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Quatrain Dedication Poems | Quatrain Poems About Dedication

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

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To Robin

You left me so sad today
I needed you to make me smile
I wanted to see you laugh
And forget my burdens awhile

Robin, you left me sad today
My heart is pained even more
That you're the one who took your life
Was there nothing worth fighting for?

Robin, what do you leave for us?
Who have struggled down this path?
What do you leave for us to think
If you couldn’t make it last?

You had it all, you had the fame
You had the glory too
But Robin, where was the love?
Where was the love for YOU?

Those who laugh the hardest
And make the tears come down
Are those with pain too great to bear
So they play the part of clown

I’ve also played that part, my dear
I laugh to hide the tears
I giggle and I joke around
But I’m consumed by fears

Oh Robin, I will miss you so
We’ve never even met
But I feel I know you well
No one sweeter than you yet

So like a robin, you flew away
Took your life to be free
Oh Robin, I’m left here to think
What will become of me?

Eileen Manassian

To Robin Williams, one of my absolute favorite actors. I adored that man.

Media vita in morte sumus – in the midst of life we are in death (Wolfgang 
Grassl).

Depression claims another soul. Only those who deal with it know the dark 
places that it can lead...yes, even to the valley of the shadow of death.


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Five Stars

*Dedicated to Andrea Dietrich, Caleb Smith, Isaiah Zerbst, Anne Currin, and Eileen Ghali

I'll start with illustrious Andrea,
our talented sonneteer.
She peppers our poems with kindness, 
with comments so bright and sincere.

Next, we have Mr. McCaleb,
our sweet gent from Arkansas
From KOs to boogers to nature,
he writes without limit or flaw.

Now, I must turn to Isaiah,
the master of meter and rhyme.
His poems are most reminiscent
of forgotten ages in time.

I cannot forget our Queen Anne,
who graces us all with her songs.
Her lyrics tug at our heartstrings, 
yet she's upbeat, lovely, and strong.

Last but not least is Eileen,
the most spirited poetess.
She translates feeling to verse
and writes with such skill and finesse.


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The Whispered Song

The warrior lays her weary head, 
With heavy heart she cannot bear, 
Burning tears stream down her face, 
As whispered memories touch the ear.

Her armour tarnished by remorse, 
Her battle-cry a wimpered row, 
Her wounds, of which bleed solitude, 
Will never know forgiveness now.

The song began two score ago, 
When two came knocking at her door, 
In need of refuge from the world, 
Of that, and love, and little more.

Forced to fight for every smile, 
Her only solace found in song, 
She longed for love to rescue her, 
And plant her where she could belong.

Jealous tongues are seldom kind, 
Self-seeking hearts know nought of love, 
The caged canary only sings, 
When coaxed to praise from up above.

For the steely spine that now I own, 
Forever shall I grateful be, 
A gift from her, and from her own. 
Courage mounted inwardly.

I'll not forget how I have loved thee, 
And youthful memories I will prize, 
Til on the shore of His forgiveness, 
Whereto now, we both shall rise.



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Ode to a rose on a sunset

A kiss from a rose on a sunset night,
as the clouds dip into the sea.
A kiss from that rose as the waves fall,
over the beach to a rose kissed me.

A kiss from a rose on a sunset night,
as we wrap in lovers embrace.
A kiss from a rose as homeward we go,
to a bed clothed in satin and lace.

A kiss from a rose on a sunset night,
with passion and warmth do we grasp.
A kiss from that rose that blossoms and blooms,
my hand in her labour pain clasp.

A kiss from a rose on a sunset night,
that wanton and curvy young bride.
A kiss from that rose that huddles our babe,
so loving, in motherly pride.

A kiss from a rose on a sunset night,
without whom I'd not share my life.
A kiss from that rose who selflessly filled,
the place of my darling rose wife!

(c) anaisanais - A M Docherty - Wales, United Kingdom. (7/8/2013)


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SELF-GRATIFICATION IS THE FRIUT OF ONE'S LOVE

Self-gratification is the fruit of one's love,
making the artist's delighted face glow...
when every vision has been achieved,
and each intention joyfully revealed.


He will envision the shape and colors,
then transfer those images to canvas;
and with the gentles strokes of his brush...
real faces will appear and suddenly blush.


Thinker and dreamer, let passion and imagination flow,
don't be distracted by worries or external sounds below;
work diligently with your brush, transcending your own credibility...
but later, it would be too hilarious to scream out your insanity.


Self-gratification is the fruit of one's love...
that enduring, timeless legacy hard to ignore;
when others show admiration, you'll be so pleased
and motivated to add more laurels to your prestige.     


