Quatrain Son Poems | Quatrain Poems About Son

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Details | Quatrain |

Judge Not

The congregation eyed him skeptically
     Long hair, a beard and sandals on his feet
Beyond his exterior they’d not see
     This rambler had just come in from the street

He blessed himself with the sign of the cross
     And joined fully in each hymn that was sung
It was soon apparent it was their loss
     When he greeted God with a gentle tongue

“Lord, You sent Your Son to roam on this earth
     His hair was long and to some seemed unkempt
And when He preached, insults were often hurled
     But He was not repelled by their contempt

“And so, Lord, I seek forgiveness for these
     Who cannot see beyond the clothes I wear
I’ll not be put down by those I displease
     I ask for forgiveness, make them aware

“That Your Son sported sandals and a beard
     I ask You judge them not as they judge me”
When the mass ended, the man disappeared
     At heaven’s gate his name’s on the marquis

Some of the congregation dwell below
     But the homeless man now sits by God’s side
For he had chosen love’s path to follow
     Appearances he did never deride



*For Jared's "At First Glance" Contest

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011


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12,045 Days ......(and counting)

My affirmation deceitfully severed
forever robbed by selfishness
Left to tackle life alone 
Tumbling in the wake of my dad's mess

He left when I was three 
The crevasse has increased for 33 years
Traded his life with us 
For another woman and a couple of beers

He wasn't there to pick me up
When I fell off of my bike 
To teach me how to fish 
Or enjoy a nature hike

Now I'm a father to my son 
Hoping not to make the same mistake
Living day to day on this lake of life
My son in tow through my own wake

It's been nine years and we're going strong 
Six more years with my son
That's more with him than I had with mine 
My son I guard in a web I've spun

A web of love, discipline, and nurture
Full of "I love you's" and "see ya in the morning"
A kiss before school and one before bed
Lots of playing, talking, reading, and singing

My son doesn't know the pain I feel 
To not know my dad in intimate ways
No hands to comfort me or words to heal
No dad in sight for 12,045 days.............................(and counting) 






------------------------------------------------------
My son and I have a great relationship and for this I am thankful......

Copyright © Abe Lopez | Year Posted 2009

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All Gods Creations

We walked on the beach, just Daddy and me, And looked for shells in the sand. We found a starfish holding tight to a rock Then we walked down the beach holding hands. He showed me where clams had made holes in a stone; We watched how the waves filled a pool. Then he told me all about fish and such things And he joked, "Even they go to school." We ran from the waves and made castles of sand. And talked about Jesus awhile. I could tell how Dad loved him, Jesus I mean, From the tear in his eye, and his smile. We climbed to the top of a really high cliff To watch the sun hide in the sea. Then daddy told me, "Of all that God made, His greatest creation was me." All God’s Creations By: Dean Wood 7/24/2017 Quatrain 1st Place END JULY STANDARD CONTEST Sponsor: Brian Strand

Copyright © Dean Wood | Year Posted 2017


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Average Age 19

Once again, the powers that must
In rise again in what we trust
An overseas conflict, another war
Just what in the hell are we fighting for

Families are asking, Korea has just passed
Generations again reft, how long will it last
A country in need, to rebuild again
Flags at half mast, in wind and rain strain

Once again into war, sent by the Washington Post
To send back reports to hit home the most
Military observers were the first to be sent in
Another chapter of man entering existing sin

I'm witnessing our ariel power, Lam Son 719
US planners determine their incursion, saying all will be fine
Along the Mekong River, we'll carpet bomb their supply trail
Tons of munitions and napalm, this spread surely cannot fail

Many sorties are being flown, for the wounded and the dead
Whilst Nixon and his cronies, aren't thinking with their heads
The news of losses has reached me, nineteen have been killed
Eleven missing, fifty nine wounded, more American blood spilled

Seven fixed wing aircraft, more sons in action loss
Whilst back at home more protests, fading the dyeing's gloss
To to this job that I do, I was never prepared for this
To witness such bloody scenes, and ignore that life is bliss

How can I write about a soldier, whose name I'll never know
Killed at nineteen years old, his family he'll never see grow
Or even explain to his parents, when carried from the AH-1
His body bullet riddled and limp, when lifted it bloodily run

I never went back to the theatre, called the Vietnam War
Having witnessed the wanton killing, what were we fighting for
This colonial conflict that started, us on the side of France
So many came back as strangers, many to live in trance





