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Quatrain Tribute Poems | Quatrain Poems About Tribute

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

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Night Owl

Sitting by her open window,
Was a girl deep in thought,
Lost within a book of Poe,
A perfect poem she sought.

With a curious eye,
He watches her pen,
For she gives it a try,
Every now and then.

He will visit her forevermore,
In silent hours of midnight,
Casting his shadow on her floor,
Within the full moonlight.

Mysterious, nocturnal bird,
Calling out to darkened land,
Speaking such wise word,
Which I cannot understand.

I am lonely, I must confess,
It's just you, me and the moon,
You are much like me, I guess,
So, please sing me another tune.

A messenger of death,
Wailing songs of a banshee,
Has my grim reaper cometh,
Was this warning meant for me?

My soul was projected,
In the shadow of a fowl,
A raven I had expected,
Not the silhouette of an owl!

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Another Day

A torch carried on forever, indeed,
for the aggressive rhymer in me,
is alive again, unshackled and freed,
rising to challenge another day, I see.

As I found myself lost deep in Tolkien,
with epic Star Wars, never ending,
surrounded in a geek paradise, serene,
optical illusions before me, suspending.

Life's songs on guitar strings strummed,
an epiphany unlike they've ever heard,
euphoric dreams in my visions hummed,
as I pen archaic word after archaic word.

Artistry is born only to be my brother,
encircled this star, a pentagram made,
my day is done, I have conquered another,
as the sun slowly brings down the shade.

A Word Collage For Chan Hurst

(Cyndi MacMillan's contest)

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Hidden Beauty

Her smile was lopsided, crooked
And her eyes had lost their shine
In a wheelchair bound and broken
Sat this mother dear of mine

Once the one that they called “Sunshine”
Now was bowed with grief and care
Garbled speech and eyes unfocused
Made the people stop and stare

Yet in this woman there was hidden
Beauty of the rarest kind
Love for God and for her family
Love for words all graced her mind

She was brave and she was noble
Took the falls and burns and smiled
Knowing that her child, a daughter
Lived with fear so justified

People did not see the beauty
Hidden in her crumpled form
All that they could show was pity
Perhaps that is just the norm

But in her dear withered body
MS had so brutalized
Was a mother’s lasting beauty
That her daughter eulogized

Once a flower brightly blooming
In the garden of my home
She remains my flower ever
In the memories where I roam

Eileen Manassian

I grew up knowing my mother was ill and that she would eventually die due to MS. I lost my Mama on March 19, 2000. I still miss her...Her name? Angel. That was my Mama's name. When she was younger, they used to call her Sunshine because of her dazzling smile....

More poems I've written about my Mama:

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In Celebration of REAL Men

The strength of a man is not determined
By his muscles or his brawn
It is determined by his strength
To admit when he is wrong

The wisdom of a man
Is not determined by myriad facts
It is determined by the way
That wisdom is seen in his acts

The integrity of a man
Is not determined by his claim
It is determined by the reputation
That follows around his name

The love of a man
Is not determined by mere time
It is determined by each moment
That he makes you feel sublime

The sexual prowess of a man
Is not related to his size
It’s how he satisfies your needs
And what you see there in his eyes

The chivalry of a man
Is not determined by his manhood
It is determined by how he nurtures
You to revel in womanhood

The passion of a man
Is not his need to self-gratify
It is determined by how often
He makes the effort to satisfy

The wealth of a man
Is not seen in monetary things
But by those things that are free
That to your life he brings

The age of a man
Is not seen in the age life deals
But by the strength of his heart
And how young he makes you feel

The sweetness of a man
Is not determined by what he says
But it's determined by the fact
That you want him more each day

The humour of a man
Is not determined by a hurtful tease
It’s determined by how your laugh
When his words your heart please

A man is an awesome creation
That I’m determined to venerate
As Eve’s daughter much in love
This male wonder I celebrate.

Eileen Manassian Ghali

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Tribute to Five Fabulous Poets

I write of young Timothy
A very thoughtful young man
A thinker among thinkers
He writes to all that he can

He places wonderful comments
And sees life in his own way
Things are so fascinating 
He so enjoys his word play

Then there is my friend Becca
She's sweet and refined
Her comments so generous
They reveal a heart that's kind

What is more spectacular
Is the poems that she has penned
Once I get to reading them
I wish that they didn't end

I have a new friend Freddie
Who may seem a darker sort
But there is much more to him
I am happy to report

He will not sugar coat it
His comments are to the point
When it comes to honesty
He adds color to the joint

Young Anne is a butterfly
As she flutters all about
She touches many people
So I give her this shout out

Her poems like diamonds 
Or perhaps even more rare
There may not be so many
They're all written with such care

I can't forget sweet Yanny 
She is a lovely sweet girl
Each comment a special gift
Each word precious like a pearl

With her own style of writing
She knows how to mesmerize
She can be inspiration
As words dance before my eyes

I wish I could honor more
But I'm limited to five
The poets here at the soup
That all make me feel alive

I am thankful for comments
For all the good and the bad
If they were to stop coming
That would really make me sad

Poem of dedication contest

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The Hollow

The October night was dark and cold,
As the autumn sun was going down,
When I recalled the legends I had been told,
About this sleepy, little town.