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


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Jew #18

I would not call my love a flower
Lest she languish in the sun and fade
I could not kiss my love a brief hour
My desire is deep as Jove's high glade

I would not compare my love to day
With all the traffic of commercial vice
And nights are poor in their bright display
And drip not sweet as her in love's spice

I would not call my love a river
Lest the rains deny her, she abates
Not as supplier and a giver
Of my constant joy her heart dictates

There is no word or thought for love, poor
Images everything, hence I wait
Each hour for eternity to pour
Itself in us, finding better state

Where two are one in fact, truth and deed
And love can never more be apart
And all our sweetest shall we exceed
When are cradled heart to beating heart.




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Heaven's Grocery Store

Marching down life’s highway, my feet became very sore
I then came upon a sign that read “Heaven’s Grocery Store”
When I got closer the doors swung open wide
Next thing I knew I was standing there inside
I saw a flock of angels positioned everywhere
They handed me a basket and said, “Child shop with care.”
Everything a human required was in that grocery store
With many commodities to carry, you could always come back for more
First I acquired some Patience; Love was in that same row
Further down was Understanding, you require that everywhere you go
I grabbed a box of Wisdom and Faith, a bag or two
And obtained Charity of course but more than just a few
And then reached for Courage to help me run this wicked race
My basket was almost full but remembered some loving Grace
I then chose Salvation for it was advertised as free
I tried to collect enough of that for both you and me
Then I started to the counter to pay my grocery bill
For I thought I had everything to do the Master’s will
As I went up the aisle, I saw Prayer and proceeded put that in
For I knew when I stepped outside I was bound to encounter sin
Peace and Joy were plentiful, the last thing on that shelf
Song and Praise were hanging near so I just helped myself
Then I asked an angel, “Now how much do I owe?”
She smiled and said, “Just take them wherever you may go.”
Again I asked, “No really, how much do I owe?”
“My child,” she said, “God paid your bill a long time ago.”
 


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First Words Over Coffee with My Friend, Carolyn

We've enjoyed phone conversations and emails quite, liberally
Shared ups and downs, our faith and the friendship grew, naturally

This second visit to the Orange State could never be too soon
From the moment I walk through the front door I feel at home

No surprise, Carolyn's outgoing personality matches her lovely voice 
Laughter comes easy with her, an extraordinary poet, by choice

One who will go the extra mile to show how she genuinely cares
A special trait each yearns to find in friends throughout the years 

Our toast would be, 'To lasting friendship found on Poetry Soup
To honor poetic gifts- spices, flavors shared by poets in this group

~*~

By Annalise
For Michael's "First Words Over Coffee" Contest

Dedicated to one of my favorite people I've known for little over a year and
a half- Carolyn Devonshire.


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Riding on Ellison's Qua-Train

It is on this day
Into his elegant horizons
Where cirrus clouds are sprayed from sunrises and sunsets
Attuned within throat of violins

An example of his concave humanity
Preaching fond memories in baritone clefs
An embrace of admirations’ core within exhaled stanzas
Forcing trembled knees to stand against robe of Death

His double entendres know no bounds
My iridescent conundrums become resolutions’ pavement
As I grab aloe-coated tissues
Wiping joyous tears from his laughter induced statements

He pours wisdom in foaming, oat-flavored pints
While we relish in his charming, devilish wit
Slowing down a rushed humanity
Bit by luminescent bit

Yes, it is on this day
Where I choose to declare in Quatrain formed sentence
To the one that puts the “man” in humanity
An affirmation on why I bow in Santa’s reverence

©Drake J. Eszes
Dedicated to the almighty Jack Ellison and my 1st Quatrain!


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An Ode to E. A. Robinson

Whispers of talent are carried on New England breezes
Dickinson, Hawthorne, and the Irvings’ son Washington
Though I sense a special connection to all of these
None inspired more than Edwin Arlington Robinson

Three Pulitzer Prizes were displayed on his mantle place
His childhood in Maine he described as “stark and unhappy”
Though he went to Harvard, academics he’d not embrace
Arlington’s style was unique and his cadence snappy

“Miniver Cheevy,” displaced soul, longed for Medieval years
To Miniver I could relate, felt I was born too late
Wishing I’d ridden West with America’s pioneers
But at least my dreams alcohol will never desecrate

For his depressed brother Herman, “Richard Cory” he wrote
A handsome man who appeared to enjoy the perfect life
But the turmoil in his heart, his exterior did not denote
Richard shot himself in the head to put an end to strife

Edwin, your character studies touched something deep inside
Struggles you described of common men gripped me, made me cry
People whose dreams and accomplishments did not coincide
I, too, watch life’s play from backstage, feeling like a standby

