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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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Details | Quatrain |

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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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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