Long Quatrain Poems
Long Quatrain Poems. Below are the most popular long Quatrain by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Quatrain poems by poem length and keyword.
Morning has broken as it has done for many years
Day to day we continue without the fear of fears
Then out of the blue their comes thoughts from long ago
Prophecies of a past, that could halt us humans flow
Tablets scribed in gold, have been uncovered in Peru
For in them they tell of the future, surrounding me and you
We await with fervour in the media, the radio and the t.v.
As I try to get my head around it, and what it means to me
The day that they speak of, it's a little over a year
Do we just laugh if off, or do the sensible in us fear
As I drive through my city, towards this impending day
The street corners start to fill, does panic have it's say
Speakers start to recite, of this doom that welcomes we
I see suicides in escalation, jumpers in front off me
Families leave their homes, for they no not where to go
Panic buying surrounds me, anarchy appears to flow
We now reach December 2012, as we gain on the scribed day
Can it be all that was written, have the ancient had their say
My eyes catch the clock, midnight is awaiting it's strike
It'll be the twenty first of December, are the Mayan scribes right
The minutes pass the hour, everything appears to be normal
Maybe the writes are fables, to them simply formal
To pacify myself, will it be the radio or the t.v.
Sometimes one has to ask oneself, to simply look and see
Visions on the screen appear, many screens my eyes do view
Reports from many countries are brought to me and you
They show events of nature, more fierce than naturally so
Rainfall in arid areas, deserts in metres off snow
The Polar ice caps start cracking, exploding ice in crying break
Mudslides now carry cities, everything caught in their wake
Bangladesh now no longer exists, the Maldives have disappeared
The Mariana Trench now starts to rise, her ridges in rampant rear
A bulletin catches my ears, Yellowstone has started to erupt
Is this what the scribes have warned of, our planet being so abrupt
A rumbling I start to feel, where I stand I feel I move
I'm in tumble across my floor, in fear of their impending prove
My apartment on the only hill, allows through my window to view
A giant fissure slices through my city, for into it, buildings spew
The free ways now broken and torn, many cars in tumbledown
From here I hear the screaming voices, I'm deafened by their drown
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-20.php
Deep within the world so modern,
Lies a hidden road not trodden,
That states the obvious truth be told,
Printed in ink black and bold,
That lost in worlds of ecstasy,
Trapped in snares of misery,
That wars the rumors be told they sneered,
Now not alive a bray a’bird,
Gone are thoughts that thinketh straight,
And now to turn back it's O’so late,
Truth is gone, and truths be’come,
Lies run wild thru’ Urb and slum,
Prove me wrong this not happen,
But wrong they are yet shamelessly clappin’,
All so jolly good way they are,
From the Truth they stay afar,
Given in to the delusions be,
These strange worlds move so surreally,
That eats place a first a crown,
And Wannabe’s laze and fuss arroun’,
Talks about this and that and all that’s good,
Ney earn their money and cry for food,
When not given they stage a protest,
What they think is unjust!
But truth be told they sloth all day,
Sit around and laze away,
Their youths burnt dry, so willfully done,
When the brave reproaches them, they rant and away they run,
Sad to see, this is our reality,
Where all but’s none have time for thee,
Where life’s no respect and death appraise,
No wonder! They fit in with Artemis’ ways,
Tis’ are days of Noah’s time,
Filled with false hate and unwanted slime,
The hot is cold and the cold is hot,
They should be left to these ways to rot,
For no amount of reproach or preaching change they,
They want to remain that way,
So, let it be and move on in life,
Find a place to settle, build a home with your wife,
But when they come, O’Brave men of life,
To scandal your family and toss the knife,
Don’t debate them in anyway by words,
Take up your weapon and massacre they featherless birds,
Let them cry foul, whine and weep,
For they are into misery so deep, even the good that they do is evil so steep,
Let it be, let it be and protect your families,
From these so called ‘Justice Warriors of all the Sissies.’
What is well, when men of old just a teen,
Went to war for freedom’s freeing,
No scandal was found heard, no loose talk in the winds,
They wives waited for them, rather than sinned!
But if now one were off, to fight for justice cause,
In their absence does much spend, party’s all that splend.
