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Write Quatrain Poems | Quatrain Poems About Write

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

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Reflections from a Toiling Sonneteer

One’s poetry not always will unfold beneath its author’s pen as some suppose. And poetry one is to yet behold might slowly bloom before one plucks that rose. At times the lines come breech, the labor hard. A trial of thought; a repositioning of words emerging, offspring of the bard! And then at last, the poet’s heart will sing. The poet must write always, lest his mind grow barren, for not always can he know his muse will be there. She’s not always kind, but oh, the joy, when verses want to flow! 1/8/13 For Russell Sivey's Poetry About Poetry Contest


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Ode to Poetry Critics (Co-written with James Fraser)

Wipe that silly grin from your face, boy
I am a woman, but certainly not a wimp
Watch me roll with the punches, tough guy
It'll take more than your words my style to crimp


    Hey, babe, your style really sucks
    Call that art, I have seen kids write better
    Have some heart, instill it in your writes
    Feel the moment, feel those letters


My feelings are there, you just may not relate
If you can't grasp my intent, too bad for you
I write from my heart, not from a man's head
I know what I'm saying, you just haven't a clue

     
     Oh, i see you have posted another piece
     Let me read and determine my thoughts
     Excellent shape and so true to form
     This definitely has plusses, you must be man taught


Hold on, joker, no man has influenced me          
Dickinson and Teasdale are among the finest
Your thoughts on my work I'll disregard
Your views on poetry reveal your blindness


      The last write you wrote, has invited my see
      It has clearly shown, your writing to be
      Scope, shape and the form you have written
      I have scrolled to your past, and I am sorrowful smitten

 
No more condescending from ye on the throne?
What was it that made you feel superior?
And, furthermore, what gave you the right
To make any poet feel inferior?


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What Where Who

What, Where, Who

If I where asked the what, where, who
That drives me to write poetry
I’d say that if I only knew
I’d leave right now this misery

But I’m afraid I’m not the sort
To answer in straight fashion
I have to offer my retort
With words of heartfelt passion

For just the other day I found
Encounter gave me food for thought
Soon the words they were outbound
Jumbled as they rushed and fought

Though ne’er the less inspired me
To battle on my way
Look toward the end and see
Which words I could display

Confess do I quite openly
That I am ignorant
Of  poetry’s technology
Coz grasp it I just can’t

I wouldn’t know a what’s it called
From a what’s its name
In my mind won’t stay installed
Confusion is its game

But I somehow, find I can
Muddle through at best
Organise a crafty plan 
And set my brain the test

For out there I see loneliness
Suffering and pain
A world in turmoil and distress
That cannot stake its claim

I look for every trait in man
Into the soul I stare
At his betrayal and flim-flam
Also the ladies fair

Dear love will always be there
And so will Demon war
And my thoughts on these I’ll share
Of that you can be sure

Laughter I would hope to bring
Sadness sometimes to the fore
Of natures forces I will sing
The list goes on galore

Yes I will write throughout the night
With hope to de-confuse
I’ll try to offer some insight
By giving up my muse

So now you know the what and where
But what about the who
Inspiring people are out there
Who knows - it could - be you 

And what about that misery
I spoke of up above
Well, I gave that up for music
Of the poetrysoupers love x




        
           






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Too Much Nasty Poetry

I don't like nasty limericks.
I don't like vulgar words.
I'd rather write of better things, 
like maybe watching birds.

So many poets feel the need
to write such graphic things.
The art of poetry to me
is making words that sing.

It's easy to be nasty.
It takes no brain at all.
But I can't keep from wondering
where you get the gall.

My poems may not be 'genius'.
I'm sure they don't compare
to many other writer's work
but mine, I like to share.

No matter if you're ninety
or if you're only nine
you needn't feel ashamed to click
on poetry that's mine.


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Naked

My blood trickles
through the tip of my pen
as my soul is exposed
yet once again.

Naked, my words
slowly open the door,
and step into the world
largely ignored.

Fearfully, they
confront giants of hate,
bigotry, ignorance,
Thus fixing their fate.

So bleeding, I
press my pen to the page
and bear my soul once more
to cowards’ rage.