James Fraser's entry into the contest " WORLD OF WAR: VIETNAM "


Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2011

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A NOOK AND A STORY BOOK

Words spring out from under the cover Lets delve together into a world A place of magic like no other Where imaginations are unfurled A tale of fantasy and fun Where bubblegum trees touch the sky Animals talk when out in the sun And purple elephants can fly We picture the scenes in our mind’s eye Let our creativity go wild Floating freely like a butterfly Precious time for a mother and child Contest A Nook and a story Book. Sponsor Eve Roper 04 ~17 ~16

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016

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A Letter to My Son

Your going has left a hole in my heart that time,
The Great Healer, cannot repair.
Your going has left a hole in my existence
That forever and beyond will not heal,
A hole ever expanding from its own nothingness,
A hole through which all the goodness,
All the kindness of you is slipping through.
You were my sounding board.
Trite ideas offered, came back
Enhanced, brilliant and sparkling.
Borrowing intelligence from you, I grew wiser.
Doors opened before me as I strove to be worthy
Of you, my beloved son.
I go on now as you would have me do,
Searching in Nature for the joy 
You found in its wonders.
Hearing bird songs with your ears,
Relating to others with your empathetic instincts.
Striving, ever striving to be the person
And mother that you believed me to be
And never letting your memory grow dim
For those you loved and for whom you sacrificed.

You came into this world with a wisdom
That did not come from me.
I thank God each day for His lending you to me
For the time that I had you near
And I cling to His promise
That I will see you again.

I could not tell from whence you came,
Born with a wisdom that did not come from me,
And I do not know where you have gone,
Part of myself, the better part--into Eternity.

Originally entered as verse

Rewritten:

A Letter to my Son

Your going has left a hole in my heart
That Time, that great healer cannot repair.
Your going  left  space in my existence
That forever and more will still be there.

Ever expanding from it nothingness
A hole from which your goodness has slipped through.
The kindnesses you wore as a halo
Have disappeared as well since I lost you.

I used you as a sounding boad to measure
The wisdom and the beauty of the world.
Your ideas were so clear and brilliant,
Through you my own best aptitudes unfurled.

I'm trying to live up to your standards.
I want to be more worthy of you, Son.
You told me once I was the perfect mother,
And with you life was such a lot of fun.

I thank God every day for loan of you.
The time we had was more than worth the pain.
And now I'm clinging tight to his promise
That some day I will see you once again. 

I do not know from whence you came,
Blessed with wisdom  that did not come from me.
Each day I pray I know where you have gone;
Taking my heart into Eternity.




Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2009

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Son of Judah

My tale is from the time of Rome
Away across the sea
The tale of one called Jesus Christ
From distant Galilee

He placed Himself at God's command
Accepting all His will
Accomplishing the work of God
From Tyre to Olive's hill

He walked the streets and sailed the seas
He healed the blind and lame
Since Jesus came and changed the world
It's never been the same

He hung upon a cross of wood
To save from Adam's fate
He lived and worked among the poor
And died in low estate

He turned the world right upside-down
With nothing but His love
And now He watches us with care
From heaven's court above

 -- Written 1/14/2013 --

Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2013

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Another Man's Pain

A small grave, and for it's weeds was bare
with only a handmade wooden cross.
Easy to see that a child rest there.
Poor unloved young soul was my first thought.

Well I read this cross, for this child of grief.
"John my young son so frail and fair
my joy, my love, my life I leave
to the arms of your mother and Lord's care."

The back read; "To doctors all my money I gave
I cannot buy even a simple stone
with a borrowed spade, I have dug your grave,
I carve this marker, and am now alone."

That wooden cross, seemed to rise
high above great marble markers.
Thoughts rush my mind as I realized
the pain this poor man's heart had harbored.

Never again his son he will see
knowing his child would rests under cold ground.
As unkempt as this grave seemed to be, 
with it's wooden cross and it’s weeds all around.

I pulled at those weeds with my bare hand
then my flowers I laid at the foot of that cross.
I prayed "Please God, help me understand" 
as I felt the pain of another man's loss.

Copyright © Mike Samford | Year Posted 2007

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TO SHAKESPEARE WITH ADMIRATION

He was the bard from Stratford, and as a teenager
he helped his father in his trade; he married and had children
and became the most popular and admired play writer
in all England...acting was also his other pleasurable passion.    


