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Quatrain Sympathy Poems | Quatrain Poems About Sympathy

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

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Sympathy by Briton Riviere

The little girl sat alone on the step Thinking of what she had said and done Sad and alone, she needed a friend Gladly there appeared just the one A cold nose and a friendly lick Her dog snuggled up without question As always he needed no explanations There with the greatest of canine affection
Inspired by his 1878 picture- Sympathy go to Allposters.com/


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Heaven's Invitation

God came May the 15th,
  And took Aaron in His arms.
He took his little soul,
  Away from earthly harm.

A beautiful bundle of joy,
  Quickly turned to tears.
And pieces of my grief,
  Are hidden through the years.

His short-lived life,
  Sadly broke my heart.
Six and a half years ago,
  He began his heavenly embark.

One day we’ll meet in Heaven,
  And reunite in celebration. 
Until then, I will muster on,
  Until I receive Heaven’s invitation. 





________________________________
Robin, these are for you,
I hope you like what I've written.
My best friend was murdered,
and it is still fresh on my mind.
It's only been 2 years,
And I remember it like yesterday.
Take care and Happy Holidays...Raul


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THE CONTEST WINNER

I have entered many poetry contests
to display my best...an amazing number of sixty or more,
only one of my poems has won first place;
poets are like enduring athletes who fight to the very core! 
 

One big hurray goes to myself for the first win,
congratulations to the other participants
who are on the top of that list, or have been
awarded Honorable Mentions for their efforts!  


When my poem doesn't make it to the finalists's list,
I don't feel discouraged, I brazen out the doubt and try again;
even Lance Armstrong, with his skills, can't always win his race,
and the trophy must be given to someone else!


I rejoice when some of the chosen poets appear 
on the winners' list; I am happy for their accomplishment,
and into a word-restricted message's box I gladly comment
on their poetry...with the insight of an achiever!


And for those whose names never made it as previously thought,
I honestly tell you, from experience, not to be a bit discouraged...
your time will come when your enthusiasm will require a big shout;
never put the word, " Winner " to rest, write for fun and persist instead! 


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


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In the Mist of Life

In the mist of life, I have found myself
  lost and alone in a wood dark and gray.
A chill to the bone, a fall to the depth
  a longing to feel the warm rays of day.

There was but one road which ran to a church.
  There was many roads that ran far in the wood.
Like a fool I have run past Elm and Birch
  this lost road turned to a trail where I stood.

 A dark cloud now forms a narrow cold sky
  a wind from the North, which blows coastally. 
My choice brings no answer only a sigh 
  it made years ago and so willfully.

Weary am I of a life on this path
  wishing to visit my option again.
Fearing my Lord or fearing His wrath 
  I backtrack this road but only in vain.

Before me a puzzle of rock and stone  
  reaching far back before a road in time 
planted me deep in a mist with no tone 
  searching for a life, that I could call mine.

This narrowing track turns back on itself,
  the undergrowth soon will stand in my way.
In the mist of life, I have found myself
  Lost and alone in a wood dark and gray.


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In the Sand

He walked down to the sea, lonely and bored
then dips his hand in the warm ocean brine.
Forty years she was the one he adored,
so he kneels to pray for her, one more time.

He spells out her name in the smooth beach sand
then he watches a wave wash it away.
Whispers "Goodbye" just as he starts to stand
he wishes there was more that he could say.

A gentle rumble as breaks a small wave
he can smell her perfume as on the breeze.
He has not the strength to visit her grave
self-pity and pain is all that he sees.

Watches seagulls as they swarm a shrimp boat
as it makes a turn back toward the bay.
Hollow and empty he feels without hope
and wishes a wave would wash it away.


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I'm With our Redeemer

Mom will you remember,
   All the thing’s we’ve done?
I know I must travel on,
   To Heaven where I’m from.

I know I lived a short life,
   But it was worth the breath.
I was more than a memory,
   But memories are all that’s left.

I’ll always be your angel,
   For this God let me know.
I’m with our Redeemer,
   Where the little angels go.


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Charity Begins At Home

CHARITY Is the most honourable of all good intentions To help those poor souls in need We all have so much for which to be thankful Our mission is to do a good deed BEGINS The task of seeking the underprivileged Those truly in need of assistance Doing our very best to make sure they enjoy A happier and productive existence AT Very first news of someone in distress Be there to offer your hand Making sure things are contented at home Then offer to help your fellow man HOME Is definitely where charity should begin On that we must be consistent Then share the warmth of our loving heart And our happy and peaceful existence ©Jack Ellison 2012


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One Out Of Three

That homeless guy out on the corner,
Carrying a sign that says he’s hungry;
Maybe he’s just a drunk or a ‘stoner’, 
But he might be that one-out-of-three.