Though I seek to display wit, tragedies pour from my pen
And much like my muse, my life seems filled with loneliness
As poets we reach out to touch lives of men and women
Hoping to find comfort as troubled feelings we express


* Written for Jared's "Ode" contest

Edwin Arlington Robinson (December 22, 1869 – April 6, 1935) was an American poet 
born in Maine who won three Pulitzer Prizes for his work. His brother Dr. Dean 
Robinson died of a drug overdose, perhaps inspiring Robinson to write of the 
alcoholic dreamer “Miniver Cheevy.”. It has been speculated that his poem "Richard 
Cory" was penned for his other brother, Herman. E.A. Robinson’s poems have a dark 
pessimism stemming from dreams gone awry.  The style and themes of many of my 
poems seem to emulate Robinson, who often wrote in rhyming quatrains.  “Richard 
Cory” can be found at http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/richard-cory/.
To read “Miniver Cheevy,” go to 
http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/robinson/12640.


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Sometimes

Translucent or see through
Or sparkling mirror’s view

I am not always I
Sometimes I become you


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RIP LMB Sweetheart

**Swap Quatrain**

Each stanza in this poem must be four lines where the first line is reversed in the
fourth line. Rhyming pattern AABB, CCDD, and so on.

"Sweetheart"

I have so much to say, she has done so much!
She chose me, became my mentor, F*&#!!!
Tears flow, heart torn but with me she remains!
She has done so much, I have so much to say!

Such power in her verse, clung to every word!
Such diversity poetically, the humble hummingbird.
Our sessions and conversations, mentally preserved
Clung to every word, such power in her verse!

I dedicate this to you, your gods soldier now
Reminiscent our different collaborations, endowed!
So "Sweetheart" starts anew, with love I bid adieu
Your gods soldier now, I dedicate this to you

				Linda-Marie Barianna "Sweetheart"

			I have nothing but good things to say about a woman
			who has inspired so many and made everyone better
			with her aura! Linda and I have collaborated on 
			three poems and a song! Her spirit will live on here
			among all of us at PoetrySoup, Smile she looks over your
			shoulder..RIP LindaMarie Barianna "Sweetheart"

Jared Pickett
2/13/2014
Asavvy1


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Betty Boop From Beirut



Have a good friend Here on the Soup Affectionately known as Betty Boop from Beirut A talented lady Emotionally charged This sweetest of sweethearts By a margin quite large Each day to the fullest She expresses her love Her passion for life And the Man up above My life's been enriched Since meeting Miss Boop So happy to have met her Here on the Soup It's not every day We find such connection With another soul With such great affection Have a good friend Here on the Soup Affectionately known as Betty Boop from Beirut © Jack Ellison 2013


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Random Thoughts 61 Mirrored Refrain

Mirrored Refrain
xaBA,xbAB,xaBA,xbAB
x represents the only lines that do not rhyme in this poem. A & B represent the refrain!

Linda-Marie


Angelic force,
draping over me, her canopy. 
Unmasking the wonder of this youngster,
her spirits alive within me

You helped erect my "secret window"
Ambitiously chasing what I hunger!
Her spirits alive within me,
unmasking the wonder of this youngster!

Our poetry sessions, I sit and reminisce.
Stress free, under this willow tree
Unmasking the wonder of this youngster,
her spirits alive within me!

When depressed and blue you come through,
relax me when feeling vulgar.
Her spirits alive within me,
unmasking the wonder of this youngster!

Every verse meant to impress this poetess,
an essence of the empress I aim to please! 
Unmasking the wonder of this youngster,
her spirits alive within me!

Harshest critic yet my biggest fan,
imperfections cast asunder
Her spirits alive within me,
Unmasking the wonder of this youngster

Death cannot take the gift I was given,
Linda-Marie!!
Unmasking the wonder of this youngster,
her spirits alive within me.


Jared Pickett
2/17/2014
Asavvy1


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Michael Jordan

From Willows California, Comes one man’s poetic verse. Who was once consumed by drugs, But overturned that curse. And with the grace of God, He lives a clean and sober life. To fulfill his life’s destiny, With Antoinette his wife. He has the heart of an addict, But it’s not a choice of drugs. It’s writing out his heart, In the poetic forms he loves. He’s no longer in a cell, Under the direction of a Warden. He’s free to write his soul, And his name is Michael Jordan. _____________________________ To Michael Jordan a fellow souper, for his supportive comments, his inspiration, and hard work here on the soup and out in society...


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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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Words of Poetry

To our beloved Kristin,
  The sonnet of poetry soup’s heart.
The warmness of summer days,
  And the beauty life embarks.

