Best Quatrain Poems
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Quatrain
Poem
Love Beyond the Pale
There you lay upon the ripe earth
torn from limb to limb.
Your shape betrayed the lingering girth
of the form you once had been.
Truncated tendrils mock your birth
about you ivy climbs,
my love for you evokes true mirth
but love does not end with time.
Now fallen, slain, cast for rebirth,
the core of you sublime,
an earthly stump, at forest skirt
a memory of grand times.
Yet, love lingers beyond base veils
and passion’s youthful prime.
I’ll wait for you beyond the pale
and you’ll return to be mine.
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Quatrain
Poem
Impact
Filled with a blend of bitter sweet
Steeped to a charming serving
He pours himself in lovely dose
The ones who are deserving
So proud of the delight he gives
His heart, there's no disguising
He breaks her down with every pour
without even realizing
Delicately draped in brittle lace
It doesn’t even matter
He lets her slip from his shifting grip
And the empty teacup shatters
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Quatrain
Poem
First Love
Returning home again after many years away
I find our secret path along the Fundy Bay
That happy place where long ago we played
Where all our dreams and promises were made
Once again I lie down where daises grow
In fields above the banks where salt winds blow
Golden memories rush through my hungry soul
Returning pieces of my heart lost long ago
I close my eyes recalling all the things we did
Just the way they were when we were kids
And I know without a doubt that you are here
As your love for me falls from my eyes in tears
We lie like angels looking up at clouds of cream
As we watch them take the shape of all our dreams
We laugh so hard at all the things we do and say
To us life is just a stage a place to laugh and play
We find the trail that takes us down to meet the ocean
Where we swim in waves of jubilant emotions
Then we walk along the shore together hand-in-hand
And we write our love forever in the sand
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Quatrain
Poem
This Poem Is How I Feel
Sometimes on the road of life
Change becomes the norm
When you think, “The sky is true”
The horizon brews a storm
Some storms last but a minute
Like a ship they sail right by
Other storms seem to be
As endless as the sky
Some storms come with a flood
As life gets washed away
Other storms shake the ground
As mountains crumble into clay
Storms come in many sizes
They come in many shapes
Storms come in many forms
Some bless while others rape
As we face the storms of life
They change who we are
Sometimes, we’re the clouds
Other times we’re the stars
Storms have one thing in common
One day they too shall pass
As a car rolls to a stop
Storms run out of gas
After the storm has passed us by
A seed sprouts to a flower
Each petal seems to be
Exuding strength and power
I have weathered many storms
Their lines map my face
In their wake I have found
Love is my saving grace
I don’t know what this poem means
I don’t know if I ever will
All I know is that right now
This poem is how I feel
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Quatrain
Poem
What I Should Have Said Then
Remember that night, one of so many of course
When the waitress asked if we were on our first date
We’d talked for three hours till our voices were hoarse
The laughter we shared no one could create
It must have been the joy in our hearts she saw
For eighteen years there’d been no one who meant more
Never for a moment did our love withdraw
I joked and said it was the cologne you wore
Impotence had rendered you last in some eyes
But there was no man who made me happier
My affection for you never compromised
Of my self-worth, you were the certifier
The last time I saw your 95-pound frame
As you lay smiling in the hospice bed
My adoration I just could not proclaim
Couldn’t look back, still wanted to look ahead
My head on your hand, tears formed a puddle
So much in my heart, but at a loss for words
I waited for your angel as we cuddled
Finally they arrived, not one, they flew in herds
The spirit of contentment shone o’er your face
I swear to this day I saw your spirit rise
You faced your death with such dignity and grace
I could not bring myself to utter goodbyes
But now as I pray, the words finally come
“God blessed me with a special friend always true
And now as I hear heaven’s harps ever strum
I know there’ll never be another like you”
*For my dear friend Chris who died on Christmas Day 2005
Entry for Gareth's "Last Words to a Loved One" Contest
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Quatrain
Poem
Windowpanes
An ancient river, centuries-old shops and restaurants steeped in a 2000-year history and
culture set the scene. The ambiance seemed divinely contrived to facilitate the purposes of
our meeting and the very fodder from which the greatest poets are sustained.
Not newcomers to the area, Kay P. and I were assigned to the Army Security Agency Field
Station in Augsburg, Germany in 1974. We were colleagues in the intelligence community
with no romantic overtures to our relationship, save an appreciation of poetry and profound
philosophical discussions. Kay wanted to spend the evening with a poet, so we planned the
evening to be appropriate for the purpose.
At the time and place, we quickly found ourselves hopelessly immersed in the philosophical
foundations of my writings throughout the evening. It was the first time since Vietnam that
I'd felt worthy as a person. I still recall sipping the red wine and feeling the warmth of the
large hearth inside the Balkan eatery. I still see the swans gliding by on the Lech flowing by
our café.
When windowpanes begin to weep with autumn's chilly dew,
I'm taken back through seasons passed to one delight held true,
A rendezvous that time allowed, a gentle evening spent
Amid a time of long discord when days were dreary bent.
I feel the stretch upon my lips, the smile returns once more.
Again, I smell the Balkan fare prepared on Lech's old shore,
The mood is cast in high regard, the wine is tart and dry,
As Augsburg ripples in the wake when swans go gliding by.
The ancient windows frame our view and day begins to wane
As rivulets meander down and streak the dampened panes.
The ambiance of ages passed beseeched us not to leave
And held us in its warm embrace throughout the ebbing eve.
My heart was scarred, without regard and hardened by the war
But her esteem unveiled its worth, while nothing had before.
She saw the child that once was me, I'd long since cast aside,
And bade he climb astride his mount, engage his life and ride.
Now, she is but a memory, whose kindness soothed my heart,
For we embarked upon our lives on paths ordained to part.
Her subtle way escaped my eye till time had made it clear
That her esteem had set me free, that night I hold so dear.
The poetry that filled my soul remains these many years,
Impassioned in my warmest thoughts when autumn first appears,
When windowpanes begin to weep, a-glisten with the dew,
And I return to seasons passed, to one delight held true.
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Quatrain
Poem
Frosted Panes - re-post
When winter paints those frosty ferns on my windowpane
I find myself a little girl up on your lap again
In that old house, where you wove that coloured tapestry
With all the glorious memories of your life upon the sea
With weathered palm so deeply etched with every season past
You rubbed a porthole in the center of the frosted glass
Where outside in splendour lie a winter-wonderland
As halos rose above your head from a pipe bowl in your hand
And there upon a rocking chair as smoke rings filled the air
We rocked across a sea of dreams wind tangled in our hair
To lands I’d never been before we stepped upon those shores
And through your eyes I saw each oneand still I wanted more
The morning passed in dreams between two pairs of eyes of green
As the world outside held its breath in a sea of snowy cream
And when the chill of winter melted from the windowpane
The whistling kettle on the stove brought us home again
You held my hand and looked at me with that twinkle in your eyes
And told me you would be my Captain 'til the day I died
So when winter paints those frosty ferns on my windowpane
I find myself a little girl up on your lap again
~~~~~
Written: Jan 15, 2011
Author: Elaine George
First Place in Brian Strand's contest: Let's See
4th Place In - Anything goes contest
In loving memory of my Dear Papa 'Captain James George'.
Authors Note:
When I was a child of three, I Went to live for a year with my Grandparents in Nova
Scotia. At that time my Grandfather was a retired Sea Captain of a Three Mast
Schooner. He had spent most of his life at sea, taking lumber and coal to New
Brunswick and various ports in the U.S. and in the winter months, would carry on to
pick-up and deliver cargo in the West Indies. Although my time with him was short,
the memories we shared have comforted me through-out the years.
~~~~~
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Quatrain
Poem
Soul Of A Fanciful Unicorn - Life Of A Commonplace Horse
My life is like that of a commonplace horse
that stays where they’ve put her all day;
she lives very much like the others, of course,
accepting her fate, eating hay!
At times she is plowing ( for work is her lot);
at other times, giving a ride
to those who reward her with a smile. . . or not!
But seemingly, she’s satisfied.
For like many others, who graze in the field,
She’s needed and loved; she gets by.
Though life is not bad, to routine she must yield,
but her mind - which can’t rest - wants to fly!
You see, I’ve a soul not that of this mare.
I look through the fence and I see
pastures much greener, and far away there
are places much sweeter for me. . .
I see myself frolicking in quietude
where the world has a rainbow hue.
With fanciful musings my mind is imbued
and the roses I’m sniffing are blue!
I’m gentle, romantic, yet wild and carefree,
and my coat is a glistening white.
Liltingly, I move like poetry.
And my essence is pure delight.
Yes, over that fence, I so want to go -
where creative thought is born;
where lyrical words with euphony flow,
for I am a unicorn!
For Frank H's Self Portrait Poetry Contest
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Quatrain
Poem
Heritage
The ranch on which I hang my hat, though short on most the frills,
Is thirteen sections, give or take, of rugged trails an’ hills.
We call it ‘home’, our little world, our very own frontier,
Amongst the cattle, sheep an' goats; the varmints, hogs an' deer.
Today I watched the breakin' dawn an' whiffed the mornin' air,
A time I often set aside for things like thought an' prayer.
A Mockin'bird an' Mornin' Dove, an' other birds at play,
Were there to sing an' set the mood to start another day.
This mornin' saw the strangest thing, like time itself had merged,
An' all the souls who once were here, appeared an' then converged.
In swirlin' clouds of mist an' fog, right off the bluffs they rolled,
Till all had gathered in the glen, the modern an' the old.
The Indians, conquistadors, an' other ancient men,
The soldiers from this country's wars, an' cowboys from back when…
They all had come from yesterday to help me understand
Our link with those who came before, to heritage an' land.
A crazy notion, so I thought, that they could just appear,
But as the morning went along the reason got real clear.
They rode along with me that day to show me things I’ve missed,
The things I’ve seen a thousand times an’ some I’d just dismissed.
Those wagon roads of long ago, still evident today,
Are carved in rock an' rutted earth, not apt to wash away.
They linked the missions, forts an' towns those many years gone by;
An' left their mark for all to see, as modern times grew nigh.
The artifacts an' weathered ruins attest to yesterdays,
When others came an' lived their lives in very different ways.
We've seen their skill in arrowheads they honed from fired stone,
An' craftsmanship in beads an' tools they fashioned out of bone.
At ever turn and trail we took was something to remind,
The Maker must have had a plan laid out for humankind.
The Earth He made’s been feedin' us a half-a-million years,
An' used it's wonder, force an' change to challenge pioneers.
I do not know if they'll return or if they’ll feel the need,
But I’m prepared to ride the trail, where ever it may lead.
We all are spirits ridin’ time with bodies of the Earth,
Whose time has come to take the reins an’ offer up our worth.
The land has been the legacy we cultivate an’ reap,
The life has been the heritage our father’s fought to keep,
An’ we are bound throughout our time with those who came before,
To put our hearts and souls to it, and make it something more.
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Quatrain
Poem
My Poetic Angel
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( \()/ )
( / \ )
( / \/ \ )
/ \
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You’re my poetic angel,
Watching me as I write.
Sent by God to guard me,
Through the day and night.
You give me inspiration,
Through your celestial glow.
And you jump start my mind,
From where my poems flow.
Everyday you guide me,
Not letting bad turn to worse.
And push the pen I hold,
As I write each lovely verse.
You’re my poetic angel,
I’m glad you are my friend.
We’ll always be together,
Until my body’s end.
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