There were tales about the haunted woods,
They say the wind seems to call your name,
I was going where no one should,
And if I survived, I'd never be the same.

I walked through the covered bridge,
As the harvest moon rose into the sky,
I had made it around the darkened ridge,
Just as I heard a lone wolf's cry.

I walked the path of the dark, gnarled thicket,
Through the fallen leaves of maple and oak,
I heard the chirping of a cricket,
Near the hollow, where the bullfrogs croak.

Then, I heard the "hoot" of an owl in a tree,
And the "caw" of a raven on it's perch,
The headless horseman I hoped not to see,
As I passed the graveyard near the church.

I told myself I would be alright,
Just as I heard the hooves of a horse,
But, I knew I would make it home tonight,
Because there are no ghosts, of course.

Written by: Kelly Deschler

(This was my tribute to "The Legend Of Sleepy Hollow" by Washington Irving.
I wrote it from the perspective of Ichabod Crane.)

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Impeccable Rebecca

Rebecca's poetry is impeccable I am totally blown away By this writer of beautiful poetry In a class by herself, Triple A Not only is her poetry totally divine But to hear her recite it, I melt With a voice as soft as an angel's voice As delicate as I've ever felt Honoured to call Rebecca a friend This talented very sweet soul I'm touched by this kind hearted lady Rebecca with a heart of gold Rebecca's poetry is impeccable I am totally blown away Her voice is as soft as that of an angel She the sunshine of my day My loving tribute to dear Rebecca Lucas © Jack Ellison 2013

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Charming Charmaine

Charmaine, the dear soul writes like an angel Her poetry is beautiful and touching She writes with a passion known to only a few You'll find your heart you'll be clutching Some just know how to create those phrases That leave us in awe and wonderment A natural talent that some are born with For others it a struggle and torment But Charming Charmaine has it down pat It's to do with her approach to life Definitely sways the way she writes poetry A style that does surely entice Charmaine, the dear lady is a friend of mine I'm so happy to know this soul Stands tall in the world of romantic poetry So fortunate she's an honour to know! © Jack Ellison 2013
My loving tribute to Charmaine Chircop

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Go With The Flo

Go with the Flo, I've heard it said Think I'm gonna give it a shot What a sensual, passionate lady she is Sure doesn't hide her plot Always fires straight from the heart Doesn't have ulterior motives Whatever she's written is the way it is No BS, no flowery emotive Became attracted to her immediately With her honest, up front style Very appealing with no secret agenda Maintaining her feminine guile A gem to be sure here on Poetry Soup A breath of fresh air to be sure Just a wee poem to offer my friendship As my silly humour she endures! © Jack Ellison 2013
As my silly humour she endures!

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She Gave Me A Star- A Tribute to F J Thomas

She gave me a star by my name
Just what I’ve dreamed of for so long
There by name, a shinning star
To PM Members I belong
She gave me a star...

She gave me a tiara for my hair
Sent messages for the “Queen”
She chased all my tears far away
A kinder heart I've not seen
She gave me tiara

She gave me a smile for my lips
Brought the sunshine right on in
It’s hard to fathom such sweet care
This friendship of ours is a win
She gave me a smile

I wish for something more to give
Than this simple silly old rhyme
I’d give her what she desired
Something that will last through all time
I’ll give her my love!

Eileen Manassian Ghali

I wanted to say a very humble thank you to F J for her stupendous gift of a PM Membership. If you only knew how long I've wanted it and the reasons why I didn't get around to it....Lots of reasons. Here it is...a gift....a star by my a star in my sky. :) F've been more than kind to me....First the tiara and queen this....I will carry this in my heart....for as long as it beats. Thank you for your wonderful friendship. God bless you!

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My Great Grandpa

Great Grandpa Zerbst, I wish was here
I'd like him still around
He had a herd of Hereford cows
His farmin' sense was sound

He passed away when I was young
I'd only seen him twice
But even though his life was rough
I'm sure that he was nice

At first, he had some horse-drawn rigs
To grow his crop of wheat
A tractor then, in place of them
That had a metal seat

He had a herd of ninety cows
A huge Wyomin' spread
But now a herd of oil-rigs
Are drillin' in their stead

A lot of things Great Grandpa knew
From distant Germany
But now these things I wish I knew
Are buried 'neath a tree

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Something that lets you express
Feelings that you don’t wanna suppress

Something that can be of mixed emotions
Different themes and distinctions

Something that gives words the power
Of changing hearts, wills and bringing peace to war

Something that gives you your right
Of freedom of speech may you be black or white

Something that can touch your heart, fill your eyes with tears making them watery,
And that something is none other than poetry……..

Poetry on Poetry
Contest entry
Date: 1/18/2013

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The Un-Dead

At the Borgo Pass I met a coach and horse,
And the villagers warned me not to go,
They were worried about a supernatural force,
But I had business in Transylvania, though.

