Quatrain Memory Poems | Quatrain Poems About Memory

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

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

Details | Quatrain |

A Nook and a Storybook

Oh, give me a nook and a storybook
there at my mother’s knee.
Or tucked in bed, a pillow at my head
as father reads to me.

To hear nursery rhymes - wonderful times
when Mother used my name
inside a rhyme. Oh, for childhood sublime!
Old age is not the same!

Of Cinderella and a cute fella
I used to listen to.
Romantic the tale where all ended well,
and love they said was true.

But I’d  graduate from my childlike state.
Alone I soon would read
less beautiful things, in which a prince brings
no rose; instead, a weed.

Oh, to return to before I could learn
of life’s realities!
Where endings were good I’d go if I could
reliving memories.

In that nook I’d be, my mother with me
where books I’d  learned to love.
That would be enough because it’s the stuff
fairy tales are made of!

April 26, 2016 for the "What I Would Give For A Nook And A Storybook"Poetry Contest of Eve Roper

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016

Details | Quatrain |

Memory Wreath

Each year before Christmases of the past
   Past visitors came to trim my holiday tree
Tree with ornaments homemade to last
   Lasting, unique gifts of their artistry

Artistry now shown in a wreath on my door
   Door filled with treasures I was blessed to receive
Received gifts from those who are with us no more
   More reminders that love in my heart will never leave

*For Dr. Ram's "Wreath" Contest. (Eight-line quatrain/rhyme using the last word of each line as the first word of the next line.)  Merry Christmas, everyone!

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010

Details | Quatrain |


I remember how you looked that day,
How happy, young and free.
Your sun bleached hair, your sun bronzed skin,
I watched you from the lea.

You never saw me standing there.
I'm glad it stayed that way.
We never spoke, we never met,
But I came every day.

I came to watch you cast your net.
You were my mystery man.
I whiled away the live long day,
Watching from the sand.

You seemed to have all you could need,
The surf, a boat, a net.
I close my eyes and click my heels,
And I can see you yet.

Copyright © Judy Ball | Year Posted 2017

Details | Quatrain |

Sweet Memory

When looking at you
I know that it’s true
You resemble no other
But your mother.

You walk with a swirl
And turn with a twirl
You resemble no other
But your mother.

Your hair is one flame
The colour the same
You resemble no other
But your mother.

Your eyes deep and wide
Green diamonds inside
You resemble no other
But your mother.

Enchanting your smile
It flows like the Nile
You resemble no other
But your mother.

A heart full of gold
So carefree and bold
You resemble no other
But your mother.

You hear and you care
Determined to share
You resemble no other
But your mother.

[But now she’s gone far
 Tiny twinkling star
In peace like a dove 
Departed with love.]

And you my sweet girl
You twirl and you swirl 
You resemble no other
But your mother.


Author: Paul Callus ~ March 2014
Contest: Poem For Mommy
Sponsor: Leonora Galina
Placing: 1st

Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2014

Details | Quatrain |

‘The Airplane Crossing Clear-Blue Sky'

My white-washed bars surrounded me -
they held me as I slept;
they soothed me when the days were long,
and mother’s blue-eyes wept.

A baby girl, six months or less,
awakened from my sleep -
stood up legs as sure as hope;
as strong as flat is steep.

My hands, my saviors, gripped the rail
so I could peek outside –
the bluest sky I’d ever seen,
As tall as it was wide;

came into view - between the blue,
an airplane gliding by,
its smoky streamer like a flag,
across my memory’s sky...

The memory is a simple one -
a window, sky, and plane -
but in my heart, it's heaven's door
and there it shall remain.

I’ve hung it on my memory’s wall
Between that life and this –
It covers every hole I’ve dug
In sorrow’s vast abyss.

