Best Quatrain Poems
That thing that we call poetry -
when asked where it began,
I’d say it started beautifully
before the dawn of man!
It glistened on the oceans
before man came to be.
It blossomed on the grassy cliffs
that met the first great sea.
It glittered in the moon and stars
and beamed on earth below
in meadows where bright flowers danced
and on the pristine snow.
It sparkled on the lakes and streams,
and when man came along,
he took sweet words that flowed to him
and turned them into song.
This was how it always was
before we knew of time.
The poet who begot us all
made it to be sublime.
A prisoner of poetry
thus I shall always be.
I love it rhymed and love it too
when its verse is free
Poetry has now evolved,
and as with many things,
there are many kinds. . . but I
still like it when it sings!
I often scribble in the sand
The words I find so hard to say
And hope the wind will come along
And blow them all your way.
----------------------------
Contest: Simply Beautiful
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Placing: 2nd (April 2015)
Contest: Five Lines or Less
Sponsor: Black Eyed Susan
Placing: 2nd (April 2014)
Published in:
PS: It’s Still Poetry Volume II ~ (1 Jan. 2022)
ISBN-13:? 979-8793344418
It hovers here, a moon opaque,
obscuring mountain trails I take.
No other living things appear.
A moon opaque. . . It hovers here.
I follow on along a ledge;
below a swirling river’s edge.
In front of me, the canyon’s yawn.
Along a ledge, I follow on.
I see no hue when fog congeals.
Oh, doom of one who no more feels!
The moon has fled, as so have you.
When fog congeals, I see no hue.
Now all is dim; it matters not.
My dear one’s heart I have not got.
No use in living without him.
It matters not. Now all is dim.
At peace I’ll be if I should fall
to murky water from this wall.
Oh, yawning canyon, swallow me.
If I should fall, at peace I’ll be.
Never ever shame a woman
for the fire in her soul
still your fear that you're unable
to give that which makes her whole
Never ever shame a woman
for the fierceness of her love
when she wants to subjugate you
she's an eagle, not your dove
Never ever shame a woman
for her raging burning need
to take in that which inflames her
bond and let her soul be freed
Never ever shame a woman
for insatiable desire
use your all to give and please her
be a man and stoke her fire
Never ever shame a woman
for her sensual appetite
primal cravings that possess her
give her reign at day or night
Never ever shame a woman
when she moans in ecstasy
do not force her into silence
let her voice her fantasy
Never ever shame a woman
for her wanton sultry way
thank the heavens that she's able
to bring passion into play
Never ever shame a woman
for the pleasure that she craves
be a man and strive to sate her
for this act her honor saves
Eileen Manassian
The single white rose captured the old gardener's attention,
He lovingly cared for it, like it was his own grand-daughter,
The roses were just like family and friends in his eyes,
He gave them bright sunshine, and plenty of fresh water.
He had always planted roses in reds, yellows, and pinks,
Yet, it was the one white rose that he favored most,
The old gardener admired it's innocence and elegance,
A quality that the other roses just could not boast.
This precious rose was pure white, like new fallen snow,
Which only a cold, late November day could bring,
It's delicate petals were soft to the finger's touch,
Similar to that of a feather, in an angel's wing.
The old gardener was perplexed and astonished,
Only this rose bloomed through spring, summer, and fall,
Each of the other roses had withered months ago,
The frost and cold weather did not affect it at all.
With a smile, the old gardener took one last look,
Unknowingly, death would soon come without warning,
After he had settled down for a nap in his chair,
He drew his last breath, later on that morning.
His funeral was held on the very next day,
Loving words were spoken, as he was laid to rest,
His grand-daughter approached, with tears in her eyes,
As she placed the single white rose upon his chest.
The cemetery was a quiet and peaceful place,
Where family and friends gathered to remember,
A gentle snow began to fall upon the casket lid,
Brightening the gloom on this final day of November.
The old gardener's soul departed from this earth,
Lead away by a choir of angels, on delicate wings,
Then on through the pearly gates of heaven's garden,
Where the white rose still blooms, in eternal springs.
November 25th, 2013
You lay upon the warm wet earth
now ripped from limb to limb.
Your present shape denies the girth
of your form in its prime.
A life cut short and denied its worth
about you ivy climbs,
my love for you evokes the hearth
a bonfire which knows no end time.
Now fallen, slain, cast for rebirth,
the core of you sublime,
an earthly stump, at forest skirt
reminds me of grand times.
Soon, I too will go beyond the earth
recalling passion's prime,
through the veil of life unearthed
my heart returned to thine.
*ballad
Friends, do not forget: there is still beauty
When the darkness comes and shadows fall,
Music, Art, and nature, gentle comforts
When despair is deep and hope is small.
Friends, do not forget: there is still laughter
When we’ve finished choking down our tears,
When the world seems full of desolation
And we grit our teeth and face our fears.
Friends, do not forget: they have not taken
Kindness, love and friendship from our hearts.
If we can resist the hate and anger,
Maybe we can be where healing starts.
We will rise again tomorrow morning,
Sunshine follows even darkest night.
Think of this when you feel close to breaking
As we walk the long road to the light.
November 2016
There are so many doors
Which ones should I choose
Green, yellow, brown, purple
and many different blues
Some of them are rustic
Others modern and clean
Some lead to the future
others back where I've been
Some doors open easily
while quite a few are locked
There are some left open
and others that are blocked
A few so enticing
promise pleasure within
They are slightly hidden
so few will see me sin
I look through some keyholes
wondering if I'll be safe
I see rooms of plenty
and tables draped in lace
The doors that are daunting
they fill me with such dread
for I know there's sadness
in the land of the dead
Many doors are happy
Friends and loved ones are there
those doors are the best ones
being with people who care
Behind some there's music
Pleasured time we can share
Moments of pure magic
those times are far to rare
Doors leading to adventure
Made me glad I took the chance
The sheer exhilaration
that caused my spirit to dance
Some doorways disguised as books
Yes they caused my mind to grow
They pointed to other doors
so I knew which way to go
The doors that I left closed
In the end I don't regret
They could have brought me ruin
or led my soul into debt
Of all the doors I'll walk through
The final one is the best
For there my Saviour waits
therefore, I know I am blessed
Colors daubed for seasons' scenes
I sift through life for what it means
In spite of chaos, shades and flings
It comes down to the simple things
The mountain tops, the dark abyss'
Have ground my egos down to this
Of all the chance and spheres I'm of
Life's worth and essence is ... but LOVE
Indeed, I've lived big moments, too
The raptures and sweet rendezvous
Moving mountains - burning skies
Bright lilting lashes, soft lullabies
Shedding poisons like second skin
Too few dreams to wear them in
I dared the devil, danced with death
Swore for mercy's whisp'ring breath
So just when ends seemed all to be
This extra chance was proffered me
Don't take for granted or yet waste
That vigor gained from rigors faced
Don't tend concerns to end or start
It's what's between that fills a heart
True meaning - love's enduring kiss
A life's no less or more ... than THIS.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Strand Select, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 7th Place ~ in the "Favourite Poem From May, 2019" Poetry Contest, Julia Ward, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "The Meaning of Life" Poetry Contest, Chantelle Anne Cooke, Judge & Sponsor.
Write here, right now. Write now, right here!
Capture the moment while it's near
and seize the day. You now know how:
write now, right here; write here, right now.
The rhyme is tight. The time is right
to write some rhyme this time of night –
a rite of writing, lacking light.
The time is right, the rhyme is tight.
Another draft you craft in ink.
No lucre comes from thoughts you think;
though relatives may think you daft,
you craft in ink another draft.
All you can see you then can say.
At dawn, as dark dissolves to day,
with light, you write. In poetry,
you then can say all you can see.
The play’s the thing, you need to play
with words. Then, playfully they say
what makes the heart smile, cry, or sing;
you need to play, the play’s the thing.
Now play on words and let them dance
in rhymes and rhythms of romance;
teach them to sing like carefree birds
and let them dance. Now play on, words!
[swap quatrain]
written 18 July 2021
Idle my tongue remained, my Lord,
till the moment it learned how to pronounce Your name
But from
that moment onward, it never ceased singing your song
which has set my soul aflame!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
11 June 2022
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* I am happy to share with my dearest friends the honor of POTD. I thank those who visit and comment plus the officials of PoetrySoup who bestowed that honor. Be blessed!
-
Walking through the land of shadows
wearing my yellow shoes
With each and every step
I created color and hues
The shadows started retreating
As color permeated the ground
Out of the shadowy darkness
I heard a horrible sound
"You do not belong here
I command you to go away
You are in the land of darkness
You must listen to what I say"
I kept on moving forward
Not sure what I would see
Where was the voice coming from
I looked behind a tree
Light and color expanded
Traveling up straight to the skies
The entity that so scared me
Was right before my eyes
As my shoes banished the darkness
The entity was reduced to tears
Without the aid of shadows
He couldn't tap into my fears
I then reached down to touch him
I told him that he was safe
He looked up with confusion
As I gazed upon his face
"Are you here to destroy me?
Have you come to take me away?
There is a purpose for shadows
They create hope for brighter days."
I heard what he was saying
The shadows have their reason
In order for spring to come
We need a darker season
So I removed my yellow shoes
Watched as the shadows returned
It was time for me to go home
With this strange lesson I had learned
One windy night upon my breast
I felt the kiss of winter’s breath
A breath that blew me into flight
Upon my breast one windy night
A leaf once green now bathed in red
With coat of spring and summer shed
True color bursting at the seams
Now bathed in red a leaf once green
Upon your breath I learned to fly
A flame of glory in the sky
Not knowing that the price was death
I learned to fly upon your breath
But all too soon I came and went
The seasons of my life were spent
A bud in spring that came to bloom
I came and went - but all too soon
Returning home again after many years away
I find our secret path along the Fundy Bay
That happy place where long ago we played
Where all our dreams and promises were made
Once again I lie down where daises grow
In fields above the banks where salt winds blow
Golden memories rush through my hungry soul
Returning pieces of my heart lost long ago
I close my eyes recalling all the things we did
Just the way they were when we were kids
And I know without a doubt that you are here
As your love for me falls from my eyes in tears
We lie like angels looking up at clouds of cream
As we watch them take the shape of all our dreams
We laugh so hard at all the things we do and say
To us life is just a stage a place to laugh and play
We find the trail that takes us down to meet the ocean
Where we swim in waves of jubilant emotions
Then we walk along the shore together hand-in-hand
And we write our love forever in the sand
The words that I write
flow from a deep place
The lines I express
mirror the lines on my face
Some lines are joyful
other lines took their toll
Yes the lines on my face
on the page reveal my soul
I love my laugh lines
they are my fast friends
I can be a bit cheeky
or sarcastic, it depends
My love lines are softer
around my eyes they reveal
To the page when transferred
they let you know how I feel
Some lines are more tragic
they are my battle scars
I share lines on pages
instead of drinking in bars
Joyful, sad or happy
each line expressed is true
My expression as a writer
I choose to gift to you
Yes, all the lines scribed
mirror the lines on my face
They help me to navigate
through my mind space
Lines that reveal wisdom
are not pretty that’s true
They should be heeded
please listen to them too
Then choose to reveal
some lines of your own
I’ll see the lines on your face
and know that I’m not alone!