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To Spread Ones Wings and Fly

Sometimes I've stopped and wondered As I write from day to day To spread ones wings and fly And let the anew have their say There are so many horizons In the distance of our lives To spread ones wings and fly Where new writing newly strives Audiences abound our globe Where fresh learning's can be found To spread ones wings and fly Maybe there's a common ground Topics to capture young thoughts Like fantasy and the dark To spread ones wings and fly It would be churlish not to be a part To write and grow with tomorrows kind Is to enjoy the enriching road To spread ones wings and fly And settle into a new abode Writers and poets so Are to be read, and to aim for print To spread ones wings and fly And capture the readers glint Sometimes I've stopped and wondered More so, very recently To spread ones wings and fly And to find where ones writings to be http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/writing.php


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free cee SHE DOES dedicated to DONNA JONES a poet supreme

                                                         SHE DOES
she does make me feel whole
she does touch the intricacies of my soul
she does, and she does it all
with every poem she answers a holy dove's call

she does thrill me body and bone
she does make me feel no longer alone
she does write words I could never duplicate
she does write words that will allow her into Heaven's gate

she does something that makes me feel real
she does write words that describe how I feel
she does scribe stanzas that shake me awake
she does put into words feelings for this poet's sake

she does know the respect I hold for a poet of her grade
she does know the lady has a soul only the universe has made
she does write words that set my spirit free
alas, she probably doesn't know what her words mean to me
   © 2013..copyright PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~


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4 in less than forty

                           1 

Have to be somewhere in 40 mins
Enough time to write at least one
Fortunately I’m not using and pens
Else I would not be close to done

Of course you see the form I write
One familiar yet still complicated
It should be easy I write every night
Why my poems are often post dated

Halfway there only three minutes gone
Can I write eleven of these in my time
Maybe but could I post them all as well
Not sure, but I wouldn’t even bet a dime

The last I didn’t rhyme of first and third
I will admit I normally will rhyme abab
But in my amount of time that’s absurd
I am trying to finish quickly as you see

                             2

I already finished one how about another
The next line already in my head of course
Now you are probably saying o brother
This guy is a distinct body member of a horse

Really it’s just practice and having a bit of fun
I am definitely bored at this very early hour
I’m also texting a friend here and think of pun
I’d tell her what I think, but she might be sour

The last of course was purely a joke my friend
No evil thoughts currently in my head Miss PD
I at present, do not have that emotion to lend
Or maybe it was serious the last stanza hehehe

This is so much fun, a great way to pass time
You should try it, if you would possibly dare
I have said time a million times in my rhyme
Take time reading them, go ahead and stare


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Solar Eclipse

There's something I feel that I still haven't said,
Quotes that haven't straddled my lips.
When poetry wheels don't turn in my head,
Words can cast a solar eclipse.



©2012 Honestly JT


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About Poetry

If I am sad or when I’m hurt,
I write to let the anger out;
It helps to get it off my chest -
I find it’s better than to shout.

And when I lose my head or heart,
I write the words I cannot say;
A secret crush, a racing pulse -
It keeps me going anyway!

For Russell’s Poetry About Poetry contest, 14th January


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UNREQUITED LOVE

My Pen Drips Of Sorrow And On This Paper,
I Write Each Tear.


He never told her of the love,
He held within his heart.
Though he knew she longed to hear it,
He just could not impart,

The feelings that he had for her,
Although she was his bride.
It seemed to her that if he cared,
His love he would not hide;

And so it went through all their years,
They drifted slow apart,
Lonely, sad and unfulfilled,
They each had broken hearts.

                                          Judy Ball

Aug.13,2011  For Just Write Contest by Constance LaFrance


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What's in a Name

I need to remind myself why
As to why my name is required
Is it to look at the same old name
To become literally tired

Or do I read into an abyss
Where one needs a clue to be
I'm estranged as to why my name
Requires the reader to see

I can live for centuries
The desire to see, never compared
So why should I write my name
When I'm blank, my write is spared

Maybe I'm tired with age
Or common sense allows my right
I need to remind myself why
That who should know my writes






http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/writing.php


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Jack The Quack



Timothy Hicks recently suggested I write one called “Jack the Quack” Who better than the quacker himself Who's wheels have left the track I've never professed to be poet In the ilk of Browning and Keats A rebel, a renegade, a enigma of sorts Marching to a different beat A bit of a “quacker” I've always been Take pride in being off beat Don't have a choice, it's who I am Travelling down a different street Always write in the purest of forms Simple quatrains most of the time Since a very young age, always thought Of poetry as a needing to rhyme Forever been one to revel in creativity Searching brand new vistas each day It sure turns my crank and floats my boat Wouldn't be happy any other way Thank you Timothy for the inspiration To express what makes me tick We're all cut from the very same cloth Till we find a pathway that clicks © Jack Ellison 2013 Timothy suggested I write this one appealing to the kiddies along the lines of "Howard The Mallard"... I chose a different route!


