Poetry Forum Areas

Introduce Yourself

New to PoetrySoup? Introduce yourself here. Tell us something about yourself.

Looking for a Poem

Can't find a poem you've read before? Looking for a poem for a special person or an occasion? Ask other member for help.

Writing Poetry

Ways to improve your poetry. Post your techniques, tips, and creative ideas how to write better.

High Critique

For poets who want unrestricted constructive criticism. This is NOT a vanity workshop. If you do not want your poem seriously critiqued, do not post here. Constructive criticism only. PLEASE Only Post One Poem a Day!!!

How do I...?

Ask PoetrySoup Members how to do something or find something on PoetrySoup.

You have an ad blocker! We understand, but...

PoetrySoup is a small privately owned website. Our means of support comes from advertising revenue. We want to keep PoetrySoup alive, make it better, and keep it free. Please support us by disabling your ad blocker on PoetrySoup. See how to enable ads while keeping your ad blocker active. Also, did you know you can become a PoetrySoup Lifetime Premium Member and block ads forever...while getting many more great features. Take a look! Thank you!

Quatrain Brother Poems | Quatrain Poems About Brother

These Quatrain Brother poems are examples of Quatrain poems about Brother. These are the best examples of Quatrain Brother 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 |

AChristmas Story

Christmas Eve in the Gardner household
With mum’s prep for next day going well,
When her two boys, 9 and 7, began to fight
And Mike, her oldest, decided to tell

His brother Kenny, that there was no Santa
“Yes there is,” yelled Kenny, “that’s a lie!”
“No it’s not,” said Mike, “it’s just dad dressed up.”
Mike went quiet, and then started to cry

Mum came through when she heard the commotion
And asked Kenny, why he was so sad
“Mike told me that there is no Santa.”
She turned to Mike and told him, “That’s bad.”

“Well there isn’t,” said Mike, “it’s you and dad
Who put our presents under the tree,
At least, that’s what they’re all saying at school
And what Jimmy Jones told me.”

“And you believe everything Jimmy Jones says?”
Mum asked Mike taking charge of the situation,
Knowing that Jimmy was known for his lies
Perhaps she could use him, as damage limitation

Mike thought for a while; then he quietly said
“No I don’t, because he sometimes tells lies.”
Then he went over, and gave his brother a hug
Saying, “I’m sorry I made you cry,

It’s Christmas Eve, you shouldn’t be sad
Santa’s coming to bring us new toys.”
And with peace restored, they ran up to their rooms
Mum went back to work, thinking, ‘Boys!’

Copyright © Janette Fisher | Year Posted 2009

Details | Quatrain |

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 

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010

Details | Quatrain |

Big Brother

 They've tuned into your frequency
  And watch you from your TV
   Invading your privacy
  As your thoughts they oversee

 They hack into our cell phones
  Stealing all our pics
 Everything we own
  They find by just a click

 Big Brother's  always watching you
    Through a secret door
  They have us under full review
  It's nineteen eighty four! 

Copyright © Joseph May | Year Posted 2017

Details | Quatrain |

Quatrain for Robin Hood

When Robin Hood hides in our wood
I shall not turn him out
I'll let his merry gentlemen
Hang all their bows about.

So when a swaggering M.P.
Comes riding by alone
The arrows of the hidden host
Will ring against the stones.

The horse rears up,the man looks round
To see what's caused the stir
And what he sees amidst the trees
Is green men everywhere

Let him complain to Sheriffs all.
The green men will be gone.
When soldiers come to hunt them out
They've vanished every one.

The forests of England are the home
Of rabbit,deer and game.
The green men live their natural life
And we should do the same.

let us all take to the greenwood life
And feel the strength of trees
They do not change at every poll,
Nor do just what they please.

In Nature all is linked to one
And one to all extends.
If we could change our cut throat ways
Maybe all could be friends.

The hearts and souls of all of us,
Form a great human wood.
So let the love we feel be shared,
And heard for the common good.

If everyone is given their place
Then Robin could go home
His men would not be in my wood,
And M.P.'s could safely roam.

Let us all sing,"Robin for King,"
"We all want Robin Hood."
"He took the money from the rich
To be spent for the common good.

