Dog Quatrain Poems | Examples
These Dog Quatrain poems are examples of Quatrain poems about Dog. These are the best examples of Quatrain Dog poems written by international poets.
Mixed Emotions
Relaxation, serenity of being alone
Happiness, like a dog with a bone
Shoes off, soft grass on your feet
Dreams of the one you long to meet
Lay in the grass, look at the sky
Life is short, you begin to cry
Friends pass away, they leave too soon
You are now alone to stare at the moon
Grassy meadows, rolling clouds
Whispering willows that sing out loud
Warmth of the sun, soft gentle breeze
The day ends, you don’t want to leave
I used to walk here with my dog, Betsy,
I used to walk here with my dog, Bo.
Both have gone up to doggy heaven.
Wonder if they're still making yellow snow.
Her house was taken by the unkind wind and fires.
Her dog disappeared, yetlping into howling flames.
For these burning winds to end, was her deepestdesire.
Now homeless, realizing life is not just an insignificant game!
Each passionate kiss might disappear into a world deepest of sorrows.
She kept her hopes alive, in a fourteen carat, blessed, lit frame,
It was up to her, to realize there is always a blessed, grand tomorrow!
1/9/2025
Just “Kiddin”
Miracle man
10/26/2024
Any story travels fast,
in a three dog town.
Moments from inception,
it will move crosstown.
Once a close group,
now fragmented friends.
Each waiting on the other,
to make amends.
It shouldn’t take much,
just issue a retraction.
For what began as a joke
got an overreaction.
Coffee cake and ice cream:
great way to start your day.
Coffee, cake, and ice cream:
an even better way.
A comma for some coffee
and icing on your cake -
A punctuated morning
with dogs whose collars shake.
I would have much preferred if
the dogs had slept past four.
Six would have been luxurious;
it’s hard to ask for more.
But four just frankly frustrates;
it seems a tad unfair.
For they will lie and sleep all day
without the slightest care.
Meanwhile, I will be crashing,
come off that sugar high.
The struggle’s real to stay awake;
I may not even try.
Such is the life of dogs,
retired people too.
With coffee, cake, and ice cream
we’ll somehow make it through.
When I was little we had a white house,
it had a white porch and was very old;
there was a huge flower garden also,
and each day me, my cat and my dog strolled.
The flowers were pretty and I loved them,
my kitty, Misty liked to smell each one;
sometimes, she even would dig a small hole,
she followed as I watered in the sun.
My puppy, Doug, stayed close but in the shade,
he found it under the bushes and growth;
I picked some flowers and then got sleepy,
curled up on the porch as did my pets ... BOTH
Hot And Cold
Miracle Man
7/31/2024
August will most surely bring us some scorch,
prompting this old dog to remain inside.
Perhaps a short visit to the front porch,
but whatever comes I'll take it in stride.
Each year I gladly suffer the swelter,
just to reap the fringe benefits of fall.
Time has elapsed from the old storm shelter,
the wind quickly turns brisk and Snow Geese call.
The leaves start to turn and soon start falling,
which creates raking chores that must be done.
Which never strikes me as too enthralling,
but at raking time I'll not be the one.
The gun seems gun-shy in this space;
where deer hides hang on rustic walls
and granddad-tick-tocks beat, instead
of hearts in hollowed skins. The gun
a “trophy-bagger” in its rack,
a loud-mouth predator at rest,
this motherless, brother-less thug
perceives no pity-pangs... the gun
now quiet, buckshot empty, cold.
Above the stove’s phoenix soul hangs
an antlered head with prideful tines
the man, with bear-paw hands, had won.
A fox in freeze-frame-trot, a stiff
with cat glass eyes, attests his prize.
Indeed, like litterfall they fell,
unseen his haunt in hunter gear, his gun
a junkyard dog of steel. I say
they're beautiful in life. He says
they’re beautiful in death. Between
our words — a stand of pine — the shot!
that brought the shock of ammo air
that rib-cage-ripped and broke the breath,
that hurled the crows against the sky —
the blast that felled the 10-point buck that failed to sense your goddamn gun!
Yeah... blame the buck his reckless pose
and buckled throes. You felt the king!
Behind tight trees you sat with dawn
in sniper-silhouette. The gun
felt nothing; no remorse, no joy
—it, too, hangs upon the wall.
I
Two wiener dogs and their owners so proud
Approached each other right there on the green.
Then, the hounds commenced at yapping so loud.
But that wasn’t the dangdest thing I’d seen.
One of them’s front bit the other one’s butt.
At once, the other one’s front did the same.
This baffling case was not open and shut.
Those who saw it didn’t know who to blame.
I can’t believe what I saw on the lawn,
Because it all happened there so neatly.
In an instant, both yaps and dogs were gone -
They had devoured each other completely.
