Best Quintain Poems
On her terrace where she once had viewed a crimson field,
she stands recalling heroes who were battling their foe.
She still can feel the terror! How her poor heart reeled
thinking of her lover fighting on the field below,
with others on that plain bathed red as the sun dipped low.
The brave men lie in caskets which now are concealed
beneath a plain that ran with blood, where bright irises now grow.
She thinks of her own strong brave man, draped in white and sealed
forever in a casket too. He was her Romeo.
The sorrow flooding her she had never thought to know.
She looks down from her terrace with a heart that won’t be healed.
The mighty dead now lie in grassy fields. . . and lo!
Around the graves are swords, which are green blades revealed
with *purple flags that softly wave as a May wind starts to blow
and she is bathed in red again, there in the sun’s last glow.
* Purple flags refer to the name of the purple iris that resembles a flag
Submitted for Mark Toney's '2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 25' Contest
She wept as they buried her one true love.
Each day thereafter she brought him a rose,
the flower she knew he was fondest of.
Her grief unbearable, beyond repose.
What pain and suffering his death bestows.
Nothing prevented her daily visit.
She didn't want him to feel all alone.
When beside him her face was exquisite.
When weary she would sigh and then lay prone,
weeping for her love in soft languished moan.
There, in restless sleep, flames of love still burned
'til the twilight hour, when she felt a chill
as the gentle warmth of sunlight adjourned.
She heard a dove singing a mourning trill,
begetting heartache's tears to flow and spill.
November 3, 2022 ~ 2022 Marathon Mile 19 Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
Originally written on 23rd of July 2016
Three Stanzas of English Quintain, 10 syllables per line
with a rhyme scheme of a-b-a-b-b
While traveling ‘cross such harsh terrain
left parched and barren from the sun
and weeks without a cooling rain,
I saw a sight that left a stun
beside the road on this long run.
I stopped to have a closer look;
perhaps my vision had deceived
with image that my mind mistook
and merely something I perceived,
but I would never have believed.
Yet there a single flower bloomed
upon the dry and sun parched soil.
Impossible I had assumed
with harsh conditions to embroil;
to stay alive, how she must toil.
Her face shown fair in sun’s dry heat
magenta petals shining bright
appearing happy and upbeat
without a worry to incite,
and unaware of her dire plight.
I ponder how one could exist
in harsh conditions such that be
and thrive with little to assist,
yet ne’er for help to send a plea;
she seems to live her life carefree.
Perhaps we all should take a clue
from gentle flower’s look on life
ignoring hell we’re going through
with all its worry and its strife,
and all the bad with which it’s rife,
and focus on our gifts in life.
April 7, 2021
Poem of the Week - April 11, 2021
Dear Quintain, how beautiful you are,
allowing us to paint the spacious sea or sky,
landscapes, or nights’ celestial bodies beckoning from afar.
Even when my quill is running dry,
with you along, my thoughts are sure to fly!
For all I need to do
is let you slip inside, then nestle in my brain.
The pattern of rhyme required by you
is not too difficult; here I will remain
content to write with you, dear Quintain.
Your English form, so lovely, does not ask
that we adhere to meter even though
I want to dance your lines as I bask
in your sweet simple charms, and lo!
My quill has filled; my lines now start to flow!
I’ll keep on going for two stanzas more
because I wish to sing
your praises! My mind is like a shore
upon which you are tumbling, glistening!
A sea of inspiration you bring.
Continue on - through poets - bringing words
that paint our world, entreating all to see
God’s gifts or to enjoy the singing birds,
taste clear mountain springs, and smell the salty sea.
Continue, dear Quintain, enrapturing me.
Written 8/17/2015 , this is English Quintain, which has rhyme scheme of ababb and the lines do not have to be consistent in syllable count
Here's a fact, life is no bed of roses.
It has a habit of knocking us down.
Whatever injustice it imposes,
Welcome it! Don't let the world see you frown.
Still laugh at life as though it were a clown.
When life gets rough, you fully surrender
Faith in God, and he'll guide you to the light;
Bare witness to such majestic splendor.
With prayer, your spark of strength shall ignite;
There's no adversity too tough to fight.
When life gets rough, you float along with hope
As the ashen skies continue to clear.
Through all the pain, you still find ways to cope,
And come what may, you'll always persevere.
In times of need, the Lord is always near.
Today I really feel it; I feel it in the air,
and even though I still can feel sun’s glow,
the breeze is blowing cooler through my hair.
Mr. Sun, your throne seems to be getting low
up there in September’s blue so fair.
Oh, Autumn, you are here now. You are here!
Since the Equinox I’ve truly known.
Nature calls for you; I need no seer,
no fanfare or announcement. I’ve simply grown
accustomed to knowing when you are near!
October’s on the doorstep. I feel that too.
Geese in V’s will cross God’s heaven on the way
to warmer climes. A most wondrous view
will greet me when the mountains I’ve seen every day
flaunt garbs of brilliant hues! But why do I feel blue?
It never fails, this melancholy comes to me in fall
regardless of the beauty that I see.
Like my life, oh Autumn, you come not at a crawl,
but quickening your pace, you come each year to me.
Just one time, Autumn, let the winter wait . . . please stall.
Oct. 2, 2021 for Emile Pinet's
the 'Quintain (Sicilian)' Poetry Contest
For Your Favorite Poem Of 2021 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Look up! Snowflakes appear in streetlights
Hear children cheer as snow days are announced
Watch the powder fly during snowball fights
Listen as faith through joyful hymns is pronounced
Join snow angel brigades while on wintery landscapes we pounce
Walk briskly with me through the winter woods
Where boughs of evergreens droop with white frost
Don your boots and pull up your jacket hood
Let’s slide on the lake until our energies exhaust
Then trudge back home as snow drifts are crossed
Place damp clothes on a chair by the fireside
Pour a glass of wine and snuggle with me
Whispers of passion, ‘neath a blanket confide
Lights from the fir tree fill our hearts with glee
As you offer me your ring on bended knee
Frost crisped, the lawn remained
beneath the frozen dew.