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Freeing Up My Mind

So many words competing.
Floating around in my brain.
Jumbled word of nonsense.
Waiting to be ascertained.

Unscrambling words unsought.
Emotions not yet explained.
Words need to be released.
Feelings I can no longer retain.

Writing my thoughts into verses.
Freeing me from mental fatigue.
Provoking responses in others.
Penning tales of intrigue.

Writing is the essence of my soul
Conveying my manifestations,
From drama to laughter, even tears.
Bringing me total satisfaction.


01/08/2013

For Russell Sivey's contest, "Poetry About Poetry"


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WRITER'S BLOCK

                                             WRITER'S BLOCK

                                           THE WOULD-BE POET


I thought I'd write a word or two,
Like all them famous poets do,
And then mayhap I would be known,
And folks would ask me to intone,

The lyrics that were world renown,
In recitals throughout town;
So I sat down with pen and waited,
For inspiration, breath abated.

I waited long into the night,
Then came the dawn and morning's light.
I thought I'd write a word or two,
Short story, pome, just one or two,

But seems to me there's no such luck,
So I got in my pick up truck,
And drove around to clear my head,
It did no good, my muse is dead;

Or else she's just abandoned me,
I prayed to her on bended knee,
But as far as I can see,
This effort's in futility.

DANG!!!

                                               
For Block, Block, Block Contest by Detroyer Poet


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In Defense of my Romantic Poetry

I’m a hopeless romantic
Now please cut me some slack
Yes, there’s more to this life
Than love’s beaten track

I just can’t write about fish
And I can’t write of the farm
I can’t write about frogs
For me that holds not a charm

I can’t write about wars
And I can’t write about keys
I can’t write of history
Go easy on me, please!

Yes, I guess I’m limited
Stuck in mediocrity
I’m trying to be diverse
It falls flat, can’t you see? 

So I write tales of love
And I write about passion
Can’t write about trends
Or the latest fashion

I write about suicide
And I write of addiction
I write about my life
Not some sort of fiction

I write about my daughter
And I write about hubby
I write how much I suffer
To be thin and not chubby

I write about God
And I write about heaven
But can’t write about 9
Much less about seven

So please hear what I say
What you all write is grand
It’s just not my way
I’m stuck in love’s brand

I’m cheesy, I’m sappy, 
Dripping with goo and such
But this hopeless romantic
Loves your poems so much!

Eileen Manassian Ghali


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Writer's Block

I tried to write a poem,
A little while ago,
But I couldn't find the muse,
The words just wouldn't flow.

I started with the standard stuff,
A poem or some prose.
But inspiration left me dry,
The floodgates all were closed.

So next I tried my hand at rhyme,
The nursery kind for tykes.
But all that came was trite and lame,
The kind that no kid likes.

Then after that I tried to pen
A couple lines free-verse,
But that attempt completely failed;
Results were even worse.

Thus, at the frayed end of my rope
I tried just one last time,
A limerick, I thought, was in my grasp;
Alas, it did not rhyme.

So that's the end.  I'll write no more.
My inspiration's flown.
I couldn't write to save my life.
My creative mind is blown.