That one-out-of-three is a veteran,
Who in uniform served his country.
There’s a good chance he has an addiction,
Or is still suffering from PTSD.

One out of three of those ones-out-of-three
Fought in one of America’s wars.
Did he scream on a beach in Normandy,
Or did he at Inchon go ashore.

Did he hunt Charlie in a rice paddy?
Was he in the Balkans, or lost in the sand?
One out of three of those ones-out-of-three,
Were the heroes who once took a stand.

If you can spare a few dollars, then feed them.
If not, at least hear what they say.
Their country may no longer need them, 
But they don’t deserve to be thrown away.

They might not have all bled in battle, 
But each one came home a casualty.
With your help, they may someday be able
To leave the ranks of the one-out-of-three.


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Moment of Madness

Vultures of doubt hover in my mind
Death beckons me
Live like a Stranger in my abode
Naught for me to live

Sparrows tweet around
On the soil beside me
Bend down, I sip water
Made muddy by rain

Came out of my walls
Tears flow down my eyes
Quench my parched throat
My hearts start beating

Feel light and tranquil
Sky is my home
Birds are my friends
Dogs line up to seek food

Push all away, I laugh aloud
My plate was empty a moment ago
Brimming with madness
My hands are full


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Toy Boy- For Women Everywhere Who've Been Hurt

Don’t play with my heart
You mischievous boy
I know what you want
You just want a toy

Don’t try to be cute
Don’t try to be sweet
You just want to eat
A sugary treat

Then lick your fingers
And be on your way
Well, listen up boy
Hear now what I say

Yes, I am yummy
And yes, I am FINE
But, please, do beware
Before you do dine

If you have your meal
And then disappear
I’ll give you a kick
A box in the ear

I’ll maul you alright
Make you worse for wear
Fiercer than any
Deranged mama bear

You can fight, but dear
You don’t stand a chance
I’ll cut you down cold
And over you prance

Then lock you away
And swallow the key
Oh baby, don’t mess
Don’t you mess with me!

With all that you know
Do you want to touch?
I’m standing right here
You want me so much?

Right now I’ll be good
And purr and be coy
Because truth be told
You are MY toy boy!

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Inspired by Becca :)


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The House On Fire

It has been standing here forlorn:
Now a burning house on fire;
None’s here to rush or shout for help:
There’s None for it a crier…

A gloomy place this has been
For past a year and score;
I’ve known this place since kidship days:
It never felt so sore.

What else can I but do,
Than watch and not respond—
I feel the attachment weighing me down
Now while I slouch in despond…

(Quick! Fetch some water—do someone—
I shall be its Crier—
But it burns with much vigor—
Flames are rising up higher)

It’s always stood separate from all,
In a state of mortal plight;
I never, ever before, saw it
Glowing thus, so bright..

…So, here I see a picture of 
How my thoughts could Clash,
And witness in silence now,
It’s disbanding to Ash… 


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:sigh of relief:

Words spoken in silence,

[When language does not suffice]

Like a look or a tear, although concise

Can echo a lifetime in your ear,

Much louder than those you can hear.


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A Wish

A Wish

For children sired from out of wedlock
Roaming the streets, begging for alms
With weary eyes from a day’s plight
To get their crumbs  and spare  the night

For girls robbed and sanctity trampled
Buried in rut,  and scared to move
Spurned and cast away from home
With queuing lads to buy her form

For souls scorned and gloomed
Who live a  life of doom and misfortunes 
May find their life at the end of the fork
Espousing all strength, and daring to move.


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Words of Sympathy

My condolences can’t ease the pain,
That you have come to feel.
Nor fill the void in your heart,
That often seems unreal.

But it lets your heart know,
That you are in my prayers.
And when sorrow digs its heels,
There is someone here who cares.

I offer healing words of comfort,
And many hugs for sympathy.
When sorrowful clouds blotch your sky,
You can always depend on me.


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ESTEFANIA WAS THE SPANISH HORSE

Estephania was the Spanish horse,
with a chestnut coat and mane   
and a lighter long tail...and she ate
alfalfa for strong teeth and bones.


She was domesticated, losing her liberty
and neighing she showed keen ability:
to spot dangers on a perilous path...
Estefania even stopped for a stranded cat.


In summertime she fed mostly on grass,
but bees stung her many times to protest,
and struggling to get them off her tail...
she hit a shrilling raven in the head.