This picture brings the special peace
I knew when I was small –
Where mother’s just beyond the door,
and waiting for my call…

*Inspired by Danielle's Earliest Memory contest. I have blocked out almost every memory 
from my childhood, and only a very few gems remain - this is the first. and I will treasure it 

Copyright © Kristin Reynolds | Year Posted 2009

Details | Quatrain |

The Forever Castle: a collab with EM

In the heart of the Loire valley
Where the river wends its way
A young dreamer lured by nature
Free of care played music gay

As he wandered along footpaths
Playing lightly on his flute
By the vineyards in abundance
And the orchards full of fruit.

It was there that he encountered 
A fair maiden and her art
She was painting on her canvas; 
With a smile she stole his heart.

From then on they met in secret
Near the rolling hills in green
Where the flowers looked in wonder.
They were happy and serene.

They made love and plans together
Spoke of dreams they meant to share
Looked at life through coloured lenses
And built castles in the air.

Then one night a storm erupted
Unexpected in mid May,
Raging waters in a frenzy
Came and took her life away.

All his dreams were quickly shattered
And the castle tumbled down
For his Queen of Hearts had left him
Broken king without a crown.

In the ruins of the castle
He was left to sit and grieve
And his friends who came to visit
All were kindly asked to leave.

Days and nights passed undetected                     
As he dreamed of raven hair
On his lips he felt her kisses
Woke to find she was not there. 

Then one day, he rose with vigour    
Once again he built the dream
Made a castle even finer                
Standing stately by their stream.

And the people came to marvel
At the wonder of this sight
For there in the very centre
Was her statue gleaming bright.

Now the castle so resplendent
Stands a testament to love
Which will never wane or wither
Conquers death and soars above. 


26th August, 2015
Paul Callus & Eileen Manassian
Contest: Partner Up 
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton

Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015

Details | Quatrain |


A wooden porch looks old like Grammy’s chair
That rocks us of fables, miming her voice;
While a neighbor spoofs wolf legends, beware! 
Under the moonlight dim, sweet hours rejoice.

How evening’s ray now settles on the ground
While urban traffic booms, only to impose
On our chalet shading youth’s prints around;
A moment when life blossomed like a rose.

Enchanted House Contest for Nayda Ivette Negron

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2015

Details | Quatrain |

My Little Box

Sometimes, when I am alone
I go inside myself
and I get a little box
I keep upon a shelf.

My box is filled with memories,
sweet days that I once knew.
One of my greatest treasures
is the memory of you.

Time has begun to fade it
and has bent the corners in
yet when I gaze upon it,
it comes alive again.

I let it take me over
I ride it like a wave
feeling every inch of love
you once, so sweetly gave.

It fills my soul with pleasure
and helps me get away
from all the tribulations
that I must face each day.

Yet it was not always beautiful,
this memory I hold.
It use to only give me pain
and leave me feeling cold.

But so much time has passed away
and the pain has took its' leave
so now I may finally
enjoy instead of grieve.

Once it has embraced me
and filled me with its' wealth
I put it gently in my box
and place it on the shelf.

I'll always keep this precious jewel
with tender, loving care
so that when I need it,
it will be waiting there.

Copyright © Robin L. Gass | Year Posted 2008

Details | Quatrain |

Haunting Memories

             Haunting Memories
                         The Safety Zone

    It feels like I have wind chimes in my feet
        The tingling feeling is that intense
            Pins and needles keep pestering me
                But obedience is my best defense

                    Every single step is a painful memory
                        Of the childhood I never got to see
                            Walking on glass eggshells metaphorically
                                Watching my feet continually bleed

                                Too young to understand what was happening
                            So obediently I tried to be brave
                        Every night I had to cry myself to sleep
                    I hadn't even lived yet but wished for my grave

                Punishment handed out like it was an offering
            Like my pain was some sort of sadistic prize
        Hiding away in the backyard that covered me
    Holding my breath and closing my eyes


Copyright © Brian Davey | Year Posted 2016

Details | Quatrain |

Lessons Well Learned

Lessons Well Learned

(from The John Poems)

You taught me what love is
     then took it away.
You became my sunlight
      then banished the day.
You awakened my body
      to love of a man
Then condemned me to live
     without the touch of your hand.
You brought life to my heart
     and opened my soul;
You nourished my mind
     and made me feel whole.