The coach rumbled along the Carpathian mountain road,
Through the lightning and pounding rain,
We arrived at an old, darkened abode,
And I thought this trip was all in "vein".

But then opened the great castle door,
And the Count bid me welcome to his house,
He cast no shadow on the floor,
Where scurried a bat and a mouse.

In the mirror he cast no reflection,
On our dinner he did not dine,
And upon my curious inspection,
He drank no water or wine.

Then late that night I awoke with fright,
As something hovered over my bed,
Then I felt a quick, sharp bite,
From a vampire who's eyes glowed red.

Then cried the children of the night,
As all at once, there shined a beam,
I awoke to see a ray of sunlight,
And realized it was all just a dream.

(This poem was my tribute to "Dracula" by Bram Stoker)

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The Perfect Recipe - for Michelle

For these ingredients, check life's pantry.
But be warned: most are hard to find!
However, when mixed in a bowl most pure,
They make a 'dish' that's one-of-a-kind!

Take equal parts of honesty
And gratitude beyond mere words ;
Add to this loyalty, generosity &
Strong conviction in healthy thirds.

You'll need devotion, compassion
And kind thoughtfulness ;
A pinch of pure dedication -
Wrapped in warm trustworthiness.

Now stir in a sense of humour,
Don't go easy on the laughter -
As you'll find this fashionably tasteful,
With a tang that lingers long after.

What amazes about this intriguing dish
 Is how it rises above adversity,
Due to its special resilient essence
Based on home-grown spirituality!

When of this unique creation
You have truly experienced,
Life will no longer be the same:
For it will be immeasureably enriched!

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dreams or illusions of living in peace and harmony
In thinking about life's problems I didn't come undone
images still float in the wind, music of the Harmonie
The magical dream of people on earth living as one

An adolescent desire of a world with a lasting peace
let us justify a bad decision to stop sowing seeds
or are we nomadic people, living like a flock of geese
Life is following the one in front, unsure of where it leads

with ideas, seeds are sown, establishing a path to peace
Can we transcend innovations, to stop following the flocks
to learn people exchanging views possibilities will increase
listening to people and stop throwing metaphoric rocks

"Yesterday, trouble was distant  life a game to be played"
Our people may be gone, but our past lets us be unafraid
My angel seems far away, but memories will never fade
all dreamers, vying in the game of life will never be swayed

I still believe and long for yesterday

for Beatlemania! contest
of Heather Ober

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The tigress' mark

She prowls the night
with clenched jaw and pride,
nothing able to smite
her remorseless stride.

The ominous reflection of moon 
shines forth from devouring eyes
of a nocturnal beauty spun on the loom
of the Creator's bid and sighs.

Grace moves her every limb
and she precedes an enraged scream
caused by ruins of a forest now grim
and held alive by all but one stream.

Her claws prophesy of vengeance 
though her heart yearns for reconciliation.
Yet now there would be no leniency 
for a soul's annihilation. 

Now on journeys through lush valleys and ashes
she will embark
until all that remains after furious thrashes
will be the tigress' mark.

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A Labor Of Love

I look you up and look you over, 
better days have left you far behind, 
you're older, but to me you're still appealing, 
yet you draw comments that are less than kind. 

You're neglected, not consulted, 
when an answer is required, 
hidden now behind the others, 
avoided, disregarded, mired. 

I massage your spine with oil and friction, 
restoring your luster to cherish and keep, 
remembering when you were readily handled, 
sought after, popular, top of the heap. 

I'm so busy these days with my key restorations, 
I scarcely have time, and I don't have a say, 
so you'll have to wait for my deft ministrations, 
a labor of love, postponed for a quieter day. 

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The Grand Old Game Charlie Hebert, 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 links 
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 is ready 
to teach these young men how it's played; 
at the turn he's ahead with a three under par, 
he will show them how great shots are made.

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!


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 and to bad lies and to rain, 
to another shot at glory when he climbs aboard the cart!

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Blue Jeans

I'm a country boy who needs you
The first time you're washed you bleed blue
You go with all of my T-shirts
If I rip you I will be hurt

As crisp as Mississippi's air
I still will wear you with a tear
You are something I'll never share
Got four or five favorite pair

Something I won't trade khakis for
Brown as bags from the package store
Since my favorite color's blue
I want you in every hue

From the stonewashed to rigid you
When I can't buy I visit you
I'm hoping that they give me you
'Cause your fit I'm addicted to

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Attila The Hun

Attila the Hun was a kindly old soul He raped and plundered the land With the aid of his murderous henchmen all A truly psychotic man The kind of man you'd like as a friend If you love to ransack and pillage Hitler was another of these murderous souls Marauding each town and village Need more of the likes of Benito Mussolini Such honourable leaders all But I harken back to Attila the Hun His exploits leave me enthralled May seem like I've tumbled over the edge But I blame it on dear Eileen Ghali She poked and prodded me into submission Could no longer dilly and dally © Jack Ellison 2013 Dedicated to my dear good friend Eileen Ghali!

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It's like a weight lifted off of my heart;
I am no longer torn apart.
Thank God you are safe;
Everything is okay.