For once this one’s for you,
  My feather quill’s rely.
To express these lovely words,
  Written to page, to never die.

For this is just a poem,
  From the silliness of me.
For you to receive what you give,
  Thus, the words of poetry.







_____________________________
for Kristin Reynolds a fellow souper,
"Everyone deserves a poem".


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K E E P I N G U P W I T H T H E DOW JONESES

      KEEPING UP WITH THE DOW JONESES 

These here are the indisputable facts
I was born on the right side of the tracks
WITH People who only smiled if their stocks or equity increased
If not they wouldn’t have minded becoming deceased

They had big cars, big bucks and big time class
With a million dollar house mortgaged up the a*s
Their children went to private schools in uniforms
With charming and well decorated dorms 

I looked at their faces and wondered why I didn’t fit
That’s when the fire in my belly was originally lit
I had no desire to play with kids from private schools
Nor did I ever agree to obey by their rules

So one day I skipped over steel and these here are the facts
The people I found lived in tents, not even shanties or shacks
But they didn’t have to read Dow Jones in order to smile
And couldn’t care less about having Gucci type style

They smiled at things people ignore like little tykes at play
And somehow or other they AWOKE contented day after day
They had no stocks to watch fretfully fall or RESOUNDINGLY rise
And you could see the easiness in their gleaming eyes

That which I observed in them appealed to me a great deal
The wrong side people taught me how satisfied I could feel
They lived out of back-packs, antique cedar chests and sacks
So if you come a’looking for me I’ll be on the wrong side of the tracks
             © 2011.…Phreepoetree   ~free cee!~


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The Keeper of the Innocent

A caring heart sent to aid, The hearts of the abused. Finding new and harmless homes, For hearts that have been bruised. It pangs her to see such cruelty, And animals in despair. With God and her at work, Giving pets the proper care. Her name is Rhonda Hero, A beloved angel, heaven-sent. Known in the hearts of many, As the keeper of the innocent. ___________________________ For Rhonda Hero a fellow souper, caring for domesticated hearts.


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The Queen of Footle

Checking the newest poems, I see her latest form. It’s Robin Gass’ poems, Keeping PoetrySoup warm. Always pouring her heart, Within her timeless writes. The poignant lines she pens, Delivers beautiful insight. She has so much to say, Way more things than google. We are blessed by the words, From the Queen of Footle. ____________________ Dedicated to Robin Gass for her love of writing.


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God called Nathan Home

On January 5th 1992,
  God whispered in Nathan’s ear.
Oh, it seems like yesterday,
  But it’s been seventeen years.

God came into the hospital,
  And clutched him to Thy chest.
To accompany his little soul,
  Onto his heavenly quest.

Before he parted earth,
  And left for the above.
He felt his father’s warmth,
  And heard his mother’s love.

And after all this sadness,
  A place in heaven is our reward.
For Nathan is safe and sound,
  Up with the Lord of Lords.

Though he left you as an infant,
  Up in heaven he has grown.
For today’s the anniversary,
  That God called Nathan home.




______________________________
This is for Gary and Elizabeth Reese,
I have written you a poem from my 
Heart to yours, may God bless you 
and Happy New Year...Raul


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In Heaven with the Lord

Three years have almost passed,
  Since God called you both home.
He summoned you untimely,
  Up to Thy golden throne.

Kayla Brianne and Elijah Kyle,
  Were both their names to be.
But God had other plans,
  And brought them to Thy glory.

Though time is filled with sorrow,
  There are things to be thankful for.
For Kayla Brianne and Elijah Kyle.
  Are up in heaven with the Lord.






_________________________________
Dedicated to Cody and Brandlynn Young,
two fellow soupers who lost two children.


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Vincent

...with gratitude to an incomparable artist


Your vision is a beacon
gracing us with golden sheen,
though your heart was dark and heavy
with redemption rarely seen.

You plumbed the probabilities
of faithlessness and fear,
you challenged life's inequities
and often with a tear

of sadness in your dream-dimm'd eyes
and shades of anguish too,
this world was never meant
for one as beautiful as you.


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My Love Renewed

I searched for adventure
A time or two
In my mind I forgot
I needed you

Now I see
That I was wrong
I truly loved you
All along
 
With all we went through
And all we have done
I couldn't see 
That you were the one

My soul was stored
Locked up until last night
You released it
When you held me tight

Now I remember
Our passion so true
My heart yours forever
My love is renewed




For Dave


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The River Gomati-win

O grandma *Gomati, was born on thy bank
And born of a mother bearing your name
On all the yesterdays your water I drank
Am still the part of your pattern and frame.