But now thanks to you,
     I've also learned pain.
I know now that loneliness
    Can drive you insane.
I've learned of betrayal,
     loneliness, mistrust---
And I know understand
     the myth that was us.

Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Quatrain |

Beyond A Name

     With pride to boast when gnarled in vines
     that seek to take as nature's own
     this citadel of time will be defined
     more than just letters carved in stone

     Though time and tangled growth obscures
     truest course of meaning now laid to rest
     honor held most sacred from love endures
     upon this face were such intentions prest

     Proudly this guardian of life's measure stands
     a post to which nothing else would ever claim
     that beckons pride with hushed commands
     mysteries held to know beyond just a name

     Overgrown With Vines Contest
     Sponsored BY Broken Wings

Copyright © Charlie Smith | Year Posted 2016

Details | Quatrain |

Granddads Book

In my quiet times I often try,
To remember places I've been.
To recall folk I have passed by,
And sights that I have seen.

There is nothing wrong with my mind,
Sometimes my memory is quite refined.
I think it's filled over many a year,
With so much junk, nothing seems clear.

So, I made up my mind to write it all down,
To recall it all caused me to frown
It started like I was in the dark,
A memory flared, I was in the park.

That day in the park was just the lever,
I found my mind was as good as ever.
Tho' times and places got out of line,
I wrote it all down, now wasn't I clever!

I'm nearly at the end of my story,
A journey I'm glad that I took.
For my grandsons to read in years to come,
I'll call it Granddads Book.

© Dave Timperley 2012.

Copyright © Dave Timperley | Year Posted 2012

Details | Quatrain |


In times of retrospection we discover
The miles our vagrant compass trekked 
Silent horrors from which we recovered
What be righteous or unworthy we assess

For to all children life is not toys and hugs
Or enchanting dances on daddies feet
But bitter realities of drunks and thugs
Eggshell walks and battering clubs

Bewildering the difference the years can make
And the choosing to which one is inclined
To follow the path with which they were faced
Or to carve a new path by need redesigned 

They say that Rome was not built in a day
Stone upon stone is a sound foundation laid 
Tethering twine pulling massive loads up high
Burying tears in abysses carving smiles from cries

Oh no, I'm fine. Concern yourself not with me
For I am the architect of my own design
Someday a pillar in the Temple I will be
My fortress not breeched nor climbed

My world hastens wisdoms patience 
Compassion and mercy will abound
Fragrant love skilled willing agents
Through tenderness barbarians turn clown

Recreating the days of innocence 
Forgiving those too weak to see
That some with all their pitiful ignorance 
Have not the power to strip you of your dreams

There's a power of soul endowed to man
To walk by authenticity
Pities frown subsides as does vengeance 
When taken hold of true humility

No promise of ease nor heart unbroken 
To even one was this promise solemnly given
Though pain so deep to bleed is relief
It is friction that compels the driven

Though shadows past haunts you to fright 
There is light to be found in its darkness 
For shadows be slight illumination of light
The evidence of all you've accomplished

How far I've traveled from condemnation
My compass directs true north
On days my history taunts my persuasion 
It's for loves sake I've stayed my course


Copyright © Sarai Virden | Year Posted 2013

Details | Quatrain |

Distant Things

Distant Things

Our memories are distant things
   that live among our yesterdays.
They live in thoughts and each one brings
   those moments framed in many ways.

Like photographs and video
   the copies of those moments past;
those distant things we want to know
   are safe within these things that last.

Though often lost...reality;
   we miss the real time moments when
we strive to make the copies be
   those 'moments' to watch once again.

So oft we view life through a lens,
   or on a cell phone high-tech screen;
events of family or friends
   and miss the 'in the moment' scene.

