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Best Quatern Poems

Below are the all-time best Quatern poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of Quatern poems written by PoetrySoup members

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Details | Quatern Poem |

Memories on Branches

Memories on branches live on and on - multiplying since the world’s first dawn. Fresh and beautiful in spring are we - buds that blossom on our family tree. We all need a place to build upon. Memories on branches will still live on even though - like summer birds - one day we may leave our nest and fly away. Busy we may be, but in the fall, we’ll look back and tenderly recall memories on branches have still lived on - bright like leaves that decorate our lawn. Winter’s snow covers us as we grow frail. Yet through our posterity, we know well what we’ve lived through never will be gone. Memories on branches live on and on.


Details | Quatern Poem |

Nature Sounds

The wind against the trees make a rustling A sound unlike any other around The rubbing of the limbs craft a bustling It’s a subtle music which brings this sound Even the lake near land has a ripple The wind against the trees make a rustling And the grass nearby swishes and baffles And the wind seems to give a great panting The water has another sound, bubbling Sounds permeate all throughout this calm place The wind against the trees make a rustling Mountain sits mighty with sounds on its face Even the light seems to speak of high marks The scene enlightens higher than heartstrings Sound is the number one part that embarks The wind against the trees make a rustling…
Russell Sivey Contest: 'SOUNDS' Sponsor: FRANK H. 5/11/2013


Details | Quatern Poem |

As Swallows Call

The daffodils are dying now,
soft yellow silks wear hues of brown;
in weariness they rest their brow,
against the breeze, in jaded gown.

‘neath cotton clouds and powder blue
the daffodils are dying now;
as fleeting as the morning dew,
their beauty sways by shade of bough,

with trumpets dipped in muted vow
to yield their last remaining glow. 
The daffodils are dying now
as blossom reigns o’er winter snow.

And at the final curtain fall,
no encore, just a graceful bow,
as first arriving swallows call
“The daffodils are dying now”


Details | Quatern Poem |

We are all strippers on a stage

We are all strippers on a stage
choreographed of broken dreams.
Our materialistic schemes
drown values in whiskey bottles.


We are all strippers on a stage
who put down our pillow case veils,
dawned a garter belt, sold our souls
for the price of our panty hose.

We are all strippers on a stage
who can not keep with this life style: 
with nights too long and days too short,
where a candle burns on both ends 

a center burns out; we sell out.
We are all strippers on a stage:
vibrate and shimmer for dollars,
feed this addictive scenery.

(modified quatern)


Details | Quatern Poem |

"Black Bird" (spread your wing's)

Spread, your wings and soar on high, stretch forth beyond the particle's in
the sky. Rest on a large branch, look down at the creature's of blacks and
white's. Blackbird ain't its enough to make you cry. Crime soaring high, WHY-
why Blackbird why? No one knows, no-one dare steps forth his best. NOoooo
Black bird they're to busy pointing finger's, they rather listen to the voice of
the confused "stranger". A voice that tells them, take prayers away from school's,
take away their happiness, now the grave yards are full of young one's, some
in jail, to never see success. Soar on Blackbird, fly high and don't dare sit to long.
You see blackbird, the black's doesn't know the song and the whites want's to be
left along.
Spread your wings-my fowls of the air we all must share, as you fly blackbird, as
you are trying to accept the lost and the found, spread your wings Blackbird, we're
not all bad people's. Its just that we're too busy trying to tare each other down.


Details | Quatern Poem |

The Loss of Wisdom

They mourn wisdom not yet learned It flounces from their grasp, withers Away in the solar wind it burns Itself in the remnants of What once was a beautiful mind, They mourn wisdom not yet learned In this instanced reality Parallel our own treasured find Whisked away on the breeze it yearns Awhile for its past then thinks, as They mourn wisdom not yet learned These creatures of habit turn to Only what they knew, will never know The truth in starlight again nor the Real beauty of the sun's glow They mourn wisdom not yet learned
"Nolite umquam oblivisci" *Took 5th place in the February 2012 International Poetry Soup contest.


Details | Quatern Poem |

A Bicycle in the Wind


On a bicycle, freedom's flight Pedaling 'cross the horizon Reflections of blue in my sight With dreams of lassoing the sun A girl's spinning wheels leave the ground On a bicycle, freedom's flight O'er the treetops without a sound Veils of darkness fall out of sight Wishing in the morning star's light Bright tomorrows, I wait to greet On a bicycle, freedom's flight My pink beauty with flowered seat Dark days return and tides do rise Still, memories soothe in the night Two wheels like wings of butterflies On a bicycle, freedom's flight


Details | Quatern Poem |

The Soft Songs Sung By Bread

I liked the soft songs sung by Bread, a group whose lyrics filled my head, for each day from my radio I’d hear their music sweetly flow.
At night, relaxing on my bed, I liked the soft songs sung by Bread. I’d sing along while listening to songs like “If” and “Make It With You.” To “Baby I’m a Want You” I would think of one I loved and sigh. When by romance my heart was led, I liked the soft songs sung by Bread. Who wrote those lovely lyrics sung? I didn’t care, for I was young with many years before me spread. I liked the soft songs sung by Bread! Inspired by Michael J. Falotico's Contest: What Songwriter or writers Inspire you????
*David Gates is the songwriter and the originator of the group called Bread, most famous for its soft romantic songs of the early 70's. To know more about him, please click on "About Poem."


Details | Quatern Poem |

BIRDSONG IN QUATERN


When velvet robins dive below to herald new spring’s premier show, a chorus lilts along the quay inviting waters to sashay. How music tweets in deepened glow when velvet robins dive below; their wings flitting before my eyes as senses thrill in beamed surprise. And by the coast, the jasmines hop through fancy tunes of birds, non-stop when velvet robins dive below reflecting season’s brightest flow. Timbre of notes brush like wind-chimes along the trails of night sublime; I feel my heart aching to row when velvet robins dive below. Andrea Dietrich's Do You Know Quatern Contest 4/30/2014


Details | Quatern Poem |

Footsteps From Above

In this father’s mind, there is no other kind
Of noises that so resemble love
As the sounds that come from there, atop of the stairs
The patter of footsteps from above.

They’re scurrying about, the youngest one will shout
His sister just gave him a shove
Then she’ll plead her case, “Dad, he’s in my face”,
The patter of footsteps from above.

I know that one day, those noises will fade,
The patter of footsteps from above,
As the children grow old and their future is told,
And they vacate the nest like a dove.

But one day it’ll be back, from their own kids in fact,
The patter of footsteps from above,
When they come see granddad, and again I’ll be glad,
To hear those sounds I love coming from above.


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