Not all I say that way be done but are true, true indeed to none,
Tis’ a tragedy with my pen and ink I write and run.
It’s Christmas Eve; there’s someone at my door!
But with the horrid sound outside my window,
I wonder who is knocking and what for!
Midst violent wind I see a surreal snow!
Within it’s haze, there is a grotesque sight -
gigantic and so out of place, I quiver!
A snowman leers at me, and frigid fright
goes through my bloodstream like an icy river.
Again, the knock! Whoever could it be?
This morning I wished Christmas would be gone!
A premonition now is telling me
that nothing good is out there on my lawn.
My friend had warned me that I really ought
not curse this season. Oh, what have I done?
More pounding at the door, but I cannot
go near that door; there’s nowhere I can run.
I look out at the snowman. He is more
enormous than a tree, and now I hear
a sound like laughing elves outside the door.
I stand as thought I’m paralyzed by fear.
That movie! There’s a movie I heard of.
A boy hates Christmas, wishing it away.
A storm brews suddenly in skies above,
heralding a deadly Christmas day.
A Shadow Santa comes. This wicked soul
is known as Krampus, and he brings with him
an evil that can swallow people whole.
If I have summoned him, my fate is grim.
The storm keeps wailing; now there’s a new sound
of scratching on my roof, but there is no
more knocking. Oh, who’s walking all around
my roof? I run out to the blinding snow!
At first I can see nothing till my eyes
are drawn to where a great big bag was put
beside my door. What’s this? More Santa lies?
Though filled with dread, I push it with my foot.
There jumps out from the bag the strangest thing -
A tiny man; he’s made of gingerbread!
He laughs maliciously, and starts to sing,
“Before the night is over, you’ll be dead.”
Out on my lawn, I see beneath the snow
there’s something creeping fast and right toward me!
What creature slithers underneath the snow?
I can’t escape, so back inside I go!
I shut the door and bolt it, then collapse
Upon my sofa near the fireplace, when
I hear an eerie sound above. It taps,
taps, taps. It’s something on the roof again!
Past Christmases with family go through
my frantic mind; I cower there and wait.
It’s Krampus, and he’s up there in the flue,
and soon to be delivering my fate!
Written Dec. 24, 2015/ Inspired by the contest of TAMMY REAMS
and the current Christmas horror movie Krampus.
History of the Star Spangle Banner
Maybe idea of Major George Armistead
The glory of Americans who scan her
Of Mary Pickersgill she was begat
The creation of the original flag
Be still a subject highly debated
Mary Pickersgill was not one to brag
Old Glory she made, beauty wind inflated
Armistead first requested it to be
A large garrison flag for reason
So the British have no trouble to see
Good to see our flag has flown in season
Fifteen colonies equal fifteen stars
Having eight red stripes and seven white stripes
Red and white stripes run in parallel bars
She flows in glory apart from other types
Rumor has it two glories were first made
For a small and a large Mary did charge
A document exists a bill was paid
Though small one be lost or is still at large
The varied small Star Spangled Banner
Never made it home to the Smithsonian
Would be nice to see displayed in some manner
In national museum the large is on loan!
For Contest Dazzle us with History
For Carolyn Devonshire and James Frazer
The History of the Real Star Spangled Banner
The creation of the original flag is still a debated subject.
However, the general story accepted by most historians is that Mary
Pickersgill was commissioned to make the flag by Major George Armistead
for $405.90. Following the victory at Fort McHenry, the flag was preserved
by Col. Armistead and it remained in the Armistead family. A smaller one
which was flown during the actual battle, and a larger one that was
flown as a replacement immediately after the British retreat.
This was a common wartime practice of the period.While no one
can say for sure what really happened, documents exist that show that
Mary Pickersgill was paid for two separate flags, a small one and
a larger one. If the smaller flag exists, its whereabouts are unknown.
In 1907, George Armistead’s grandson, Eben Appleton, expressed
interest in donating the flag to the state of Maryland or to the city of
Baltimore. After discussions with Maryland’s governor and the Mayor of
Baltimore, Appleton eventually placed the flag on loan to Smithsonian Institution
and it was displayed in the Hall of History at the National Museum of American
History. The loan was converted to a gift in 1912 and can still be
seen at the National Museum in Washington, D.C.