Copyright © Katherine Bee | Year Posted 2012

Details | Quatrain |

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!~

Copyright © jeffry cohan | Year Posted 2013

Details | Quatrain |

The Vagrant

He stumbles on the subway
Initially I cringe
I'm put off by the way he smells
From alcoholic binge

He mumbles incoherent
I start to feel ashamed
I slide my hand in my front pocket
Fumbling for some change

But I don't think he's asking
And now I feel confused
Why suddenly he's deathly still
In contemplative muse

It's then I sensed my pity
That's founded in this thought
This vagrant's smell is rank with failure
Surely mine is not

But just as surely comes the notion 
That my thought is wrong
That maybe this man's always been
My equal all along

And in my mind I contemplate
Why I refused to see
My world won't be so bad a place
If love is given free

And so my judgment loosens as
I know not where he's been
A brotherhood in harmony
Absolves the need for sin

I owe this man his right to freedom
The same that he owes me
I spare myself the cost of pain
And simply let him be

And from that moment on I'd ponder
My inner vagrancy
But was it me who smiled at him
Or him who smiled at me?

Copyright © Yoni Dvorkis | Year Posted 2009

Details | Quatrain |

Fishing Days

It’s 5 am, we sneak out of the house
My brother and I, as quiet as a mouse
To his red bike, where I sit on the cross bar
Trusting my brother, we won’t go too far.

Put the worm on the hook, wrap it round well
Or it will wiggle off, and the fish it will tell
Watch the float as it bobs, and pull it in gent-ly
That how my brother taught fishing to me.

Always sneaking out, fishing in the dark
Racing on his red bike, we thought it a lark.
He made me dig up the worms, for the fishing bait
But I wouldn’t squeal, no, that was never my fate

Holding both fishing rods, I hung on real tight
He promised he would teach me to use it just right. 
In the river we found we loved to fish best
Often paddling in water right up to our chest.

My brother, he stopped taking me fishing with him
I always caught the fish; he said it was a sin.
Then came the day girls were more interesting than fish
Our fishing days were over, it was never my wish.

So anyone with a rod that they will let me use
I’ll sit on your crossbar, or saddle if you choose
Teach me to fish and to cast it with skill
And I’ll get your worms up, I promise I will.

© ~GG~ 14/11/2012
Contest Entry:

Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2012

Details | Quatrain |

Wheels Rollin'

1 o'clock in the morning the alarm is loudly screamin'
I go wake up my brother who probably is still dreamin'
We jump in the car and the wheels start rollin'
Can't wait to pick up the papers and start strollin'

A smile planted on our face! The day is finally starting
The headlights shine bright! The animals are darting
Ah! Windows down breathing all the fresh air
My brother gathering papers with all of his care

Wheels steadily rollin down the road
Nothing is in sight, not even a toad!
Newspapers start soaring through the air!
Do I want this to end? No! I wouldn't dare

Starting to run out of papers as the sun is rising
Listening to the birds chirping is quite energizing!
I look over towards my brother to see if he is still awake 
Bless his heart! He has fallen to sleep, he really needed a break!

I throw the last paper and I began to yawn
The paper lands perfectly on that last lawn
Wheels rollin' as we head back to the beginning
Should this much fun be considered sinning?

Copyright © Becca Kock | Year Posted 2014

Details | Quatrain |

Then Fate Took It's Turn

My hero to me, was just a simple man
He was ill throughout his life, but he raised two sons
Two jobs he held down until he couldn't anymore
Then fate took it's turn, and turned his heart sore

First was the youngest, on a broken bottle he fell
His artery slashed, was the start of his hell
I recovered from my trauma, nearly losing my life
But my accident increased, his ill health into strife

Over the next two years he was hospitalised
His sons fostered out, in fatherless cries
To children's homes they went, from pillar to post
Yearning for the person, who loved them the most

He gradually recovered, we became a family again
Once again fate took it's turn, returning life's pain
On a Monday night back in nineteen sixty nine
What every parent dreads, returned him to ill health decline

His two boys excited, joining the local Boy's Brigade
Running as fast as they could, for time to be made
The older was faster, he ran well ahead
The younger lagging behind, his little legs so delayed