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Nature Excuse Me

Excuse me to dissapear and appear
When I long for her
Permit me to take her
Higher to the sky into the star

Excuse me to occupy health
Empowered with strength
To run over mountain heights
And fend roses of the earth

Excuse me to possess wings
To fly accross the globe rings
And acquire valuables
To tell her she is adorable

Excuse me nature to the rines
Help me to sink into the mines
To bring her gold
That she will forever hold

Excuse me longitivity
Endow me with precinus immortality
Then I will see her face forever
To sit beside her till the world is over


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Written in Immortality

I open my mouth and no words come out There seems to be amazement written here She has stunned me yet again with her looks I know in her heart she surely does care She speaks to me with such love towards me I could not say even a single word I’m in awe with her beauty, with her soul I approach her, give her a hug forward She knows me, sees what I wanted to say And whispers into my ear, such sweetness I move in for the kill, and grab her warmth She sighs heavy, now she wants my weakness As one we fly to the bed, getting nude And fireworks expressed themselves tonight She sure became the most beautiful girl Exhausted we lay holding very tight I now find my words and I write them down Poetry flows like magic in the air Passion is formulated in each line I show love to her by my write I share And now we are unified through these words Unbroken bond of immortality Soothing are the lines within my poem Forever our love written, endlessly
Russell Sivey Entered into Poet Destroyer A's "Make me smile ----old/new poems" contest 3/7/2013


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-Jesus-to-Christ

The name “Jesus” 
When He was a Jew
The name “Christ”
When He was baptized to Christian


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Eyes Gaze

When the sun cast pastel colors
On the far eastern horizon
Like kisses exchanged between lovers
Drawing me as the scent of spring
Lures the honeybee to come taste
Notebook, pen, dictionary bring
To porch, ears tuned, eyes gaze__no haste  

Sponsor: Carol Sunshine Brown
Contest: Who, What, Where
Form: Saraband(one tercet plus one quatrain)
Rhyme Scheme:A,X,A...B,C,B,C
The form not listed so put under Quatrain


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Limited

Limited in choices of writing creative topics of poetry,
I only want to write about some sort of painful misery,
Lost love or I am not a thought in a mans new mind,
For I do not know how to write any other type or kind.

I pump out a limerick and rhyme here and there,
Only to write poems that reflect my lack of flair,
For I do not have many hobbies or interests too,
But I will keep posting my limitedness for you.


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Writing

I became a poet
in March of two thousand ten,
not knowing it then
and even later didn’t know it. 

Now some tell me so,
and in so doing, reveal 
as surely as church bells peal
as far as the sound shall go.

With pen in hand,
bent to heartily confess,
I write with no thought of stress,
laying down verbal contraband.

Some true, some false
but most, purely make believe.
I write for myself to please,
my pleasure above all else.

If one line outlive my life
pray I with every lasting breath. 
one may read and smile, and I in death
entreat my timely gift to suffice.  

Charles 


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My Bedroom

The door of my bedroom is closed
Sunlight filters in through the curtain
I quietly lie down in bed
In this my sweet little haven

My cozy warm bedroom is safe
I feel my soul is truly free
No one dares to harm me in here
The whole world can just let me be

I pull up the covers real tight
As I hug close my teddy bear
I revert to being a child
A child with no worry or care

My eyes wonder around the room
But focus on a memory 
My rapid breathing evens out
As I relive sweet history

The people outside of my room
Leave me filled with stifling fear
I am left confused and unsure
As I brush away a stray tear

I’ve forgotten how to mingle
Socializing just gives me stress
Whatever I may say or do
Leaves me an emotional mess

Yet here in my room I am free
To converse with great eloquence
I talk to me, myself, and I
With such amazing confidence

I simply write and write and write
I resolve to love, laugh and live
I have not a single worry
About what I should do or give

Do you think that I’m a recluse?
A modern day hermit, you say?
It could be, but this I do know
I’m having a wonderful day!


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FREE CEE how do i hate you let me count the ways

 HOW DO I HATE YOU? LET ME COUNT THE WAYS

I bent down, plucked a rose and arose
“my dear” said I with sincerity
“my heart is open to you and will never close”
now, so many years later, I write to you with only *enmity

we strolled the boardwalk by the sea
a daisy of a day impossible to duplicate
people on the shore envied you and me
but now I write you with utter hate

you took me on a yacht and sailed to Belize
at least that's what you promised to do
instead you dropped me off in a frigid deep freeze
and that's why I have nothing but disgust for you

you took me to see the fireworks up in a amethyst sky
and yet my eyes were trained on how wondrous our future could be
for a year we lived like lovers until I found out your love was a lie
and since you still have a pulse i'd like you to know you repulse me
                               ~FREE CEE!~