And feeling sorry for the dying bird wincing, 
Estefania licked his semi-open eyes...giving
him a little comfort as he folded his wings;
and whinnying she wept a river of tears.


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Break and Repair

Bah, rake together the bloody pieces,
if you leave them lying about, they stain.
Any good, that memories hold, decreases,
as does future joy you hope to obtain.

Embrace solitary stillness, silence.
Rediscover a solid foundation.
Gladness can thrive in romance’s absence.
Expired connections lead to damnation.

Clean up wretchedness before it bitters
killing chances before you are aware.
Forge yourself into a net that glitters.
Leave the pain and sorrow to just reap air.


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Sorry

First, let me say I'm sorry
This isn't your fault, it's mine
I don't feel for you what you feel for me
And I know that seems so unkind

But, the passion we used to have
I don't feel it anymore
The flame that burned inside of us
Has dwindled to nothing, and nothing more

I'm sorry for you, who came out of the blue
I fell in love with a girl, but my love is no longer true.


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Math

Math can be confusing,
With numbers, equations, and more
Hard to understand,
Try to break it down to the core

When there is no where to turn,
You wonder, does math involve lore?
Probably not, but it's worth a try,
Since the stress makes you sweat through pores

Math can be confusing,
With numbers, equations, and more
Hard to understand,
Try to break it down to the core


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Everyone Has A Tale To Tell

Show a little kindness
To everyone you meet
You'll never know the story
That makes them all unique

Everyone has a tale to tell
Some happy some are sad
We all can be affected
By the kind of day we've had

So if your waitress snubs you
Or a clerk is less than great
Showing a little kindness
May help to change their fate

Instead of scorn and ridicule
Help 'em above the fray
Pass along some happiness
So they may find their way

Show a little kindness
To everyone you meet
You'll never know the story
That makes them all unique

© Jack Ellison 2012


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The music

AND WE DANCE TO THE SOUND OF THE RHYTHM
SWEATING HOT;THE MUSIC REVERBERATING
AND SOON OUR LUNGS GIVE WAY
AND OUR LEGS WOBBLE IN THE SWAY-


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Bums Unite



All you bums of the world unite! Now I don't mean the fleshy kind I mean the ones you see on the streets “Brother can you spare a dime?” That must have been many years ago 'Coz you can't get a coffee for that Might pay the tax on a small size cup But I'm not even sure of that fact What are they begging for nowadays A couple of bucks or more? That doesn't get you very much either It will soon be a ten spot for sure Really don't mind helping them out These poor unfortunate souls I pray it stops, this downward spiral Before I'm in that very same role? © Jack Ellison 2013


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the predator's delight

In you can be seen the predator's delight
Enjoying the fear in your prey's eyes,
Setting to unleash your savage might
As the helpless before you lies,
No chance is there for captivity nor flight,
For mercy with your heart has no ties.


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My Apologies

Sharing cold kisses
and another numb f***
I don’t want a future, dear
I guess you’re out of luck

Where there used to be electricity
all there is is stale breath
So touch my darkened heart goodbye
I’m sorry we part before death

Love should never be a chore
I care, but like you’re a brother
And incest isn’t really my thing
So you’ll have to love another


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Stand Up

Stand up for the broken,
'Cause they are people too.
With hearts and souls in ruin,
They just want to be like You.


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THIS TITLE IS EPIC

PERHAPS FIFTEEN THOUSAND YEARS FROM NIOW SOMEONE WILL FIND THE PLASTIC MILK JUG WE THREW AWAY
                                       TODAY
My family demanded “come on and take this car and park it”
Oh heavens, wifey poo, what happens if we’re late for the market
I really didn’t want any more loud conversation and neither did she
And to see if I was close enough to the curb she actually measured it accurately

So we go through the islands of rising prices
And the snack aisle was arranged by a demon’s devices,
We passed cookies and cakes, bread and bottled water
And of course condoms for our sixteen year old daughter

Our daughter is hyper-concerned with what we purchased today
She checks out the products and what the ingredients say
While little Billy is acting silly on isle six because that’s what children do
And he gets Fruit Loops or he’ll  hold his breath until his face turns blue

My little girl said “this one is made of glass, and this one is made of plastic| 
Dad, please tell Billy to be quiet because the situation is drastic
Glass can be recycled but plastic will be here for my great grandson to find paper or plastic, neither, we brought a cloth bag because recycling should be in every heart and mind
     © 2011.…Phreepoetree
Please help me save this puny planet that pathetic people are pissing or puking upon purposefully in good shape for Mr. Travis Ian


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To Bunkers And Bad Lies



...to Charlie Hebert, (RIP), my father-in-law,
    with respect and affection



Wind-swept and sunburnt alone on the fairway 
he fusses and frets with his lie; 
he's been here for ever commanding the course, 
ever since you and I were knee high. 