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Wally And The Angels

...inspired by a Dylan Thomas short story

A breezy day, and two boys biking down the lane 
past meadows green with envy, soft as spring. 
Picnic-packed and ready for the day's adventure. 
They passed hikers who cried "Hey, lend us yer bikes!"  
The lads whizzed by, not giving them a second thought.

"I bet them's fire cows," Jimmy said, (he had a wild 
imagination.) "Nah, them's Holsteins, don't be daft!" 
said John. The air was full of magic, and the sky
alive with seagulls. The ocean glinted to their right,
sparkling like the twinkle in a young girl's eye.

They hurried to their destination, breathless with
anticipation, hurtling to a Neverland they'd mostly
seen in pictures, a rocky outcrop, pounded by
the waves, a fearsome confrontation with the sea,
a playground where imaginations flourish.

“I bet there's dragons in them caves,” said Jimmy,
"and trolls and such, with fangs and fiery breath!"
“You're crazy!” countered John, (he read the Bible),
“'sides there's Jesus, He will shelter you from death
for now, make sure you're well and in good health." 

Skittering on slabs as slick as ice fields, 
tottering like lambs who've found their legs;
they played until the frigid water beckoned,
then splashed and frolicked, ducking from the heat.
Opening their back packs now, they settled down to eat.

It was then, the first time they'd discussed it,
Wally, Jimmy's brother, gone to God;
dead from cancer barely two weeks prior,
disconnected, laid beneath the sod.
Their tones were sullen, conversation somber.

“Is Wally with the Angels?” Jimmy questioned.
“Yes he is,” said John, “and safe at rest.”
They cycled home in silence, friends forever,
and settled in their beds, forever blessed,
the moon endowed their dreams, a welcome guest.

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West Coast Richard

Discovered a new friend, he lives in B.C.
Nicknamed him West Coast Richard
Most days he's up at the crack of dawn
Like me, but he shaves off his whiskers

His poetry's creative, exceptional bar none
He's just about to publish a book
Wish him luck he's certainly gonna need it
Watch for it at your local book nook

Sometimes friends just happen on the scene
Unexpectedly enriching our lives
Richard most definitely is one of those souls
Like me he's enjoying the ride

Strange how friendships suddenly develop
Without prior notice or warning
A sincere young fellow without an agenda
Wakes up with a smile each morning

Without getting sloppy or overly verbose
I'll end this with a wish that you all
Find a good friend like West Coast Richard
Enjoy life and just have a ball!

© Jack Ellison 2012

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Twenty brand new angels
arrived just yesterday.
Frightened and confused
they only wished to stay

with parents now left empty,
and shattered beyond belief.
Their babies’ precious little lives
stolen by a spineless thief

with evil in his heart,
and killing on his mind.
Dear God where are you now?
It’s getting hard to find

a reason for the carnage,
and the acts of the insane.
Can we still find eternal love
surrounded by such pain?

Now twenty brand new angels
who only yesterday did die,
and with them, too, the innocence.
Why, dear God, why?

for the Sandy Hook children.  RIP.

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O luckless maid! such beauteous 
blush with modest blandishments 
did'st flash to woo a Prince 
o'erthrown, in madness' grasp! 

Still-born, ne'er meant to flourish, 
true love was the hapless prey, 
Polonius lay cold, extinguish'd 
in the Dane's misguided sway. 

It drove thee mindless, to a frenzy, 
death thy only destination, 
borne by rippling river's eddy 
to thy final resting place. 

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...dedicated to the Russian poet Anna Akhmatova.

Her cranium, its bumps and hollows, 
cradles secrets stored beneath, 
neurons firing, never tiring 
of their journeys to belief. 

Thin vibrations mold, embolden, 
prophecies, cunabula 
suffuse the soul, engage the spirit 
of the tortured Akhmatova. 

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Norma Jean

If I had the choice to start over again What would I rather have been A rocket scientist, a famous writer Or a stand-up like Norma Jean! Must've been fun to make 'em laugh To make people giggle and smile To help them forget life's many struggles If only for a very short while Now that's what I call a fun type job But I'm sure it had its down side Like sleeping all day and up all night Could make a person bleary eyed! Must've been hard in New York City Trying to please a tough crowd Her comedic skills are evident today When you read her poetry out loud! So instead of a comic, I became an artist Kinda similar in a way don't ya think Both creative and unique occupations Guess we both ended up in the pink! © Jack Ellison 2013 Norma Jean was a good friend on another poetry site!

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Let The Ladies Lead

Recently read that us male type guys Are no longer the reigning kings Women have taken over in recent years Wearing that crown type thing Taking advantage of what all that means They rule the roost with impunity Strong and confident and capable of leading Us men nod our heads approvingly Let's just see if the ladies can do better We've botched it up good, us guys I'd predict there'll be no more stupid wars Imagine sending their sons to die So raise your glass to this exiting new order Hope we'll soon come out of this stupor With the ladies strongly in control of things I predict a bright, shiny new future © Jack Ellison 2013

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A Thanksgiving Wish

I wish I could sit ‘round the corner,
And take in all of the clamor;
I’d hear laughter and conversations,
I would hear what really matters!