Our memories are distant things
   that should be felt in real time,
for once they're gone can never bring
   that 'we are there' joy so sublime.

Our memories are distant things...
   reruns of life replayed once more; 
just copies, not the thrill that brings
   those real live moments to adore.

Sandra M. Haight

Contest: Distant Things
Sponsor: John Lawless
Judged: 06/12/2016

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016

Details | Quatrain |

The Songs of Memory

Our love now plays on songs of memory
like perfume of flowers, not meant to last.
Love was smooth as stones polished with emery
yet, scattered as light through a prism's glass.

Like child's sparklers so hot, without flame
too fast it burns to last throughout the night
but I will give my homage just the same
to powers which let our love burn so bright.

Un-worded ending lasted but one hour.
Dividing lives accomplished in one day.
Yet, loves taste never turns from sweet to sour
and precious are the thoughts along the way.

The pathways of life are strewn with such things.
Still essence of our love will never fall
for music of the songs forever rings
and in the tune our love we can recall.

Copyright © Mike Samford | Year Posted 2007

Details | Quatrain |

Memories On Branches

An old board and a rope had made me a swing,
Sitting there when I was around the age of nine,
I curiously looked up to see the first sign of spring,
Where a robin was building a nest of twigs entwined.

Summer's heat burned my shoulders, so I sought shade,
I climbed up into your strong arms at the age of fourteen,
Along with a book, I relaxed in a solitude no one could invade,
I found myself lost within the pages and the leaves of green.

On a lazy, autumn afternoon, at the age of twenty-three,
I raked the dead leaves that buried my feet into a pile,
Through the orange limbs my black cat peered down at me,
Then leapt from the tree to play among the leaves for awhile.

Now, as I am rapidly approaching the age of thirty-one,
Branches are encased in ice, as winter continues to unfold,
From my window, I see the cardinals and the disappearing sun,
Reminding me that life still survives in the bitter cold.

March, 7th, 2014

Gail Angel Doyle's contest - "Memories On Branches"

Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014

Details | Quatrain |

Dundurn Castle

I hesitate for a moment outside the rod iron gates;
sensing behind those castle doors, a long past life awaits,
within those many mortared walls, rising high above the lake,
as my breath begins to quicken and my knees began to shake.

Step into the parlour, the old curator now implores;
where upon I see  the winding staircase, I at once abhor. 
Below the ground on cobbled stones, stepping up to marbled floors,
a scullery maid with calloused feet, summoned by her Lord.

As I climb those winding stairs again, my back begins to ache,
as visions of cups and saucers, tumble down the stairs and break.
The Mistress of the castle, coiled, and hissing like a snake,
strikes me down to lie among the shattered glass, and birthday cake.

Upon a marble checkerboard, in squares of black and white, I die;
barely fourteen years of age, a lonely  child, frail and shy;
buried in a shallow grave, no marker telling where I lie,
just the roses in the garden, underneath a blue, blue sky.

Written:  June 25, 2014
For Past Life Contest

Author's note:
 Dundurn Castles is a real castle in Hamilton, Ontario, Canada.
On a visit there, I had an overwhelming feeling of familiarity, 
which inspired this poem about a past life.

Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2014

Details | Quatrain |

My Memories Of Christmas

Hearing the jingling bells of Santa's sleigh,
Hanging silver tinsel on the tree for trim,
My cousin and I going sledding all day,
Reading the story of Scrooge and Tiny Tim.

Building a house made of spicy gingerbread,
And hearing a Bing Crosby Christmas tune,
Leaving out cookies before going to bed,
Seeing eight tiny reindeer flying by the moon.

Santa Claus bringing toys down our chimney,
Almost every house twinkling with lights,
Cutting down a fresh, pine Christmas tree,
Hanging antique ornaments, so shiny and bright.