Curious Queen Elisabeth was one of the thousand spectators,
who came to see him in the Globe theater...she shed tears, 
and was stunned by the performance of his timeless plays,
and yet, some of his fellow-poets criticized him for his writings!


I wish I had lived in that Victorian era so intellectual and refined,
and had met him in person and had showed him my ample admiration;
I would have asked him the secret, which made him so legendary and loved...
and he would have whispered it to me, to make me revel in that revelation!     


I have read his inspiring works, and tragedies rampantly occur
from " Romeo and Juliet"...the Verona's immortal lovers, through" Hamlet "
whose insanity was undoubtedly caused by the specter of his father; 
and why didn't Shakespeare choose less dramatic plays not ending in death?


He wanted to teach us indelible lessons to show us how the human spirit
can be passionate, adamant, loveless, envious, cruel, unfair and treacherous...
to outline all kinds of guilt: from murder to envy so well-expressed with eloquence;
it's no mystery to anyone how he conjured up such plots with grief, madness and wit!    


Shakespeare was no ordinary kid, and he played with his siblings on Henley Street,
neighbors saw him trot to his grammar school, later he would make everyone weep; 
early in adolescence, did his prodigious mind envision one from a vague thought?
It's no wonder that he is widely read even today...hear his speak, he'll impart worth!  


Entered in Amy Green's contest, " Wow Me With Inspiration "

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2010

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Who They Are

His innocence lies in the very unknowing
Of what is the truth as he just keeps on growing
He questions the birds in the sky up above
He warms us with laughter and endows us with love
Every question from him is so serious, yet
I have to laugh, from the look that he gets
He’s often a handful, but with a heart that’s so wide
As he often states feelings that he just cannot hide

She is his sister; she’s a bit stronger and taller
Which makes him seem younger, just so much smaller
There in her heart, she, too, has her ways
Of giving us sunshine on the darkest of days
She’s dramatic and active, an athlete to boot
She’s the younger of my girls, who’s so very cute
She’s willful, demanding, but yet can be coy
She’s a blessing from above, an angel of joy

There, even older, another girl blessed us so
It’s been fun watching her age, fun watching her grow
She’s not yet an adult, but seems to just know it all
I hope in her assumptions, she never suffers a fall.
However, she my daughter and a real beauty at that
Who often asks us parents if her clothes make her fat
I guess it’s her age, but that’s the norm for these girls
I’ll love her like my baby girl, as she outgrows her curls

Then there’s the man, my oldest boy, he’s so wise
He grew up so fast, right before our very eyes
He’s sensitive and caring, so smart, gives respect
He’ll be quite the man, very successful I just bet
Though, he too, is a teen and subject to the pressure
He still does so much to which others don’t measure
He rounds off the family, he, my oldest boy
As all of them, together, bring just so much joy

Copyright © Michael Degenhardt | Year Posted 2008

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The Perfect Proposal

The Perfect Proposal

For us girls it’s the day
We patiently await
When the perfect proposal
finally comes our way

Faceless as yet
We only picture the scene 
Our life long imaginings become
Realised dream

No flowers, candles, ambient air no
Lengthy speeches, fluted champagne
All believed to make the day fair no -
Only simple words spoken

At guileless pace
Direct to the heart 
Setting fireworks off
Across the sky they race

- Mummy when I’m a big man
Will you marry me? 
A tear in my eye
I squeeze his chubby thigh


Copyright © Fiona Callaghan | Year Posted 2016

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Lifting Me Up

My heart is on Your shoulders,
And You are lifting me up.
With every spoken tender gesture,
I fall a little farther in love.

Copyright © Kevin C. Martin | Year Posted 2013

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Choices To Face

I have some choices to face,
But these are not my decisions to make.
God told me what He wants me to do;
He said, "Listen, Son, I have a plan for you."

Copyright © Kevin C. Martin | Year Posted 2013

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Decisions

Lord, I do not know what to do;
Please, lead me by Your side.
Decisions I'm facing are lost and through;
Please, lead me to do what's right.

Copyright © Kevin C. Martin | Year Posted 2013

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Enjoy This Place

Follow your dreams and follow your heart;
God has shown you the path to start.
Never give up and always have faith;
Do what you love and enjoy this place!