On turning the corner, all I could see
Was my older brother, running well ahead of me
Without looking left or right, onto the street he ran
A split second later, he was hit by a van

My life entered slow motion, whilst I witnessed it all
To see your brother knocked down, a sibling to fall
He was caught under the van and dragged down the street
At seven years old, too terrified to greet

Over the next six years, his heath gradually became worse
He was more in hospital, in illness immersed
That's why he is my hero, to my lost brother and me
He's the kind of man that I've turned out to be

He had no quality of life, but what he gave meant more
The love for his two boys all through his life's sores
Holding down two jobs through illness and strife
Admirable, that's just a word, he gave me my life

My entry for Crystal Wilkins contest 'My Hero'

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2010

Details | Quatrain |

Sister Wife And Uncle Brother

Sister wife and Uncle brother,
didn't really like each other,
so they left it up to me,
which one I liked the best you see.

Sister wife, now she could cook,
not too bad with line and hook,
but Uncle brother had good traits,
why he could name all 40 states!

Both of them were good in bed,
least that's what Cousin mommy said,
but Sister wife she had one ace,
and that there was her purty face.

Her eyes are green, and blue and brown,
one of them looks off toward town,
and she has no hair beneath,
her lovely, crooked yellow teeth.

Uncle brother, he's my friend,
I'll love him to the very end,
but he stops to scratch his britches,
'cause he says it always itches.

It is so embarrassing,
to watch him scratching at that thing,
but what am I supposed to do,
when Sister wife helps scratch it too?

Sister wife and Uncle brother,
suddenly they like each other!
I guess it's just a lucky me,
that has a great big family!

Copyright © Curt Mongold | Year Posted 2008

Details | Quatrain |

Christmas And Me

A smile from a friend cheered my spirit, 
And then we chatted about the season; 
Then another smile caught me with it, 
He must’ve smiled for a good reason. 

He gave an invitation into his office, 
And although he was much older, 
We had similar hobbies and a vice, 
Snooker, and I had a roaring whir.  

He was the only atheist at the school, 
Apart from one another, far away, 
So I appreciated his view of yule, 
And at Christmas passed by his way. 

And at Uni I asked the friends I liked, 
Into my room for a chat and a coffee, 
When we’d reminisce past Xmas’s liked, 
And disclose our presents for the tree. 

James used to read the xmas story, 
To me from the bible, chronologically, 
I mean, first Matthew, then Luke’s glory, 
Then Matthew again, then Luke to see. 

‘Cos mum would make us read the bible,  
Together at Christmas time, irksomely, 
So we used our minds to suss the fable, 
And read it sanely and intelligently. 

James never let on about my question, 
Of the consistency of the four gospels, 
Since I was too young for that objection, 
Which analysis and thought dispels.

So I’m not confused at the nativity, 
Or numbed by the repeated interlude, 
Given each year with naive brevity,
About a working man’s tale, crude. 

So I love my friends at Christmas time, 
Have discourse and exchange opinions, 
About what’s happening and what crime, 
Is topical, we have communications.  

Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Quatrain |

Four Walls

These four walls mean freedom, 
From the rain, suffrage and the stains, 
Liberty from oppression and religion, 
To make other songs and trains. 

No austere twangs or cold voice, 
No dais glutes or traditional figure;
My structure has form and choice, 
In my bedroom, my configure. 

Free will is in-built and innate, 
No-one can deprive you of it, 
That i exist with actions which state, 
However small, gives me interdict. 

My arms act, and my legs move too, 
And my opinions can act to prohibit, 
Sadness in someone’s eyes in lieu, 
Or capitalism’s theft and unfair sit. 

I was wrought by conversations, 
With my brother inside four walls, 
And there can be no revisions, 
Or bargaining situation stalls. 

You can take back deeds by words, 
But words can’t be retracted,
And even though they can be swords, 
They can still be propitiated. 

What was said in that room was said, 
Truth bloomed as a daffodil shines, 
So if your culture’s just wrong, red, 
You have your four wall enshrines. 

Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2016

Details | Quatrain |

A Creepy Feeling

Have you ever been hiking Out in the woods When this creepy feeling Scares you real good? Afraid to look round Don't know what's behind Oh don't be so silly! Everything's fine! The sound of a twig Snapping in two Your heart starts pounding You shake in your shoes A flicker of light Through the towering pines Saw something move Was it just in my mind? It happens again So I whirl myself 'round There right before me My brother the clown Laughing and chuckling Under the pines This badass prankster Kid brother of mine He teases me still Bout the look on my face After all these years He still can't erase One day my turn For revenge will arrive And brother oh brother I hope he survives! © Jack Ellison 2012

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2012

Details | Quatrain |

Caught in the crossfire

Turmoil looms over private skies
Thick with fog firmly affixed to a bedroom ceiling
Though squinting escapes clarity's eyes 
Of love and hate in the brotherly cloud of feelings

Of flesh and blood consumed with rage
Over jealous tirades turned warriors gun
As woeful stains turn the scrapbook page
On a mothers memories of her sons

Must steps so steep decline to this
For boys to prove they're men
To stand a savior when comes a crisis
Yet left but a splinter his heart he'll rend

One brute one tongue thrice will leave
A mothers love the referee
Her tug-rope heart torn from anxiety
Caught in the crossfire of sibling rivalry

A crystal tear center stage
On the battleground that began with play
So it falls till you reach that age
When you learn the wisdom of walking away

Copyright © Sarai Virden | Year Posted 2014

Details | Quatrain |


On a cold slick morning Snow and ice veils the ground The pager is going off “An officer is down!” As I drive my patrol car Flashing red and blue lights The siren is wailing Piercing the night The radio was silent Then my heart started to yelp When I heard his voice Begging for help He’s been struck by a semi Trying to close a road All I can do, is pray As I keep driving in code As I get to the scene His unit looks bad Please LORD be with him Stay strong…Chad Thoughts cross my mind As the drama uncovers He’s going to be okay Thanks for not taking MY BROTHER __________________________ A TRUE ACCOUNT

Copyright © Tyler Davis | Year Posted 2010

Details | Quatrain |

letter to my brother

a letter to my brother
of whom I hold dear
he's accross the ocean
so far from here

he fights in a war
of which is not his own
many stand beside him
he is not alone

I pray he makes it home
to his family and friends
I pray the war ends
and U.S. and iraq make amends

I miss my brother like no other
but i am proud of where he stands
his endurance to take the pain
his courage to unite foreign hands

brother I'll be here when you get home
I'll be the first to thank you for all you've done
for I am proud to be your brother
you stand and fight when all others would run

you have a strong heart, mind, and soul
so i know the devil wont try to take any brother of mine
I know you will all come home safe
I know everything will be just fine

but there are some things I think you should know
some things I have probably  said before
but I dont think it will hurt
to tell you once more

I love you for who you are and for what you do
...I miss my brother and best friend
but no matter what happens
I promise i'll see you again in the end

to my brother and his brothers in arms- be safe.

Copyright © mike patrick | Year Posted 2010

Details | Quatrain |

Bad Kids

Little Joyce Ann and her friend Glenn
decided to play a trick one day
They took a rope and each grabbed an end,
then laid it across the alleyway

They hid in the bushes on each side
and waited for just the right time
One on the left and one on the right 
waiting patiently for him to come by

Then came Little Johnny on his bike,
riding without a care
Right on time they snatched the rope tight
and flipped Little Johnny up in the air

Copyright © Nikki Reynolds | Year Posted 2016

Details | Quatrain |

My Brother

  My  Brother

 When older daughter was established abroad,
 Younger one left for higher studies.
 Worst critical hindrances blocked my road.
 My friend’s brother stood beside.
 He protected me acting as a strong shield
 behaving like my own brother on devotion.
  Both daughters were far away from my field.
  He turned my sibling snatching full affection.

 Owning theater-group he was an amateur actor.
 Local auditorium was booked for whole week show.
 He valued my comments as important factor.
 I had season ticket for all the shows to follow.

 On the last evening I reached the auditorium.
 It was completely closed without any trace of light.
 I was not informed of sudden change of forum.
 Gate -Keeper declared’ He passed away late night.’

 It seemed to me I could collapse and almost to faint.
 Last evening, I watched his cheerful comedy.
 Five minutes- walk from my house was his apartment.
 None informed me about the terrible tragedy.

 I rushed to meet his ninety years old Mom
 He was the youngest and most lovable son.
 Last night he showed heart attack syndrome.
 Doctor failed, nothing could be done.

 Ten years old son and young wife were left behind.
 Angel appeared when I was extremely distressed.
 Now he stays alive in my mind only to remind
‘ Half colors of my life had been totally erased.’ 

         An Expression of Love contest by Frank Herrera

Copyright © Anisha Dutta | Year Posted 2016

Details | Quatrain |

Big Brother Is Watching

Haven't got time for those cynical people They're never gonna drag me down Life's too short for whining and complaining In their own negativity they drown For twenty-four seven it's non-stop paranoia Can't imagine living that way On the sunniest day their sun doesn't shine I rather spend time making hay Suspecting the government's watching us Taping us each time we pee Had no idea things had gotten that serious Why such interest in little old me Well I'm just gonna go on my merry old way More important things on my mind Like feeding Dufus and my persian cat Lily A good way to stay sane I find Haven't got time for those cynical people There's exciting stuff to explore This friendly old planet is beckoning me So I'm off to open more doors © Jack Ellison 2013

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2013

Details | Quatrain |

Nickel Children

Poem about Sudbury, Ontario, Canada

All the nickel children
are playing on the rocks.
Girls exchanging numbers
and boys exchanging knocks.

Some are picking blueberries.
Some play in the moss.
Some are throwing grass bombs
as far as they can toss.

All the nickel children
are playing on the rocks.
All around a nickel
we made so that it shocks.

Copyright © Trevor McLeod | Year Posted 2014

Details | Quatrain |

Cyber Sister And Brother

Started writing poetry then joined Poetry Soup When submitting a poem I’m really cock a hoop Have a cyber brother I did meet on line Think he's quite amazing his poetry's divine He said one day we were separated at birth His comment amused me and filled me with mirth Soon was confirmed we certainly were twins Both write silly poetry and both have hairy chins My cyber sister Jan started my big old heart a-ticking Since entering my life it's sure been a-clicking Wake up each morning can't wait for sister Jan Even check my inbox before going to the can She never disappoints though we're an ocean apart Start's my motor racing, got a hold of my heart Haven't figured out why I deserve such a friend Separated at birth we'll be friends to the end Noticed on some comments people call him ‘Kenny’ He’d love to sing with Dolly – I guess he’s one of many Jack and Dolly’s greatest hits I see it in my mind But Cathie said no, I guess she’s being real kind From Jack’s picture, think he’s more like a Santa We get on great as bro and sis with much silly banter I’m so very fortunate to find my cyber brother If I had to choose one I couldn’t wish for another It's a well known fact, Brits lack a sense of humour Sister Jan sure puts a kibosh on that silly rumour She makes me cackle and wet my pantaloons Sometimes I snort like a silly old buffoon At my ripe old age of fifty-eight plus twenty Things don't work well, I have heartburn a plenty But the heartburn I have is caused by my love For dear sister Jan's given my heart a big shove Collaboration between J Allison and J Ellison © Jack Ellison 2014

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2014

Details | Quatrain |


from antiquity of the Peruvian Inca mountains
'til today's unsheathed bladed Java buttons clicking
the numbers add up to incessant discounting counting
to sacrifice our own graven image sown sickening

if she floats - she's a witch and frankly must die
if she sinks, well, obviously she's sufficiently pious
when down on the bottom, we can't hear her cries
of sacrifice, still, very little can get by us

filed and defiled is all the better all the while
as the former digits click off of our palms
fingers and toes, complete legs fall away, as do 
whole heads mounting kill count without qualms

virgin girls, citizen children, soldiers of play
their sacrifice is for civilization after all
us, uh, i mean the gods, won't have it any other way
they must have their place on our wailing wall

the altar so sacred, so blood red royal
C-4 strapped around plain white-robed torso
from handlers who assure they have the will of God
sending heavenward, pink clouded supplication - more so

for the sacrifice of the body than of the soul
robed theocratic surgeons who cut off our noses
in a perceived attempt to maintain their control
of those around them that might be opposed to

notions that they need not explain themselves,
or that God demands carnage for reasons unknown,
that their actions should beget peace in our time
that they shan't pick up, to cast, the first stone

that we all could be better humans I suppose
if we sacrificed our pride, instead of our fear
if we worked hard not to be taken for a ride by
admitting things aren't what they might first appear

dunno, but if there is a god for us to pray to
then maybe we could pray to not be preyed upon
and sacrificed for that bloody old world view
time to cook up some whorled peas - and move on

© Goode Guy 2012-08-02

Copyright © Goode Guy | Year Posted 2012

Details | Quatrain |

Dark Of Night

Dark of Night
In the dark of night I awaken
the nightmare comes again
In a cold sweat, head and heart racing
I know it will stop, but when?

my Brother! I scream out loud
oh God, he needs to be healed
found him with a gun in his mouth
suicide-it’s the real deal

again it must be the family curse
as for brothers-he’s number four
with three dead of booze and pills I didn’t think It could get worse
 like their dying is settling some score

he didn’t show any fear
even when the gun went CLICK!
he was calm and his intention was clear
like in a scene from some movie clip

In an instant he would have be gone
and blood splattered all over the place
 I’d be tormented by what went wrong
each time I remembered his face

locked away in a place he can’t get away from
he’s struggling, he says he’s had enough
battered and weathered by a violent storm
wading through it is going to be tough

at 55, he almost died by his hand
God spared my brothers’ life
but he’s still a broken, suffering man
who cries in the dark of night

Copyright © Christine Costello | Year Posted 2014

Details | Quatrain |

'Blood' Brothers or 'Bloody' Brothers under the Banner - Parts 1 and 2

“A dying people tolerates the present, rejects the future, and finds its satisfactions in past greatness and half-remembered glory.”

“A strong man makes a weak people. A strong people don’t need a strong man.”
John Steinbeck (Nobel Prize 1962)

        for the DEAD in the Struggle for EELAM


Ages from now, let it not be said:
  Blood spills only as brother dies.
Ages from now, let not peace be bled
  By chances lost now in sighs.

To the high nor low slams the door
  To him who seeks the Law and more.
Take, take the Golden Mean way!
  Truth your only key, don’t ever slay!

Where the elephant roams un-tethered free,
  The familiar myna will echo carefree
Words of yore buried in sacred memory:
  One breed, one species carved in ivory.

No greater fear simmers in the lowlands
  Than the stealth of brother against brother;
No higher disdain festers in the highlands
  Than vengeance lying in wait for the other.


Think not of the promises made and broken,
  Think only of the time lost and forsaken.
Every hour, every day, a life blown or taken;
  Every month, every year, a people woe-driven.

To the high nor low slams the door
  To him who seeks the Law and more.
Take, take the Golden Mean path!
  Truth your only key, never the lathe!

Think of Prince Paranirupasingham who to succour
  King Jayavira’s queen, to Kandy, fled his throne:
Abandoned to court intrigue, schemes and wiles encore:
  A princely retreat, a physician’s penance alone.

First governor, then regent, the last Jaffna King Cankili
  Learnt best the conqueror's cruel art of slaughter;
Then, fired by the local converts' iniquitous treachery,
  Revolted too late, his head the butt of lofty laughter.

Think of C.P. Ramanathan the island’s cause to defend
  Sailed over choppy seas past wild submarines
To raise the nation’s flag in the court of the Empire’s den,
  His homeward chariot drawn by one peoples’ teens.

(...continued in Parts 3 to 5)

Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2012

Details | Quatrain |

Widened Eyes White

Perspiration beads my beleaguered brow,
running in rivulets down cheeks aglow.
A hazy miasma the air does plough,
electric energy begins to flow. 

Distant rumblings, crowned palm trees start to shake,
gorgeously lush green fronds partner their dance.
Waves rippling the ground harbinger earthquake,
eerie silence, then lightning’s jagged lance.

An earth shrieking crescendo tears dark skies,
a tsunami of sound deafens each mind.
Birds of Paradise scream with fearful cries,
as two tectonic plates viciously grind.