The taste of joy, so crystal clear,
It’s the feeling of a soaring soul,
An escape from chains that take their toll.
Freedom, the right to be yourself,
To speak your mind and not just shelf,
To choose your path and your own way,
And live your life, day by day.
Freedom, the power to create,
To explore new worlds and innovate,
To make your mark on history's page,
And leave a legacy for every age.
Freedom, the promise of a better life,
A world without hate, fear, or strife,
Where all are equal, and none oppressed,
And love and peace forever blessed.
Freedom, the light that guides our hearts,
The dream that drives us to do our part,
To stand up tall and never cower,
And fight for freedom, every hour.
Freedom, the air we breathe,
The wind that blows, the river that flows,
The sun that shines, the bird that sings,
The world that is, and everything.
Freedom, the fire within,
The spirit that soars, the heart that beats,
The dream that lives, the hope that springs,
The will that drives, and everything.
Freedom, the gift of life,
The right to be, the choice to make,
The path to walk, the road to take,
The journey that shapes, and everything.
Freedom, the bond of love,
The peace that reigns, the joy that fills,
The kindness that gives, the mercy that heals,
The grace that saves, and everything.
Freedom, the call of destiny,
The purpose that calls, the mission that drives,
The legacy that leaves, the memory that survives,
The greatness that inspires, and everything.
Freedom, the promise of tomorrow,
The future that waits, the dawn that breaks,
The sky that opens, the horizon that takes,
The world that awaits, and everything.
Freedom, the anthem of the soul,
The song that sings, the voice that speaks,
The prayer that seeks, the faith that believes,
The truth that guides, and everything.
Freedom, the light of the world,
The torch that shines, the beacon that leads,
The symbol that stands, the flag that waves,
The spirit that lives, and everything.
Freedom, the spirit of humanity,
The essence that unites, the power that transforms,
The vision that inspires, the dream that informs,
The legacy that shapes, and everything.
So let us cherish this precious gift,
And let our spirits soar and lift,
For freedom is the hope that we all seek,
The future bright, and never bleak.
Old Zack Adams sits a slouch’n so sloppy drunk on a bar-room stool,
Wear’n his cheap-threaded cowboy suit and a stained satin shirt.
All the while a peek’n and a leer’n at women like an old poor fool,
But think’n man tonight—Oh Boy, I’m really gonna hit the pay dirt!
Old Zack in this small Texas town is reputed to be quite a lecherous hoot,
As he raucously and recklessly rolls old worn quarters into the slot
Of the old bar-room Wurlitzer while snicker’n and smil’n to boot,
And plays his tearful and twangy jerk-water music while smil’n a lot!
Old Zack is this town’s “Jukebox Gigolo,” a real lover boy—Oh Boy!
He wears his patched cowboy hat and his scuffed silver-studded boots,
Meant to impress young girls and bar-fly floozies who have the Joy!
Of being with this bewildering, withered, weathered man and his boots.
Old Zack has a fad’n recollection of events and a silver mane of hair,
With a cigarette in his hand and cuss’n like a nasty little stable boy,
He downs whiskey shots and tequila seconds like no tomorrow on a dare,
While chas’n whiskey glass ice cubes and the tequila worm—being so coy.
Old Zack while a swigg’n down his whiskey mucho fast and direct,
He has now that blind courage to fight or to love—whichever is first,
While the old Wurlitzer resonates a rueful hick song for a teary effect,
But Old Zack can’t move now for this song has him sobb’n the very worst.
Old Zack with his nicotine-whiskey breath and his pockmarked face,
Personifies the image of an ideal loser of a man—with problems all,
While fight’n, scream’n, and punch’n others to gain some precious space,
He’s a showcas’n his reservoir of manly prowess—with problems all.
Old Zack was young once and not so wild, withered, weathered like now,
And he thought he was a really smart dude—all right moves and all,
But was really a man act’n far above his funny fake smart brow,
And now a cry’n on his bar-room stool and act’n like a fool before a fall.