Copyright © Kevin C. Martin | Year Posted 2013

Details | Quatrain |

Son of David

Oh Joseph, thou son of David
where is the trumpet sound
your mission to proclaim
Where may the words be found

You, like David, are God's servant
freed to serve him without fear
The tender mercy of our God
through your life we see so clear

Son of a king most beloved
protector of the King of Kings
Who can tell what suffering
your obedience to him brings

Does it pain to think of her
Mary, your betrothed, your life
Joseph, thou son of David
fear not to take her as your wife

It is truly of the Spirit
the new life that springs within
and you shall call him Jesus
He will save them from their sin

Understanding, relief, a command
from your dream, the first of three
To visit and redeem his people
you his vessel are to be

Who will tell how you saved him
at Herod’s butcher blade haul
Oh Joseph, thou son of David
will they know you gave your all

cfa © December, 1972

Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2015

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A Mother's Son......For Dustin Cunningham

A smile that warms her heart.
 With bright, shining Angel eyes.
Soon his whole world would fall apart.
 When he sadly watched as his Mother dies.

No one to listen or believe what he saw.
 For years the truth lie in wait.
Each passing day, the pain made him raw.
 And for his step-dad rose a new level of hate.

A troubled youth is what he'd come to be.
 Violence, drugs and alcohol to deal with the pain.
When the truth came out it didn't set him free.
 Watching for Santa as his Mother was slain.

After years, Justice was served for his Mother's death.
 But her kids would have no justice at all.
They would never hold her again so they remained bereft.
 She'll never be there for them to hug, kiss or call.

She loved her kids, especially her eldest son.
 She was taken too soon by a drunk, selfish bully.
He didn't care who he hurt or what he did to anyone.
 Its not something her children could understand fully.

Her son now sits in his own personal Hell.
 Taken away from society to pay for his unrelated crimes.
So now he stays in that six by six prison cell.
 Hoping that he'll heal in a matter of time.

I'm here for him and I remain his friend.
 I wait for that shine to return to his now haunted eyes.
For that smile to brighten from his sad, dull grin.
 I'm someone who can love him and quiet his cries.

Copyright © Aleera Canino | Year Posted 2009

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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.


Copyright © Lena Pate | Year Posted 2010

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Where

Lost out in space
Somewhere God has hurled
A less evil place
A far fairer world

Where one circumstance
I'm allowed to defy
Where I'm granted one chance
To just say goodbye

Where I rip through that wreck
To the seat where you bled
Where I cradle your neck
And hold up your head

Where I brush off the mud
And soothe your last fear
Where I clean off the blood
And wipe your last tear

Where I lay you to rest
And stroke shattered bones
Where you die on my chest
Instead of alone

Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2009

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I Gave You All My Kisses

I give to you

The words I know Dreaming of days so pure

Your kisses so precious My little baby boy;

This brings a tear to eye

I miss the heart, That overflows

The truth of someone’s Woes

A rare and precious Moment

Which it goes and goes. To be lost into

Nothingness I know it shows...


My son you are, Gone, From me

the dreams of you never leaves

my heart griefs 

Oh baby of mine....


For me In Heaven My little Son

Hang on baby

Hang on Don’t cry

One day I will see you

In Heaven

Oh baby of mine

and my dreams

will be fulfilled....


Oh Baby of mine

My heart breaks Just to know

I will Never see your face

So precious Are thee

My darling Son

That was to come

A rare and precious moment

Were you, Oh Baby of mine.....

Brooke Dylan 2014

Copyright © Brooke Dylan | Year Posted 2014

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SIMPLE PLEASURE

I walk on tip-toes in the dark
To take another awe-struck peep
A perfect, tiny, masterpiece
In blue pajamas, wrapped in sleep.

My best creation, born of love
Whose life my soul perchance reflects
And every nuance of his face
My joyous heart again inspects.

An artist with her greatest art
Whose work has only just begun
Each day will add a color, stroke
To this, my canvas, called "My Son."

And nothing else this mother needs
Not food, not shelter, or even rest
But to gaze upon my greatest work
This simple pleasure is the best.

Copyright © Cindi Rockwell | Year Posted 2016

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The Day I had my baby

It was a glorious day

I can say as I held you in my arms

You were my little Boy....

Oh I still dream, About all of You

You were mine, my happiness made me cry

To say the least, your Kisses are songs

and you were mine, but now so gone

The dreams are still there, Oh baby of mine..