My blood flows in thy stream meandering
It’s a kind of earthly immortality,
I stand by you and feel kinship endearing
Know not much about gods but your affinity

I learnt to strive, to sink and to seek depth ever
Simply Hydrogen and Oxygen doesn’t make water
Something third is needed to make you what you’re
Nobody knows except you Ma and your Creator.

                             *******
Dr. Ram Mehta
June29, 2011

Twelwth Place win in

Contest: best dedication poem by P.D.

=================================

*Gomati is the name of the river in Gujarat State of India. My home town Dwarka 
where Lord Krishna ruled once, is on the bank of River Gomati. 

My mother too was born there and she was christened as Gomati after the name of the river.

Please click on the links below to see the pictures of River Gomati and the town Dwarka 
==================================================
Copy and paste the links below to see pictures:( Please share it on my blog if this doesn't work)

http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--
mnJsfgKoNc/TgpR_pUcaGI/AAAAAAAAAWY/r3OxvDhVhlU/s1600/Gomti+River+for+PS.jp
g 
http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-
urY7xEhqWe4/TgpSDtfX4OI/AAAAAAAAAWc/g63z_gsliPA/s1600/Dwarka+with+Gomati+
Ghat.jpg
=================================


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A Warm Welcome to Aimee

I cried along with you when I heard on the phone
Your first cries as you made yourself known
With little fists flying and a voice to be heard
You let everyone know, you would not be deferred.

With angelic eyes and a cute little nose
You were pink and rosy, right down to your toes
Everyone cooing, laughing and yes a tear too
For the new life and blessing on your day of debut.

With a head full of hair the color of fawn
Born in the morning just before dawn
You visited awhile and then went out like a light
An angel needs rest to shine that bright.

So welcome Aimee Michelle, we’ve waited so long
To have you with us; to hear your life song
Never doubt for a moment how much you are loved
You are our blessing that God sent from above.


*To my son who lost a son last year but was blessed last night with a daughter.  I
couldn't be there due to illness so I only got to hear her first cries over the phone.



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No Tears in Heaven

Mama cried nearly every day
Depression then undiagnosed
Tears shed, no apparent reason
Confined to bed, embryo posed

No words seemed to lift her spirits
Her children thought that they’d done wrong
We offered smiles, encouragement
At times we gathered ‘round in song

But mom responded to crisis
Troubled heart offered great comfort
When we were sick or dealt a blow
She stepped outside, offered support

The agony that she endured
Took her from this world in her youth
Despite the torment in her soul
She loved her children, that’s the truth

Now we picture her smiling down
Frolicking with angelic hosts
Helping as only she could do
Chemical imbalance just a ghost


* Dedicated to my beloved mother who always managed to find the strength to be 
there for her children despite her ongoing battle with depression.  She died before 
people knew depression could be linked to a chemical imbalance.


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Compassion Abounds

Compassion does abound in this modern world we live
Where animal and man return ones love to give
An element we all do fear could have taken all their lives
But this was not the day, that fate could contrive

To enter a burning building where their lives take second best
Training and their bravery, a heroes form of zest
Within these darkened realms, aflame and spewing of smoke
Any life that's spared, we deprive the smoking choke

For outside this smouldering building lies a bundle of stirring rags
Blackened canine features, their lives in deadening flag
Whilst alone on the sidewalk a hero sits in thought
Despair hits his heart in helpless strained distraught

His head in his hands now lifted, stirred by whining sounds
Towards him walks the mother, he turns in total astound
Leaning down to pet her, compassion fills his eyes
She licks his face to thank him, all saved and so alive


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The Violin Player's Last Words

I wish I played the violin ones more
but the sound and strings ache me
This sad and stormy autumn
the maple trees tell me I'm dying

Inheritance will be the Immensity
with leaves and fruit of violin
but no one will ever know the meaning
of the springs with weeping deer...


written at 12 when my grandpa died.


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Thanksgiving Poem

The Indians and the Pilgrims.
We children do thank.
They've left us with more
than turkey and swank.

They taught us to share
from the Big to the small.
They remind us accept
that there's difference in all.

They taught us to sit
next to strangers we meet.
They taught us our history
depends who we greet.

They've given us fashion.
Put feathers in caps.
We've learned to make buckles
and pants held with straps.

They've surprised us with syrup
they tapped from our trees.
Then added to recipes
of bread just to please.

They've shown us the way
from the fields to the streams.
Made settlements neighbors:
Lands, honeys and creams.

They lived out their life
making each man they meet
look richer by far
just by going up to greet.

Remember to thank them
and ask them for more
because they taught us what giving
and sharing is for...