Silence resumes, a young friend lifts his head,
widened eyes white within a dusky den.
I speak, “See brother we live we’re not dead,
dispela wantok bilong Jackson Ken.” 

I lived in Papua New Guinea for four years in the 1990’s.
The earthquake was 6.5 on the Richter scale, epicentre within 50 mile away.
Jackson Ken is a young Papua New Guinean man whom I befriended and who ended 
up working for the company that I was managing. 
The last line is Pidgin English, widely spoken in P.N.G., its root bases are German, 
Dutch and ‘modified’ English. It basically means that this fellow/man (dispela, which 
is me) is a cousin brother (wantok, usually associated with another member of your 
own village) belonging (bilong) to Jackson Ken.

Copyright © Chris Cameron | Year Posted 2010

Details | Quatrain |

Youngest Brother

Godly birth rights I have to earn
Standing in line to wait my turn
Older brothers will teach me things
That will one day make me a king

Copyright © Michael Wyms | Year Posted 2012

Details | Quatrain |

Dinner Time Afterthought

After I’d been made to eat dessert, 
You’d take me into your bedroom, 
Recall a memory of us and assert, 
With balloons no despair or gloom.


Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Quatrain |

Swords Speak

Swords speak brittle metal thrusts
 singing a song in the wind by touch and lost trust;
blade upon blade clanging the swish of empty points
 deeply cut for glory and honor now disjoint.

The sword speaks forged in metallic shields
  shaped and tapered to steeled pricking yields;
sword smith tamahagane  billets delivery
  quenched in fire and tempered  chivalry.

Swords speak sharp yet to the death
  the very depths and blood letting breaths
for love, for country,  brothers of courage, fear and fires
  fighting for Gods and goddesses, rulers and empires.

It is the brothers, fathers and sons slipping out of place
  bound to stand bold and listen to the forgotten embrace
of time when men were free to let the swords speak bold
 no longer so but may yet be as they grow gray and old.

Free people are all brothers
 at the very start
then in some discorded word
 find swords will resolve the hatred spark.

Deep the wounds  cut and slicing
  but words are no longer vocalized politely
only the sharpness and the glint 
  of the sword that hears and feels its bloodstained tint.

"The tongue devises mischiefs
  like a sharp razor, working deceitfully." Psalm 52:2

Copyright © DM Babbit | Year Posted 2017

Details | Quatrain |

I Wish I Couldve Told You

I Wish I Could’ve Told You

I wish I could’ve told you, back then before you died,
‘Cos you so badly wanted to know about the reason,
For my good nature, kind heart and intelligence plied, 
The content of my belief about Jesus and his lesson. 

I had the guts to say, I think, just what I read and took,  
From the gospels wager to generate circumstances raw, 
From a disciple’s view of town life in old Nazareth’s nook, 
From how their readers would interpret the followers’ caw. 

But I only went so far, and didn’t explain your standing, 
To me as an atheist, you were so noble with communion: 
I didn’t say if I counted myself in the church for grounding; 
I never questioned your divisive separation of human union. 

I wasn’t able to be commended by school carers firm, 
With steal regarding the acceptance of siblings able;
I would never have been graced by others to confirm, 
My ramification of atheism’s way, historical and capable. 

So I never said the words to you James, hid and dried, 
That I don’t believe in god, the existence or the myth, 
But I know from my young days of those tears you cried, 
Because I felt your reverence for my own dear pith. 

Atheists are not valid in society, still not to this day, 
Feel snubbed by those who fear life’s bold dynamics, 
Find themselves abused by alligators of literary play, 
But who strive for righteousness and its rhythmics.

Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Quatrain |

Smile At Your Brother

We're all brothers and sisters In this great big world of ours Let's try living as one happy family Replacing guns with flowers Getting down to the bottom of it We all treasure the same old thing A quiet and comfortable living Inner peace that happiness brings Though we look at things quite differently That's what makes us all unique Each one is just searching for happiness But with an independent streak Our skin may have a different hue But when touched, it feels the same We always put one foot in front of the other We're all part of the same old game The answer to peace is really quite simple Respect for our fellow man We each can make a difference I say The solution is in our hands © Jack Ellison 2014

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2014