I give to you all my kisses, I give to you

The words I know, Dreaming of days

Your kisses so pure, My little baby boy

This brings a tear to eye, I miss the heart

That overflows, The truth of someone’s Woes.

A rare and precious Moment, Which it goes and goes

To be lost into, Nothingness

My son you are Gone From me the dreams of you

never leave.

Oh baby of mine

Brooke
This is dedicated to the son I lost TWENTY one years ago. My heart still breaks. The pain never goes away.

Copyright © Brooke Dylan | Year Posted 2014

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The best investment I ever made

My son upon this Christmas Eve 
I reminisce of midnight hours
Your fingers dancing over tenuous keys
And the emotions your talent empowers

I couldn't comprehend how you taught yourself to play 
Or just how this symphony of one became 
The songs you have inside of you like heaven on display
I revel in your poignant craft uniquely unprofaned

It's true that your propensity 
Can lean toward darkened depth
A common vein for artists 
To be moody and depressed

For your pain releases beauty 
by your gift it's voice relates
You know your in the masters company 
of Mozart, Bach, and Hemingway

So when your struggles weigh 
As the sea laden oceans sand
Take your seat and breathe
Stretch out your feral hands

Creating an instrumental euphoria 
For the lonely and the damned
Open the gate to moods your feigning
Though others will misunderstand 

Christmas Eve and it's memories
This flashback came my way
Of your very first piano 
The best investment I ever made

But one day when I'm aged and old
It will be you who cares for me
Play for me then on that Christmas Eve 
With your love in every stroke 







Copyright © Sarai Virden | Year Posted 2013

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Born: 1980 - Detroit, Michigan

Our old Plymouth wagon sits junked in the yard
Collecting pine needles and rust
Ten years of abuse and driven too hard
Now an eyesore, the neighbors might fuss

Chrysler Corporation was not at their best
Before Iacocca, I think
"Car lot got flooded but we did a road test."
The salesman said with a wink

A knock on the door, 'Wanna' sell that ole wreck?
I live down 'ar  right crost the creek'
"How much?" 'Thirty bucks!' "Okay, what the heck?"
(He stuffs some more Skoal in his cheek)

"Whatcha' do with 'em?" I ask. 'Crush 'em!' He hacks
And spats on a flat balding tire
'Front 'uns look good, we'll haul 'er from the back
Now what did I do with my pliers?"

'Anything in 'ar you might wanna' keep?'
(The door handle sticky with sap)
A moldy child's baseball glove on the back seat
And a faded old little league cap

Slowly the wrecker-hearse jacks up the rear
It snaps and it groans in protest
"Thirty pieces, that's all? Please let me stay here
I'm tired and I just need to rest"

(It's backwards I tell you, something's not right
With the way that old car's being towed
So lonesome it looks, its hazy headlights
Staring sadly down at the road)

N/A in contest 'Pick a Title' judged on 11/13/2014

Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2009

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Rappelez Vous, Remember

Rappelez-Vous
(English translation below original French)

Rappelez-vous les petits fils 
Qui ecoutaient leurs grand-peres
Raconter des histoires d’ infanteries 
Et de battailles de la premiere guerre.

Rappelez-vous des braves garcons 
Qui s’imaginaient etre des soldats,
Qui plus tard servaient le drapeau American 
En tant que veritables soldats.

Rappelez-vous des pauvres parents
Qui ont recu des telegrammes et des lettres,
Et qui apres ont place indefiniment
Des etoiles d’ors aux fenetres.

Rappelez-vous de chaque petite amie
Qui esperait un jour se marier
Avec son beau voisin-ami
Qui ne va jamais plus rentrer.

Rappelez-vous des nouvelles jeunes veuves,
Avec ses petits orphelins des peres,
Qui devaient subir les enormes  epreuves
D’elever leurs enfants sans l’aide des peres.

N’oubliez pas les anciens jeunes garcons—
Les chanceux qui ont survecu
Et regardent souvent  les horizons lointains
Cherchant leures ami-fantomes qui ne sont jamais revenues.


Remember

Remember the grandsons
Who listened to their grandfathers
Tell stories of infantries
And battles of the first war.

Remember brave boys
Who pretended to be soldiers
Who later served the American flag
As real soldiers

Remember the poor parents
Who received telegrams and letters
And who afterward indefinitely placed
Gold stars in their windows.