Water dripped to ice as gutters drained.
The cardinal bids the day adieu;
the winter storm has left a gelid view.
She arrives with a mystic charm
Gliding in on silver moon
With a peaceful vibe that oft disarms
As words of praise in yuletide tunes
Echo where the stars are strewn
“We’ll forget the sun in his jealous sky as we lie in fields of gold.” - from Sting’s Fields of Gold
One day in a museum, my mind on an old flame,
I found myself mysteriously being led
to a field of gold depicted within a gilded frame.
In the picture, pretty flowers beckoned, a brilliant red.
In front of it I stopped, thinking of my love and things we’d left unsaid.
I blinked, and in an instant, I felt sunlight
upon my face; then there escaped from me
a cry of surprise and sheer delight!
Finding myself engulfed by grassy sea,
with myriad poppies, I thought how could this be?
I twirled around. Yes, beneath my feet
was solid earth! Above was azure sky.
Spring was in the air, with fragrance sweet.
I was in the painting. I did not question why!
Oh, there was such beauty to make a poet sigh.
I thought about a song from days of old -
a song I used to hear on my car radio
about a man, who with his sweetheart, walked in fields of gold,
and I felt my bliss dissipating even though
I could still feel on my cheek the sun’s warm glow.
In the lovely flowered landscape, my time was nearly done.
It would not matter even if this were reality!
In fields of gold, I would lie with no one,
and no jealousy would blue sky have for me,
for even in my dreams, alone I’d be. . .
Written May 7, 2016 and inspired by
the "Within a Gilded Frame" Poetry Contest of Broken Wings
Recorded with voice in June 2016 for CT's Audio Poems (Spoken Words)
A young man leads his girlfriend to a tree
one sultry summer eve as night is looming.
the branches of the old oak form a canopy
under which he leans in for a kiss, assuming
his new love also feels their romance blooming.
The pretty girl is innocent and shy,
but from the boy’s sweet kiss she feels that he
might be her one true love; more kisses make a sigh
escape her lips. Her inhibitions flee,
and touching him arouses her curiosity.
Aglow, they feel a passion all-consuming,
undressing one another as fingers fly.
The curious moon, with incandescence blooming,
peeks down from a star-bedazzled sky.
Young love with moon above shall never die.
Written 10/17/12 for Francine Robert's
Romance me with English Quintains Poetry Contest
and now for A true love -poem #2 - Poetry Contest of poet destroyer A
If this is my last poem, a masterpiece it will not be,
nor a poem of sorrow written deep into the night.
No self-recriminations or guilt. That is not me.
By nature I’m a sonneteer. My poetry is light.
A song of happiness and gratitude I’ll write.
As imperfect as I always was and still am to this day,
I have a gentle spirit and am kind
like many others close to me, who I am glad to say
I did not have to look too hard to find -
good friends who understand my heart and mind.
Yes, good friends I’ve always had; they are my prize
for my simply being on this earth, for little do I do
to merit their affection. In my eyes,
they are roses; from random seeds they grew!
Some flourish yet today in my garden of friendship sweet and true.
Then there are my sisters, who from my mother’s womb
came to share a strange and wondrous childhood with me.
I’m lucky, for this fate did not spell doom.
Though woes would soon ensue from a blended family,
we found great pleasure in a lifestyle of simplicity.
Older now, with children, my sisters and I thrive.
The memories we made together, like a song,
linger, and I’m happy to be alive,
knowing that my children too belong
with me in spirit, for our bonds are strong.
Yes, friends and family, and so much more:
a husband who works hard and has been true,
the children of my children and the pets that I adore!
There are students who have touched my life; they’ve come and gone,
but how I hope that in their hearts a piece of me lives on.
If this is my last poem, I must conclude
with things I got to do! I got to play,
see movies, write my poems, eat good food,
and read of places that I got to visit far away!
Thank you, God, for everything, is all that's left to say.
Written Aug. 28, 2015 and now used June 26, 2016
for the Second Place Contest Contest of Laura Loo
REAPING AND RELISHING SAPODILLA PLUMS
Reaching out towards freshness all ripened,
Holding onto huge branches hovering high,
Not bothered about tan getting deepened,
I hand pluck lush naseberries straight from the sky;
Savouring sweetness with a satisfied sigh.
2nd August, 2017
These gold suffused August afternoons
The luxury of this lazy light
Sweetened beneath peach blossom moons
Wide dawn reclaims the narrow night
As the sun lifts on saffron balloons.
08/09/22
Just August contest
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
In dawn's aura, mountains glistened with snow.
Rooster's crowing proclaimed the break of day.
December's frosty winds began to blow
as clouds shadowed a sullen shade of gray,
and serpentine ripples flowed on the bay.
Dimmed were rays of light from the sallow sun
when for a while its beams had gone astray.
Gusts of wind on this Christmas Eve were spun,
blustering and blowing grim clouds away.
'Twas time to celebrate Jesus' birthday.
Christmas morning folks gathered to rejoice.
for the Saviour born to erase sin's stain.
Choirs sang like angels in one ardent voice,
hymns honoring the infant in refrain.
Over God's Kingdom, His Son shall ere reign.
On that Holy Night, when stars were shining,
swaddled in His mother's arms was a child.
The world no more lay in error pining*
for God and sinners would be reconciled
through the Christ child's life so tender and mild.**
December 13, 2022
A Christmas Special Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
*Lyrics from 'O Holy Night'
**Lyrics from 'Silent Night'