

The giants aren't hefty
The possess small stature
And great brains
With the heart of Gold

The giants are not assaultic
They fight peacefully
Without shedding of blood nor brouhaha
Yet they get whetever they desire

The giants are generous
They leave their houses
For shadows under the tree
While others enjoys their possession

The giants are skinny
Though weak and powerless they seem
They do great exploit
And am a skinny giant

Copyright © Olorunsogo David | Year Posted 2013

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Oh Canada

A true Canadian through and through Proud to call Canada my home Wouldn't change it for a million bucks And I'm certain I'm not alone Us Canadians will stick together When it comes to promoting our land A wonderful model for others to follow As we lovingly offer our hand A diverse and multicultural society Inviting those from around the world To make this land their new found home As Canadian flags they unfurl Some might consider me overly bias And possibly they could be right But have good cause to promote this land It shines like the stars at night A true Canadian through and through Proud to call Canada my home © Jack Ellison 2013

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2013

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911 America Rising

Concrete, steel, glass, and dust,
we watched three thousand die.
Then there was no longer trust,
only fear when we would fly.
Our cozy world gone in a flash.
We'd never be the same.
Routine flight to horrific crash.
A jihad was proclaimed.
Souless zealots on native soil,
a scourge not seen before.
American blood began to boil
as we were shaken to the core.
While the cowards knelt in mock prayer,
we stood defiant and rebuilt.
Such lonely souls in disrepair
found the power not to wilt.
Though a decade's gone the pain's still fresh,
from an ache we know so well.
We paid the price in human flesh,
but they'll settle up in hell.

Copyright © James Nichols | Year Posted 2012

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When Marbles Fall

          When Marbles Fall

Happy are the children on the wall of time
Playing marbles by the castle keep
Soldiers watch them secure that they won’t climb
But become bored and fall to sleep

The children are not children at all
But spies that cry for freedom
They slay the soldiers in a modest brawl
The king is next to fall to lose his kingdom 

Fate takes the king with a confidant to towers top
Spies follow them to that end
It is there where all of this must stop
The king must die but first his friend

Marble in this upper room is splendid
King marvels for one last time his acquisitions
Too bad right here and now he must end it
To simply die without his royalties permission 

                   Created 7/12/14 for- Not Just Any Old Quatrain contest

Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014

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Aung San Suu Kyi

Flower in People’s Heart

Arrested! Contained! Remanded just the body
The iron heart will never, never surrender
The tip of the people's arrow for democracy
Flower in heart will blossom over dictators!

Copyright © Xaysouvanh Phengphong | Year Posted 2014

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As I Walk This Graveyard Somber

As I walk this graveyard somber
Of a country shorn of life
Its gravestone reads, in the distance yonder
Stabbed by debt’s dagger knife

Our Founding Fathers, like demigods
Of a past enlightened age
Founded this nation, with musket rods   
And writings on a page

We the people, it was writ
Must perfect a union young
With stinging wit, this daring script
Was a rock at Britain slung

A golden republic, been thrown at our feet
They challenged us to keep 
From democracy’s thieves, from subtle deceit     
From apathy, and ignorant sleep

Have we kept our gold? No! It was packaged and sold!
By politicians - absentee dads!
How would our Fathers feel, if they could be told
That their children lost what they had?

Our Fathers would be, trifle a doubt
A hallowed kin troubled by din
Troubled by noise, the screams and the shouts
Of a country dying from within

With ethics abandoned, a sickness has crept
A plundering, gluttonous sin
These pitiful states, with mountains of debt
Belong in no handbook of hymn

Youth, why slave for a wage
To be took by taxation’s rake?
Why seek to be caught, in misery’s cage
For worthless currency’s sake?

Prepare instead, for the coming collapse
When Liberty staggers, stumbles and hurls
This nation, struck by a venomous asp
Expires, in agonied curls

Copyright © David von Rudisill | Year Posted 2013

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Canada Day Eh

Why is Canada so very special to me There are ever so many reasons It's the land of my birth, the place I call home A country blessed with four seasons Winter in Canada with it's blanket of snow Unmatched for beauty and splendour The cold clean air as we take a deep breath The thrill of outdoor adventures As we curl up in front of a cozy warm fire Overwhelmed by a magical feeling We sense the sweet glow of love and devotion Which sends our dear hearts a-reeling Then spring arrives with a feeling of renewal After winter’s long cozy nap The birds sing out loudly, spring has arrived No longer burdened by wooly hats The jolly old sun seems so much warmer now Blossoms soon raise their wee heads Bumble bees buzz from flower to flower Sipping nectar from each colourful bed Then summer arrives, the sweetest time of the year The hillsides are alive and in bloom Sweet romance is foremost on everyone's mind All the world's lovers are in tune Those warm summer days are over too soon August warns us of what's just ahead With nature's brilliant colourful explosion Of yellow, orange, crimson and red It's the end of a cycle and the start of a new one This wonderful country we live in How fortunate we are to call ourselves Canadians As a new cycle once more begins © Jack Ellison 2015

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2015

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Fading Anguish

Forced down onto the thick mud
the stench of this rotten blood
Determined for this to be surreal
My fate would change if it were real

My life begins anew In my head
From the time mother put me to bed
Father took me to my first Yankee’s game
Where I was inspired by their fame

To keep the kids soundly in bed
My blood, I fear, I must shed
Not knowing whether I would live or die
the anguish is consuming my thigh

The pain is slowly dying out
my destiny is nothing but a doubt
Laying on the red infested loam
Guadalcanal, you are my last home.

Copyright © Jorge Torres | Year Posted 2013

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Vacation To Malta

Been there and worn the t-shirt
The plane in Luqa airport landed 
I did not recognise it, it had changed
From a small airport it was had expanded.

Tears flowed quickly from my sad eyes
This is Malta, my country, my blood
Born and bred with Maltese brethren
A dot in the Mediterranean a beautiful bud.

I remember Valletta the ancient Capital City
Buildings old and narrow, some renovated and new
A name taken from the Grandmaster De La Vallette 
With museums and churches what a lovely view.

In Mosta a midland village with a history of its own
With a magnificent Rotunda of St Mary Assumption
A Luftwaffe bomb fell during mass did not explode
The Bomb Miracle, April 9, 1942 without destruction.

The Blue Grotto a mesmerising clear waters
Natural grotto surrounded by chain of caverns 
It lies west of Wied iz-Zurrieq facing Filfla. 
With many friendly and atmospheric roadside taverns.

The Hypogeum, a labyrinth of underground chambers
Used as both a burial site and a temple in their history
Then there’s Mdina The Silent city on a highest peak
With it’s narrow, cobbled streets shrouded in an air of mystery.

Yet I did not go to visit these magnificent sites
I went straight to a place where my mother lies
A cemetery on the outskirts of the village of Paola
The last honourable and sacred place when one dies.

LUQA Pronounced:- Lu - ka

DE LA VALLETTE :- Jean Parisot de Valette was born in 1494 and at 28 years of age served throughout the last siege of Rhodes.Jean Parisot de Valette became Grand Master in 1557 and was described by Abbe de Branthome as being a ‘very handsome man, speaking several languages fluently including Italian, Spanish, Greek, Arabic and Turkish.’

WIED IZ-ZURRIEQ :- About 2km west of Zurrieq lies the tiny harbour of Wied iz-Zurrieq, set in a narrow inlet in the cliffs and guarded by a watchtower.

FILFLA:- A little deserted Island used the be bombing target when Malta was under the occupation of the British for more then 300 years. 

MDINA :- Pronounced - Medina

Wednesday 10th February 2016

Copyright © Malta Forever | Year Posted 2016