Remember each girlfriend
Who hoped to marry someday
Her handsome neighbor/friend
Who will never come back again.

Remember the new young widows,
With their little fatherless children
Who had to undergo the enormous ordeals
Of raising children without a father’s help.

Don’t forget the former young boys-
The lucky ones who survived,
And often look at the far horizons
For their phantom-friends that never returned.

Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2014

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The Orchid

The Orchid
As the orchid blooms its long beautiful flower
The perfume of which fills the air hour by hour
The strength in its leave when open from bud
No decay just a little wrinkle as in age it should
 
If Orchis the son of the nymph and satyr
Had not drunk of the vine and showed his desire
As he drank long and hard at the feast of Dionysus
His eyes fell on a priestess and caused all the fuss.

He wanted her, was his drunken decree
And he didn’t care if she didn’t want he
He coveted the priestess as he drank by the hour
Determined he was soon her going to deflower.

His advances she said she would not take
But he did not listen and her he would make
But for this insult to a revered priestess
The gods were determined he’d pay for her distress

He would not go unpunished this was THEIR decree
And ripped limb from limb they decreed he would be
The bacchanalians did tear him apart and justly so
He should have accepted the priestess she  said NO!

The father of Orchis prayed the Gods would restore
The son that he loved and would for evermore
After they listened to the prayers of a father distraught
The Gods returned Orchis not as a man but as a flower they thought.

Orchis became the flower with the strange sounding name
Whose beauty enchants and its perfume does the same
The orchid, the bulbs shape we will recognise today
The part under the body, where a man likes us to play.

© 9/02/2013/~GG~

Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2013

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Twelve Apostles

Greek apostolos = someone sent, messenger
The names of the twelve apostles are these
First Simon, who is called Peter [Roman Catholic’s 1st pope] and 
Andrew his brother
James the son of Zebedee 
John his brother
Philip
Bartholomew
Thomas 
Matthew the tax collector
James the son of Alphaeus 
[Judas [Jude]] Thaddeus
Simon the Cananaean and
Judas Iscariot, who betrayed Him
Mt 10 2-4

11302011

Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2011

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In the shade of the setting son

Not at once, but gradually at my feet
random leaves, brown and brittle
carpenters diligently march in 
leaving my bark somewhat non-committal

Furtively, up grow the undesirables
the weedy weeds and the pesty pests
erstwhile friends in the summer sun
the heavenly snag inviting inquests

Wounded tree under forest affliction 
how to water; too little, too much
scarred by the bear claw and lightning strike  
yielding to the woodpecker, chickadee and bluebird clutch

Where only warmth now lingers, the flame once fired 
stands the smiling woodsman cleaning his plate
glistening against my trunk in the wink of a rising sun  
a sharpened ax waits and waits

Copyright © Grant Norwood | Year Posted 2017

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The Birth Of A Girl The Birth Of A Boy

In a forest a girl was born   
A girl born oh so poor
This girl then caused this world now torn
Her birth opens a sore

But we do not now this girl mourn
She was left some money
A thrifty woman not to scorn
Then a taste of honey

She met a man she was forlorn
Bore a son Alois
Unwed and aging, no ring worn
No ring, so still a Miss.

Her bastard son none could be warned
When his mother did wed
He gave a name the world did scorn
A name that all wished dead

If his mother knew what was born
Hitler the name we know
I wonder would she have  been torn?
To give him birth, or no.

© 09/01/2013 ~GG~

Contest Entry.

Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2013

Details | Quatrain |

Son of Stones

Son of Stones


A Rock that split
  This wretch begot...
So, douse me with grit
  My mirth is got.

Builders bygone
   My praise arouse
Who built with stone
  This Fort of a house.

I wear dread locks*
  To their martyrdom (e)
Who built from rocks
  My Zimbabwe Home.

Great is the hand
  That moved stones
With a magic wand
 Plummeting drones!

When a curse you spit
  I’m an enraged King
When stones you split
  To Life I spring!

Great House o’ Stone 
  Is partly Me
Stone on top o’ Stone
  Built what set me free!


***A dedication to the Great Zimbabwe Ruins, a monument whose structure is a marvel 
of human ingenuity.
***I don’t wear dread locks actually. This is recognition to those who do so as epitomes 
of freedom fighting, the likes of Bob Marley.


JM

29th Oct’ 2013

  
  

Copyright © Joseph Matose | Year Posted 2013