II
Don’t listen to that fool - I’m his brother.
I saw the wieners who had no muzzle.
He tells the wrong stumper, there’s another -
Quite a different confounding puzzle.
One ‘et t’other, while t’other et the one.
Which was out, which was in, no man could tell,
But there remained but one, not two or none.
One endured; one, a sadder fate befell.
III
Don’t listen to them, I’s little sister.
I saw what really happened, if you please.
There warn’t none, nor one, but two left, mister,
But uncommon strange, they switched identities.
Strolling through the Clubhouse 3 gallery,
Plenty of pretty pictures for me to see,
But one that especially caught my eye
Was a curiously attired bulldog guy.
I gazed closely into each brown soulful eye.
Is there some story that they might bely?
Was he a jester in a Pikachu hat?
Were his yellow shoes untied as he sat?
Was his costume designer a small boy?
Where’d he get his little Pokeball toy?
Why’d his artist give him a cute pink face?
If not for those two, might he self-efface?
As he sits in a foggy purple mist,
He’s as cool as anything that might exist.
Cheers to the artist and the costume boy
And to the mellow bulldog who gives me joy!
He began a voyage to a land afar,
But on every step in his journey, he shrunk.
He wanted to go to a far distant star,
But soon diminished to the size of a skunk.
He climbed up on a slippery curtain rod,
Now just the width and breadth of a dappled mouse.
He slid off the rod into the hair of a dog
Who skipped and danced all the way out of the house.
He got smaller yet and befriended a flea
Who said, “sail the green sea to a secret land
Where creatures are much smaller than you can see,
And a million can live on a grain of sand.”
So, he then disappeared, getting smaller still,
And trekked through a forest of golden and brown,
And followed a twisty, turny trail until
He came to a window on the gate to a town.
The hinged portal opened, and a head popped out.
‘Twas an atom sized, gay and puppetty dog
Who hailed him, as a fish on a water spout
Said, “please sit down by this cranberry bog.”
A boy, from his sack, gave him a magic bean,
Which he put inside a stained-glass rainbow jar,
And got so small he was only again seen
As a gold ray of light from a distant star.
Country, Quality Time
Miracle Man
2/17/2024
The moonlight was shining on the pond’s still surface,
which at that moment only my eyes were seeing.
A rambunctious fish moving within the subsurface,
maybe chasing minnows to sustain its being.
I’m mesmerized, frozen, on a decaying log,
moon illumination has dampened darkness' cloak.
This is my quality time, God, me, and my dog,
entertained by a bullfrog chorus as they croak.
The art was most masterful on the dark canvas
Or is it still the most wonderful here on Earth?
I sense the art delves out from the ears of Kansas
Providing me reasons for the faults of my birth
The dark canvas a decade ago spoke pure gold
Now all I see is sheep shopping for one’s shame
Pyrotechnics? Poses? Pouts? Purchases? So old
A dog-eat-dog world gives thy name a fame they won’t blame
Talent alone speaks no fortune, but fear and foes
I see a shooting star and I’d say to myself
I wish such nonsense was never the case. There goes!
There goes my hall of fame. On a rancid rusty shelf.
Nonetheless, those lips that kiss and swear won’t survive
Neither will the words of money run from thy mouth
Let the moment of my truth prevail and arrive
And you’d see someday all this racket would go south
Poem for 'Choose a topic sentence' contest
Hosted by Miranda Hawley
Chosen sentence - 'The art was most masterful on the dark canvas'
The chosen sentence is on the very first verse.
Weekend hits one bemused boy
Pushing his mind to his limits.
Night comes by, blowing the devil’s joy.
Problem is, his smile’s off-limits.
Nonetheless, such rule’s quickly dropped
While tedium hits the recycling bin.
The girl whose twirls seldom flopped.
While the helping smile’s not some sin.
Crew tinted feeble wordless white lips
The few wombled up there cherished
I’m not stunned by how one dog tips
Her voice of glitter we’ve nourished
Therefore, such sweet soul we fish,
Such strong scent t’wards some guy she’s struck
Locks thy memory of thy consort’s wish.
No need for posession, nor for some buck!!
My Book
Miracle Man
10/8/2023
My life is a day book that others can read,
and within its pages is the sermon I preach.
It’s who I am, my beliefs, and my creed,
it’s my witness to others, I’m Gods outreach.
It bears dog eared pages from a momentous time,
a long ago happening that I’d sooner forget.
Before accepting Jesus and still in my prime,
and now on occasion I’ll recall with regret.
But when God forgives He remembers no more,
from east to west, scriptures says its moved.
I no longer do things that God will abhor,
and thank Him daily that pages are smoothed.
Psalm 103:12
12 As far as the east is from the west, so far hath he removed our transgressions from us.