Grandma and I baking my favorite cookies,
Shopping for Christmas gifts in every store,
A fireplace with a stocking hung just for me,
And singing Christmas carols at every door.

My hometown covered in glistening, white snow,
And the sweet, minty taste of a candy cane,
Presents containing treasures we wouldn't know,
And drawing snowflakes on a frosty window pane.

My Mom making a snowman, as perfect as can be,
Decking the halls with garlands, wreaths and more,
Whispering wishes to Santa, sitting on his knee,
And the excitement we all had the night before.

December 12th, 2013

Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2013

Details | Quatrain |

Forgotten Memories

Tonight the shore is pounded by the fretful, roiling surf, 
dark clouds tempestuously race across a yellow moon; 
the ocean's breast heaves a heaviness of bitter tears   
flinging gray shadowed sobs against silent, white-faced dunes    

Far across deep seated waters, another golden strand--
do you pace there the churning surf line as here I do;   
are these waves that beat against my blistered, sand burnt feet    
a desperate, longing message dispatched tonight from you?   

Somewhere harbor lights safely chart the well worn channel   
for anxious, weary sailors longing for the arms of home;    
but you and I, marooned, remain in lonely shadows    
forgotten memories between us, darkened pools of foam.

Copyright, October 22, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson

Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2014

Details | Quatrain |

A Maryland Summer

Our Robin’s nest on twenty-eighth bayside,
strung like the Kite’s Loft display.
Free and now flowed with the tide,
as we watched the sunrise of each day.

Center courts of youth and bouncing Penns
pushed full throttle jet skis into romances.
The moon lit footprints in amends,
as Hope laid us down with chances.

The sun’s vixens sat on boardwalk benches,
their penthouses held one night Seacrets.
Tired of searching for pearls in surf’s trenches,
an open air preacher passed out leaflets.

Dice throws into Fate and riptides,
doused by sea foam and sand bars.
Eastern block girls ran carousel rides,
their accents glazed smiles and fast cars.

Ribeye’s and tuna steaks on the grill,
Harbor Island’s slow gas dock --
a seventy-foot fishing boat it couldn’t fill.
Canvas Sperry’s dried on a sundial clock. 

The one Turtle that sat near Jamestown,
looking up and down coastal highway.
The Greenest oasis we could find in uptown,
seagulls carried her eggs far away.

To days fully lived and expressed.
To what was held and what transcends.
To goodbyes and route fifty going west.
To that summer and all the friends.

Contest: Memories of the Sea
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst

Copyright © rob carmack | Year Posted 2015

Details | Quatrain |

Remembering When

I remember when…
Main Street was laid with dark red brick
now it’s laid with black hot asphalt.
The stench alone can make one sick
with environmental assault.

I remember when…
Our radio was our television
we could get broadcasts all around the world.
Letting imagination envision 
as the “War of the Worlds” unfurled.

I remember when…   
Buzz Aldrin stepped down on the moon
how ecstatic our nation was.
Dancing about on big sand dune
setting communications abuzz.

I remember when…
On my first date, went to drive-in movie
where we viewed the picture “Bonnie and Clyde”.
We really dug it, thought it was groovy
but saddened they were so young when they died.

I remember when…
Schools showed respect for country and to God
with pledge of allegiance and morning prayer.
Today they have spared the punishment rod
and high esteem for beliefs we did share.

Copyright © 2013 By Caryl S. Muzzey

Copyright © Caryl Muzzey | Year Posted 2013

Details | Quatrain |


They say that time heals all
Yet there never seems enough
To say the words, to give your love
A mother always dies too soon

You try to make it linger
As her age increases yearly
You pray that God will spare her
Because you love her dearly

But when the days get tedious
She’s sick, alone and weary
You pray that God may take her
Because you love her dearly

Mother, we will miss you,
Your love, your care and support
You have given us your all
And triumphantly defied life’s challenges

You were so busy caring for others 
That you forgot about yourself
In honour and in gratefulness, we say
Sweet mother, dearest oma*, may you rest in peace

Rest peacefully now your time has come 
May angels guide your way
The time has come...yet 'tis oh so hard
To see you on your way

*Oma is dutch for Grandmother

Copyright © Huberta van Akkeren | Year Posted 2014

Details | Quatrain |

Pen in Hand

Pen in hand or board with keys
     Toil with verse and rhyme.
What disappoints might later please
     Hasten borrowed time.

Chills run up and down my spine
     To think of things I miss.
So much is gone that I called mine.
     Tough to reminisce.

Years ago on any day
     Far and wide I’d roam.
Busy with best friends at play
     Seldom around home.

Now kids huddle on the floor—
     Stationary fun.
Competing for the highest score,
     Sit instead of run.

Guess I’ll wander at the beach—
     Spend time along the shore.
Ponder all that life might teach
     Had I a few years more.

With inspiration from and dedicated to Just That 
Archaic Poet and the Quatrain King, Jack Ellison.

Copyright © Mark Peterson | Year Posted 2013

Details | Quatrain |

Winds Of Time

~~ I struggle always with my memories, The long ago past is forever lurking; In a moment I am whispered back, And the pages of my life are fluttering. Fluttering in the misty winds of time, To where the joyful and painful burn; O but this is the key to who I am, And each memory has its own turn. Turn back the pages of my journey, I am a little girl playing and dreaming; O but to stay frozen in this memory, And to not ever know the pain of weeping. Weeping has always been my companion, I so often stand in a place of sorrows; Past the ornate gate and winding road, And the past shall haunt all my tomorrows. ______________________ August 16, 2014 Quatrain Submitted to the contest, Any Poem #8, sponsor, Skat Third Place Submitted to the contest, Where Frozen Embers Burn, sponsor Gail Doyle 8th place (the contest was deleted so lost my win rating)

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2014

Details | Quatrain |



Memories rest in tender frames
Picked over, chosen, kept
As real are the scorching flames
Those dowsed by tears wept

A day, a week, a month, a year
Roll by without respite
Gathered, attached, more appear
Of hurtful and delight

Memories rest in splendour frames
Each one a work of art
Torn from joy, laughter, pains
For body, soul and heart.

Copyright © Richard D Seal | Year Posted 2013

Details | Quatrain |

A Christmas Memory

Woke Christmas morn at our grandparents’ house
where as a treat we siblings spent the night.
Back home we went and found a big surprise:
a new born girl – a sight of pure delight!

Paul Callus ~ 26th November 2015
Contest: A Christmas Memory
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Placed 3rd

Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015

Details | Quatrain |

Gone Are The Days

Remember Petticoat Junction?
Perhaps Green Acres too?
I Love Lucy and Carol Burnett,
Just for a laugh or two?

Dick Van Dyke and The Munsters,
Back when the "tube" was fun;
Doris Day and Love That Bob,
Don't forget The Flying Nun

Maxwell Smart was an agent,
We all knew Uncle Jed;
Hazel was that clever maid,
It's sad how comedy's fled

The Honeymooner's over,
F Troop's down to zero;
The Beaver's long forgotten,
While Hogan's lost his heroes

Gilligan's left the island,
A Jeannie no longer dreams;
Car 54, where are you?
At times, I wanna scream!

Andy was a country boy,
Gomer, a seargent's pest;
Who made room for daddy?
Don't fathers know what's best?!

Maynard shaved the goatee,
Mister Ed's lost his voice;
My Three Sons are missing,
Ozzie and Harriet had no choice

McHale can't find his navy,
The Addams flown away;
A Martian ain't so favorite,
Our Laugh In's gone astray

Primetime's lost its essence,
Laughter is a con man's game;
A Family Affair's in mourning,
Is the "new age" ours to blame?

Copyright © Milton Toran | Year Posted 2014

Details | Quatrain |

Ellsworth Wallace Haynes

I was an airplane engine mechanic but worried about the Japs, 
Invading and attacking my land so I joined up for the Navy;
On Brown University campus I was trained with other chaps, 
But was separated from my friend, never seen again, hazy. 

I was sent to Navy Pier in Chicago where there was no food, 
No water, bedding or shelter, and where I became a fireman; 
You had to maintain silence when travelling on the cars good, 
On the public transport which ejected you for a commotion. 

I got my ship, the USS John Penn, from the Panama Canal, 
To Guadalcanal to Noumea, where I was indeed promoted, 
And on my birthday we took leave and got drunk, vinal, 
But as I let another take the blame I wasn’t ever demoted. 

On our next trip to Guadalcanal, it was a transport ship, 
We were hit and sunk and 111 men and 13 officers lost;
That changed my life forever, ‘cos I survived to live, rip, 
So I mailed my mother who’d heard there’d been a cost. 

So I moved onto another ship since mine was sunk, 
The USS President Jackson, another troop transport, 
Had 5000 marines for Bougainville in a team, very punk,
Had the nickname “The Unholy Four”, there’s no distort.

A bomb landed on our deck but the marines threw it, 
Way into the sea, ‘cos they were brave and courageous,
And once we docked in New Zealand, once in Australia, kit, 
And one night we were attacked by a Jap sub outrageous.

But we got it, succeeded to beat, but three men escaped, 
Three of ours escaped from a camp ready and willing, 
So they caught and killed them ten days after, trapped, 
So Chastine and Freddie never laughed again tilling. 

The Jackson went to Luzon, Leyte and Guam armed, 
And to many other invasions, and I was promoted again, 
And lastly we unloaded 5000 marines at Jima crammed,
Because she then needed to be repaired to go out again. 

I was ordered not to return to her, so got time off, 
And by the time that period was up, the war ended, 
So I made it home to Seatle partly by paying myself, 
To return to my wife, her town that we’d defended. 

I feel as if a Guardian Angel went with me all the way, 
All the while he was on my shoulder for that duration; 
I was fortunate, came back, but I often parsed my day,  
For close relationships, not to have them, no obligation. 

Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2016

Details | Quatrain |


I had been studying to make Sergeant,
And was scheduled for the afternoon promotion board.
To get some practice and test the waters,
I volunteered for the morning's Soldier Of The Month Board.

The Battalion recently had been given
A ticket for the well-known Berlin Orientation Tour.
During the in-brief, the Battalion Commander
Said the ticket would go to the soldier with the highest score.

As luck would have it, I won;
Beating out by a quarter of a point a Staff Sergeant.
Not only was I going to Berlin for a week,
I was recommended to be promoted to E-5 Sergeant.

The Berlin Orientation Tour didn't count as leave;
As it was considered Permissive Temporary Duty (PTDY).
Riding the duty train to West Berlin
We had to keep all the windows shaded through East German territory.

 The Wall had already come down by then,
But the Soviets were still occupying East Germany.
As a group we toured a modern museum
Documenting how some East Germans had escaped to be free.

One day we passed through Checkpoint Charlie,
And saw the Soviet monuments and troops in East Berlin.
I collected pieces just chipped off the Berlin Wall
Instead of drinking coffee in the cafés of Berlin.

Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2016

Details | Quatrain |

I Can Only Touch The empty Air

I cannot look in your eyes from here,
To touch your soul with my gaze.
Your too far away to reach, My Dear,
To be taken in by my embrace.

My whispered thoughts cannot extend to there--
Where you are's too far away.
I can only touch the empty air
Instead of holding you near always.

So many men between you and I.
I envy each one his place.
Oh, to be at the head of that line,
Looking at you again face to face.

Wonder of wonders, fate of all fates...
I chose to be where I am:
Sitting alone laughing at regrets,
Cursing the notion "what might have been".

I wish I could steal your heart to here
And keep it captive near mine.
But hearts are only given, it's clear...
All I can do is offer you mine.

Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2014