Old Zack Adams—alcoholic as he truly is and sly and slick as a Texas fox,
Is not really so good with his women friends nowadays—for his real talent
Is in roll’n those old worn quarters pieces one-by-one into the old Jukebox,
Sing’n—“I’m the Jukebox Gigolo”—“a Drunk and a Delight,” that’s real talent!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (October 7, 2014)
(Rhymed Quatrain)
Wayland here again with another clerihew to end the year
These will probably never be famous, but that isn’t the fear
Sometimes the honesty is these may be just a little too strong
They're all done in fun, but some lines seem to go wrong
The philosopher lays the blame in the characters included
Only to what’s written here on the soup has he alluded
No outer sources does he ever interview
I say sorry to those victimized by my clerihew
Mr. Bunch, I don't remember calling myself that
Hasn’t been the one known to avoid a spat
Of what he feels and sees he likes to write
These truly are in fun, with little or no spite
Jack E I haven’t looked yet to see his new work
He has so much wit he could be a funny jerk
But he writes and really abstains from anger
If he got mad though, I’d bet there’d be intellectual danger
Good thing he’s Santa with no time to read these
If you see him, probably don’t mention them please
I don’t want to encourage him with another form
The quatrain that is what has become his norm
Advancing in age but he’s still feisty old Saint Nick
If you don’t believe me you’ll have to read his limerick
I said limerick but he’s naughty in more than one
If you want a particular Santa’s Beard is filled with pun
FJ Thomas seems to enjoy being clerihewed
Her comments leave me believing she’s no prude
An example would leave some saying I’ve a dirty mind
I’d have to say did you really read or are you blind
I’m glad Mrs. Thomas decided not to leave
She felt the affection from the comments she did receive
I try to leave affectionate comments for my part
But I know often times my a** is a little to smart
How many of these about PD could I write
If I started now I’d be here till tomorrow night
She definitely is engrained everywhere just read
I still hold that of a new nemesis she has some need
Then she could destroy her imagery is uncanny
I bet under the bullying category she has many
So sweet and innocent my first impression of her
Then I went back and found why she’s called destroyer
Yes Linda couldn’t have picked a better name
The poor souls that were the victims of her fame
I remember a specific one haven’t seen him around
If she’s looking for a new victim, tell her I can’t be found
Once again note that these are all in fun, and only 99% of this should you believe, lol. I had about 5 more but ran out of space and courage haha.
Our Jesus is condemned to die
Oh, Savior, now from Earth- you part.
You do not sigh, nor do you weep,
Though our sins have pierced your heart.
Dear Jesus bears the Holy Cross,
Our Savior of all humankind,
For us, you start this journey now;
Still, endless love for us you find.
Our Jesus falls beneath the Cross;
So dreadful now to bear this pain.
Dear Jesus, when we fall to sin,
Please help us rise up once again.
Our Savior meets his Mother dear,
Mary, anguished and depressed,
Please help us face our sorrows too-
Live up to all our trying tests.
A man named Simon of Cyrene-
Appears to help our Savior’s plight
To lift the weight of his great Cross-
Lord, burden us to spread your light.
Veronica wipes our Savior’s face.
Look now! His imprint's there to stay!
Please on our souls your imprint make
And help us keep it there, we pray.
Dear Jesus falls down on the path,
Again now for the second time.
But soon he rises to go on,
Lord, help us please, to stay in line.
Our Jesus meets some women now,
They kneel down to mourn and weep.
“Weep not for me,” he says to them,
“But for your children, the lost sheep.”
Our Jesus falls again, this time
His journey's nearly at an end.
Dear Jesus, when we fall to sin,
Grant us the wisdom to amend.
Our Lord now stripped of all his clothes-
This torture is so sad and cruel.
Please, Jesus, strip our souls of sin;
Our hearts and souls, you always rule.
Our Jesus now nailed to His Cross-
Your death, dear Lord, is very near.
Sweet Savior nail our souls to you,
And grant us grace to have no fear.
Oh, the dreaded Crucifixion!
Our Jesus now so humbly dies,
While all the sins and sins to come-
Are placed before his tear-filled eyes.
Our Lord is gently taken down,
In his dear Mother’s arms is placed,
Oh Mary, Mother of our God,
Help ease our sorrows to be faced.