Golf is his passion, he lives and he breathes 
for the chance to play just one more round, 
replacing his divots, observing the rules 
and keeping his feet on the ground.

Always nattily dressed he is ready 
to tee up and go for the green; 
the young guns are anxious to unseat old Chuck, 
but he's crafty and wily and mean!

It's the day of the championship and he's all ready 
to teach these young men how to play; 
at the turn he's ahead with a three under par, 
he'll show them, he'll have the last say!

On the final hole two men are tied for the lead, 
they are edgy as each eyes the pin; 
Jim misses his putt, it goes wide to the left, 
and Charlie makes par for the win!

CODA

In the clubhouse they congratulate the old boy on his score, 
he thanks them from the bottom of his heart;
here's to Charlie then, to bunkers, to bad lies and to rain, 
to another shot at glory when he climbs aboard the cart!


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Party Pills

My heart begins to fail, 
My feet race along the ground, 
My body is drenched in a chilled sweat, 
I scream but don't make a sound, 

I feel my body tremble, 
As I frantically try to run, 
I can hear him coming closer, 
I hope he doesn't have a gun, 

There's a warmth on my shoulder now, 
I can feel his quickened breath, 
His rough hand connects with my arm, 
I can feel the shadows of death, 

All of the light has disappeared, 
More darkness has taken its place, 
My body's limp, worn out and weak, 
Death has finally won this race, 

But my soul lives on in heaven, 
To bring justice to those who kill, 
Vulnerable teenagers like me, 
By selling them party pills, 

I got given those party pills, 
To try with a special friend, 
Being a fool, I took a few, 
But death caught me in the end.

Copyright Kayla Yovich 2007


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Postscript



...for Hart Crane - In Memoriam - (1899-1932)
 

Words of purpose, carved and beaten,
chipped from granite's cold confines,
fashioned into filigrees
that shocked and startled feeble minds.

The Bridge, that span of subtle magic,
metaphor of time and space,
stretching skyward, swooping low,
connecting man to style and grace.

Letters of sophistication
sent to those who praised and scorned,
ever striving for perfection, 
friends were used and heros mourned.

A man at odds with bland conventions,
drunk, debauched, yet tried and true,
companionship oft cold and faithless
fostered with a dockside crew.

On a ship, confused and homeless,
wandering, he yearned for ease,
the ocean summoned this poor vagrant,
in its depths he found his peace.


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PLANNED A DAY IN THE MERRY SUNSHINE

Came from work, exhausted and moody,
fall is advancing with an improvised, swift pace,
but the meteorologist defies it with the happiest face;
and tomorrow I'll wake up and trot away! 


Planned a day in the merry sunshine,
with a basked full of treats and a bottle of red wine,
to be consumed by the shade of an elm with my dearest;
and all the songbirds I will invite to my afternoon's feast!


We lay on the neatest blanket, facing the calmest, eastern sea
as sailboats drift by...a toddler listens to his mom's nostalgic song,
and in her tender voice that soldier's smile, on rippled waves, appears;
and tears, with a solar luster, fall on the pristine sand to recall her lost love.
  

Seagulls glide over to announce the close of an August's evening
still huddled in intimate embrace, the rushing waves tickle our toes,
and not minding their amusing play, we carry on and not withdraw;
before we lift the damp blanket, we are greeted by stars in throngs.


Planned a day in the merry sunshine,
a fantasy realized by two who will dream of this passionate season,
remembering our tanned faces and skin glittering with sand;
waving goodbye to the disheveled mother and trembling child.



Note:  These are the observations of a happy couple spending a day on the beach,
but  the happiness they felt wasn't shared by a mother and child who both missed a husband 
and father; and by the sad look on their faces, gazing out to the sea...he had gone to the  
Iraq War, and unfortunately had never returned home.


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MUSE-MASTER!

I am the confidant of many, 
a healer of weary souls, 
they come to me with questions, 
and tales of their ample woes. 

I advise and console their broken,
and bleeding hearts, 
for I know how it feels,
to be ripped and utterly torn apart. 

What can one so humble as I;
I often conclude with query short and sweet; 
do for a true master-poet; 
who muses others as he speak?