I would hear dear familiar voices,
Distinctive laughs I would know right away.
Dinnerware clanging with silverware,
And the smells of Thanksgiving Day!!!

I would thank my God for family,
Both at home and those miles away.
If I could just sit ‘round the corner,
That would be a spectacular day.

What you have, when gathered together,
Is a gift every heart longs to share.
The gift of just loving each other,
And the prize of each person that’s there.

Though I’m not sitting there ‘round the corner,
My heart is most certainly there.
My love, adoration and thankfulness,
Is in spirit, at everyone’s chair.

I love you dear family, and send my best wishes:
For holiday health, wealth and mirth.
Tis Thanksgiving Day! Thank God for right now!
It’s the best seat to have on the earth. 

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A Girl Watchers Club Honouree

(Inspired by Demetrios Trifiatis' Woman's Day Poems) At this ripe old age of seventy-eight Thought girlies would no longer phase me On the contrary, more now than ever before A lifetime girl watchers club honouree A member of the club of leering old men They still turn my rusty old crank Just because sometimes I fail to zip up I'm still pretty alert to be frank I admit at times I forget to wear jockeys In combination with failing to zip up The impact of these two glaring omissions Cause a furor when playing mini-putt Sure gather a crowd, thought at first it was me My rugged good looks and stuff Soon realized they all were focusing below Guess it's better than playing in the buff © Jack Ellison 2014

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Glory Days

I drove through town the other day
I’ve been away so long
I closed my eyes and slipped away
emotions were so strong

The Chattahoochee glory days
still live within my mind
Amazing people shared their lives
to me they were so kind

I thank the leaders in that town
they helped us at the fork
Doc Richardson and Lafayette
Lamar and Sheriff York

The spirits of our childhood friends
still gather at the lake
Although we left so long ago
our ties they never break

We danced and sang to Moody Blues
Ole Peat Moss led the way
Gene Tipton played a mean guitar
those were the good ole days

I thought of others that we knew
who died before their time
Dear friends and neighbors to us all
some left us in their prime

My mind replayed a thousand joys
from days so long ago
I drove out to the lake once more
and then I had to go

I watched the city disappear
as we all drove away
I wiped away a tear or two
I’ll come another day

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(Note: Dedicated to the memory of Michael Jackson,
the legendary music artiste who impacted all who knew
his musical accomplishments, and who love his songs.)

There once lived a man who made hip music:
MJ made dance grand with vocalised magic;
And the world was filled with marvellous moves;
His voice brought such thrills and awesome his grooves!

Starting out easy with Ben and Happy,
Morning Glow sweetly touched Music And Me;
Telling us Music with I'll Be There jive,
Someday ecstatic to One Day In Your Life.

Then singing Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough,
Sensational pop and fabulous stuff;
To go Off The Wall with Rock With You fine,
Fine duet on the ball with The Girl Is Mine.

Then glimpse Billie Jean to simply Beat It,
Jazz Human Nature to P.Y.T.** bit;
Burst of nightmare swing with suspense Thriller,
Wanna Be Starting' Somethin' to jazz fillers.

Man In The Mirror forged good things to Bad,
Then turned bizarre lodge in Neverland glad;
Dirty Diana thumbed to Leave Me Alone,
Eccentric ways numbed to bare all but bones.

Smooth Criminal danced Liberian Girl,
A fond festival amidst worldwide swirl;
Heal The World followed Remember The Time,
The legend hallowed in dancer and rhymes.

Yes Gone Too Soon for You Are Not Alone,
An Earth Song for goons with dinosaur bones;
And in your mad Scream, They Don't Care About Us,
Your Neverland dream crumbling slowly to dust.

A music HiStory, fine compilations,
An anthology of Pop Hit sensations;
By now sad scandals plagued persecution,
Events and harsh vandals sought compensation.

Sad dismay hurled end with the world in gloom,
Lethal cocktail blend of pain-killers sang doom;
Who Is It there that will Give In To Me,
Your face and fame set in sad misery.

Yet your magical, mysterious dance moves,
Grips hysterical, pulse of endless grooves;
Once you said in song: I'll Be There, just call...
Memory lives strong in your fans and all.

Your songs echo now, still glide and enchant;
Legacy endows a fated moon dance;
No one can forget the music you made;
The world in regret yet busy with song trade!

Then, once upon a Michael Jackson...
Dance and song beyond the disco traction,
Gone Too Soon the man, the signature moon dance,
Thank you our dear friend, who brought change and chance.

The music plays still for we Smile as you sang,
We find yet goodwill in Music with thanks;
Unique sensations these lyrical tunes,
The feelings function, sad hearts in sand dunes!

The Way You Make Me Feel plays on the radio,
Your song anthems we love in sound stereo;
So from time to time, we wander and sing along:
Whisper some stray rhyme from your old-time songs!

We Are The World in crisis and in lack;
Glimpses in-between in madness and slack;
Your going away brought your music back,
So farewell MJ, our maestro of track.

Yes now and again we say a little prayer
That in other plains, you find rest wayfarer;
May peace now increase in happy Happyland,
May your music ease in soul spheres most grand!

(Note:  **P.Y.T. = Pretty Young Thing)

Leon Enriquez
03 Apr 2014

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Is It

In dark shadows I see a fleeting glimpse,
A girl with long blonde hair and eyes of blue,
I glance again and she is gone from sight,
And I wonder if, if that girl is you.

Is it the girl, who claimed my heart as hers,
One winter’s day while dancing through the town?
The girl who showed me the meaning of love
While making me smile by acting the clown.

But I know it is mere wishes and dreams,
My cold mind knows my love cannot be there,
Now she dances with the moon and the stars,
As the gods hold her safely in their care.

Some days I feel so alone without you,
Without the love that held me close each night,
So I look into the shadows again
To see that smile and know all will be right.

Form: Sicilian Quatrains

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Sandy Hook

Today, it just doesn't seem fair
That we are still able to breathe.
They have given us their air-
Our duty to lead the life they leave.

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Jackie Robinson

Supposedly we are all created equal But some are more equal than other How can that be and my question is why Aren't we all supposed to be brothers It's totally baffled me all my life Became aware of it in nineteen forty-six All the attention was on Jackie Robinson The baseball world was transfixed The colour barrier was down forever As out from the dark we emerged I'll never forget that season of awakening When finally discrimination was purged My hero, the super hero of my youth Lived and died with his success Till my very last breath I'll remember Jackie With this giant of a man I was obsessed © Jack Ellison 2013

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My Beloved Land

This loving tribute is long overdue After a thousand poems or more Time to honour my country called Canada Spectacular from shore to shore The hometown charm of folks down east To the grandeur of the Rockies and beyond No wonder Canadians are proud as punch Sharing a unique common bond On that great expanse of pink on your map Just above the great USA Lives a gentle peace loving bunch of souls Sure hope we can keep it that way Not able to challenge the super powers Competing in the Olympic games Delighted just to share in the excitement Winning or losing, it's the same Happy to call Canada my home Where magnificent vistas abound My beloved country stands straight and tall It's beauty the world over is renowned © Jack Ellison 2013

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One, Two, Three, Four We Don't Want Your Stinkin' Wars

Johnny got his gun that May day
sent by Nixon's cronies to betray unarmed souls
to Kent State with rifles, bayonets,
and thirteen students were gunned down on the grass knoll.

With cries against Dick's bloody war
young civilians burned and swore, "bring the warriors home."
They had enough of gore and lies
of Unconstitutional Wars and napalm bone.

We've guns at home, guns abroad
"What are we fighting for?" they cried out, and were killed
Few even remember a name 
of four young people, Allison, Jeff, Sandra and Will.

A Republic formed by revolt
remembers well how to gain, get your gun my son
for Big Brothers got his again
and a bullets a very hard thing to outrun.

*The Kent State Massacre - May 4, 1978
Never never forget your own government took rifle toting
bayonette pointed troops onto college campuses and killed
four unarmed students, youths and wounded more, paralyzing 
one. If they could do this.....

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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.

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It Ain't Easy You Know

It really ain't easy you know
Keeping up with you talented poets
You guys are totally amazing
Your creative presentations show it

Feel like an rank amateur at times
When reviewing your wonderful stuff
Truly eloquent compositions
Keeping up with you guys is tough

You've either got it or you ain't
Can't fake it if your words don't sing 
Before long it'll be discovered
You lack that rare intangible thing

At times think I might have it
Then review your poetic submissions
Realize I'm still a rank amateur
And don't fit the word 'poet' definition

Guess I'll just keep bumbling along
With my silliness and nonsensical fun
As long as you guys keep cheering me on
Sure hope I don't fall on my bum!

© Jack Ellison 2012

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My night palace is a dark abode,
a mortal passage to salvation.
I play the day just as I'm told,
until night's invitation.

Paternal guidance at night sublime,
dead days are simply props.
But night brings life into it's time,
mine starts when their life stops.

Blood tells all in many ways,
my passenger confides.
Those who think crime truly pays,
wind up as blood-splotched slides.

So murder, greed, and godless souls
stray down that darkened trail.
I'll be there when your bell tolls
and we'll see who goes to hell...

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Working Herd

My pride is not of presidents
their monuments or halls,
I’m proud of the nation’s people
the working class with balls.

Owned forever by the bank
with interest rates so cruel,
looking in the showrooms
at things that make them drool.

Clothes are off the rack
never owning a new car,
taking home a case of beer
not drinking in a bar.

Watch the news with interest
voting their pocketbook,
high falooten nonsense
doesn’t get a second look.

America’s bone and muscle
with values of common sense,
standing firm on issues
not sitting on the fence.

I’ve been proud for centuries
of the farmer and the clerk,
knowing the ethic of America
is succeeding with hard work.

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Carol The Kook

Carol the Kook has been a loyal friend Right from the very start A day without Carol is a day without sunshine Lives in a special part of my heart Along with her dearest hubby Mike Lives with a virtual house full Dragon seems to be Carol's No. 1 favourite Breathes imaginary fire, that's no bull Carol brightens up the whole of my life Never misses a day not even one If all of a sudden Miss Carol went missing You'd hear me holler “CALL 9-1-1”! If you wanna talk about an overactive mind Miss Carol's surely fills the bill I absolutely and totally love this sweet lady As long as I'm breathing I will Need Carol the Kook to get mornings goin' Or else I'd just go back to bed The highlight of each and every one of my days A day without Carol I would dread © Jack Ellison 2103
My tribute to my loving and loyal friend Carol Eastman

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Our Man Drake

There's a guy on the Soup His name is Drake A very talented soul His comments on my poems Are like no other Cherished as pieces of gold A writer like Drake To appreciate my stuff Is a feather in my old chapeau I'm overwhelmed and Deeply honoured More than you'll ever know It seems there's a bond Many writers have Certainly ain't like no other So I say to you My good buddy Drake Honoured to call you brother A connection's been made Strong and alive Creative souls that we are Each with our own Approach to our craft Hitched to a different star! There's a guy on the Soup His name of Drake A very talented soul Make sure you check out His creative works His craft is a joy to behold © Jack Ellison 2013

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I'm a man who goes through time
by toasting away the present.
I'll neither wine or dine
unless I'm seen a peasant.

I'll raise my glass to health:
to fortune and good faith.
I'll cherish those with laughter
who love me without scathe.

I'll heed a joyful dancer
who floats my spirit close.
And thank the God above
for grace in greater dose.

To bed I'll say my prayers.
The futures in my hands.
...but thanks goes to the lord
who includes me in his plans.

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Cold Salute

              Cold Salute

There is a sadness to it all
the smell of gunfire’s cold salute
flag wavers hushed by bugle’s call
in tribute to our freedom’s truth,

that all have benefited from
mothers, fathers, daughters, sons
those who gave all – those who gave some
protecting freedom’s fading dawns.

New voices speak in muted tones
of soldiers who held freedom’s hand
words echoed o’er the lifeless bones
alongside those who freely stand

to thank them all for what they gave
a tattered banner’s aching truth
that freedom’s flag must sadly wave
above the gunfire’s cold salute.

For  Kelly Deschler 
contest – Not just any old Quatrain

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The Accolades Man

Is there anyone you know that writes reviews Like yours and my friend Russell The answer is no, not in this whole wide world He rises above all the bustle Such a very kind soul, my dear Mr. Sivey Must be made of something real special Just about the happiest dude that ever there was We all need a friend like Russell Something tells me he's had a real good life As he pours out his daily accolades Seems totally content within his own skin The epitome of a man self-made Totally look up to and appreciate dear Russell He's someone I'm honoured to know In this day and age of our “me first” generation A unique and a true loving soul Is there anyone you know that writes reviews Like yours and my friend Russell... Methinks not! © Jack Ellison 2013

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dented and painted

dismissively lined as "dented and painted"
protesting violence and raping of women 
those self-appointed, oh holy and sainted
can we turn another cheek and forgive them?

to relate to another with an iron-bar
to relate to another with utter disdain
to relate to another without human care
is this the civility we wish to attain?

you who are better, more worthy than other
you who are truer, in eyes of your god 
you with blood bluer than natural mother
might discern that it's you, who is flawed

sticks, or bars, or clenched fists attest
that you're no better than the rest with
casting of glances from eyes that detest
superimposed superiority is but a myth

want and ignorance are alive and strong
in all nations, so in all the world today
actually, it's been that way - all along
if we wish to civilize we must go all the way

and speak for every individual that spins
on this ball of rock that we call our home
to evolve higher form we must be, in the end
and remember, what is reaped, is what is sown

© Goode Guy 2012-12-29

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The Gravity of Genius

To show the world so many faces
yet not reveal your tears,
to take imaginations places
throughout your bright career,

To see your heartfelt humility
and real self-deprecation
with natural unmatched ability
of mad improvisation,

to fly where others find no path,
to thrive in air so rarefied
defines a genius of his craft.
How could life's role terrify?

Perhaps Robin would break the silence
with a brilliant improv routine,
heckling death with satirical defiance.
He was the best I’ve ever seen.

Otherworldly talent must command
a price no man should ever pay.
I can’t pretend to understand,
so I will laugh, reflect, and pray.

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Trolls Dragons And Carol

So you think that trolls and dragons Are definitely not for real You surely haven't talked with Carol lately It's more than just a feel They eat her food and occupy her house Sometimes hide Mike's pyjamas And we all know what that can lead to If we only had a camera Never a dull moment at Carol's place Constantly messing her stuff Fire comes out as Mr. Dragon cracks up Then giggles at Mike in the buff The local Dragon and Troll Exterminators Have promised to get rid of these guys But she's grown to love 'em a whole big bunch Won't be party to their demise So the Dragons and Trolls will have a home At least for the foreseeable future What a sweet ending to my poem about love Tween Carol and her adorable creatures! © Jack Ellison 2013

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With controversial words he writes
Doesn’t give a shit what he thinks
I read of him last November
Not well loved his subjects stinks.

From what I heard he drinks a lot
Shown explicitly in his works 
He declared himself dead
Making himself a real jerk.

I read most of his poems
Though not anymore it seem
I can’t find him on here anymore
Assuming he discontinued from poetry team.

Some poets are weird though clever
I shall miss his outspoken ways
Maybe he will come back someday
Like a bad penny he sways.

For Judy Konos Contest "Write a Poem"

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Poppa Jack

Sweet Erin confessed her love for me More love than her real Poppa That was really quite difficult to hear Never really knew her saga Once asked if I could adopt sweet Erin She agreed, with no hesitation So sweet to know she loves me that much But so sad to hear this revelation Her Mommy and Daddy were separated Many years before we met Apparently he was never a good Daddy Erin harbours the anger yet! Such a sweetie, my dear dear Erin Love her to bits and more A daughter I wished I had always had She makes this Poppa's heart soar © Jack Ellison 2013

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P-Soup Means Love

The name P-Soup is synonymous with love What a wonderful way to describe it In reality no other words say it better Addictive is pretty good I'll admit How could so many charming people Gather in just one spot on the dial It sure amazes me, I'm just blown away I pray for P-Soup's survival Might as well dig a big hole and jump in No reason to live any longer If P-Soup ever has to cash in their chips It's not something I wish to ponder The people out there have really no idea The bond we enjoy, it's amazing So many sweet souls from so many nations And the unity in spirits it's raising So long live P-Soup forever and ever May you prosper and keep hopes alive For the love we all share with one another And keep our fires burning inside © Jack Ellison 2013

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Poetry Soup - Whatta Blast

Friends I've made on Poetry Soup Are the greatest bunch for sure Inspiring me with words of praise They make my spirits soar How'd I live before coming here? What a boring life I led Unknowing in my ignorance Now I'm overjoyed instead From many nations far and wide We meet and share the joy With pretty little rhyming words Like coy, deploy and toy Happy in my advancing years To have found a place to dwell Creative juices unrestrained Flow forth and start to jell Before too long I smile again In a happy place once more Rhythms are good, words just right I'm ready to post my score Most times silly, sometimes sad But each one's from the heart Haven't felt joy like this before A blast right from the start! © Jack Ellison 2013

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Red Ribbon Sally

Red-ribbon apron drawn to her spine.
Tilted red hat in the air.
Black shining hair bundled in back
as Sally stands simple and fair.

Her mouth stout with beauty.
It's light the moon's surface.
Lips scored in finished pride
and grin drawing love to a purpose

Her stance like a doll.
Her shoulders gone limp.
Plush are her arms
and form without crimp.

Her smile soft as canvass.
Her spirit abroad.
Humble to a tee
and loved to a nod.

A skin lit and glowing.
A mask demure.
Her coco brown eyes
guiding and sear.

A face staring humble.
It's secrets inside.
Questioning; thoughtful.
A love to abide.

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Vanna keeps on going and going How she maintains her attractive appearance That smile, her style, her girlish figure To maintain it must take perseverance How has Pat controlled himself Does he ever give her bum a pat Get it... a little pat on the backside from Pat In 30 years, wouldn't blame him for that Now, now, let's not start nasty rumours They've always been friends... wink, wink With a body like Vanna's for all these years Pat's got control, don't ya think? Well I have no doubt they're just good friends Though it'd be easy to get all sloppy Admire Mr. Pat for showing such restraint Thirty years no talk of the naughties <3 <3 <3 © Jack Ellison 2013

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Thin thistle Sally as tall as bread.
Spirit and charm her senses.
Black silky hair covers her head
as light coming off her suspense's.

A pin of a woman on top her feet
defying to ever be knocked.
A curse to that culprit who ever would.
A punishment them to be docked.

Her body dared leaning into the wind.
A soul bent with vengeance for right.
A pride left for offspring and all who follow.
An icon for which you would fight.

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Joyce Johnson


Fully relying on God's sovereign grace,
spurning no more what she knows is His light,
Joyce has made a pledge  - let God set the pace.
He'll help her win though she runs without sight.

Spurning no more what she knows is His light,  
quickly renouncing all "right" to success,
gaining the courage God brings to this fight,
mission's ordained she once prayed He’d suppress.

Joyce has made a pledge  - let God set the pace,
lifted in heart, she is filled with suspense.
Trusting His perfect support, she will face
mocking rejection from some on the fence.

He'll help her win though she runs without sight
welcoming limits, esteeming God's cost.
He'll track the course; she’ll depend on his might
awed by the treasure which she might have lost.

31 Jan 2015
for Judy Konos, Write a Poem contest
after reading Joyce's poem,  Faith Is a Wonderful Thing  and God's Wonders

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Steeplejacks are nutso! What more is there to say I guess the lure of big money Would certainly come into play But not for a million trillion Normally not afraid of heights But these guys are totally bonkers Watching them's a scary sight They've proved to be ruddy fearless Height never makes them cringe Loonies from the very word go I surely would come unhinged Give them props it sure takes guts Or a lack grey matter upstairs Without them, no big skyscrapers They're completely nutso I swear! © Jack Ellison 2013