Now, Jesus placed inside his tomb,
To rise again on Easter Day-
Redeemer of all humankind,
With us forever you will stay!
Oh! Great day of Resurrection!
From tomb, he rises to the sky,
With all God’s angels by his side-
He joins his Father up on high.
Oh! Great day of Resurrection!
He rose again on Easter Day!
Redeemer of all humankind,
With us forever you will stay!
Truer words have never been spoken
As in the story I have to tell.
Of a woman’s nine month journey
And her emotional trip through hell.
Now this woman was in shock, of course
When she found out she was with child.
This state of shock, to say the least,
Was anything but mild.
For this woman, herself, was a child
At the age of only eighteen.
With termination out of her head
What she must do was eventually seen.
She knew she couldn’t support a baby
Out there on her own.
Even though her family promised
That she would never be alone.
And so the woman’s search began
Then she came to her final option.
Knowing it was for the best,
She decided on adoption.
She knew it would be difficult
To be so far apart.
Away from something that she loved
And would always miss in her heart.
With emotions running mad
She somehow found a friend.
At Mother Goose Adoptions
Her troubles would soon end.
For it was there that she met Dawn
The woman sent to her aid.
When Dawn told her how things worked
Her troubles began to fade.
Dawn reassured the woman
That the couple would be the best.
Because it was the woman’s job
To choose a couple better than the rest.
So she began to look through profiles
Then she stumbled across a pair.
From down within the Southern states
Who were full of love and care.
The woman knew they were the ones
Within the blink of an eye.
Yet for some odd reason
She still wanted to cry.
For she knew deep down inside
This was something she’d never forget.
Because the thought still picked at her
If this was something she might regret.
Though she had her reasons
Some more obvious than a few
She knew this was something that must happen
For the benefit of you.
Your happiness and well-being
Are all that this was for.
Though it was for the better
The woman’s heart, this tore.
I pray that you are smart enough
To see what you must see.
For if you haven’t guessed by now
The woman is none other than me.
I wish I could express in words
Just what I’d like to say.
I wanted you to know the truth
And this was the best way.
Remember that I do love you
And that I’ll always care.
And if you ever need something
I’ll drop everything just to be there.
This story is not over
Though this poem will now end.
For as you sit here reading this
All my love I do send.
A "Highly" Debated Issue
From glaucoma to chemotherapy
Medical marijuana has its place
But you won’t find any prescribed
In the conservative Sunshine State
Chris couldn’t eat while under treatment
Watched him lose one-hundred pounds
He had no access to an appetite stimulant
His weight was 85 when laid in the ground
Hefty Jen had lived a life of kindness
Taught spiritually uplifting courses
She suffered when chemo raced through her system
Until people said, “How beautifully slim her corpse is.”
When Dad’s glaucoma grew severe
He relied only on eye drops that made him tear
His gift of sight was taken slowly
Though THC might have helped his eyes clear
And when I first wrestled with ulcerative colitis
A college friend brought me a joint, said, “Try it”
Less than an hour later I was eating without pain
But laws are clear, Florida doctors can’t prescribe it
Research has proved there are benefits
Only medical marijuana use can provide
But those who worry about drug abuse
Say those who could benefit should be denied
Each day in the headlines we read of drunk drivers
Mostly teens who seek access through friends
And if they want marijuana, they find a way to get it
But for those who abide by laws, agony never ends
If smoking pot or ingesting a tablet of THC
Can help a person who is suffering great pain
Don’t you think the time has come
To ask prohibitionists to explain
Why people who are hurting needlessly
Cannot have access to any remedy
That soothes their aches, improves their last days
Diminishing the symptoms of their tragedy
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010
Why I love C.D’s poem “ A Highly Debated Issue”:
Carolyn Devonshire’s poems showcase the extraordinary thoughtful mind behind those lines. All of Carolyn’s poems are profound, and full of depth, but this poem especially touched me - I had the similar experience of losing a beloved one to the deadly disease, and we were not able to give him relief during the last days of intense pain. Carolyn was a strong, sensitive, generous, caring human being and a talented poetess, who loved life in her own way - she loved sand, and left her footprints on the shores of this mysterious earth.
Celebrating Carolyn’s poetry: an Uncontest Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich