Newest Quatrain Poems (304)

The meaning of T’day has transcended
from its beginning: our sharing together
with indigenous people who innocently gave
in times of sickness and chilling weather.

From those days when we readily took
from them all of which they shared
while ’round the table of community we
partook of the meal that was prepared.

To their trusting welcome, we replied
with greed and want of possession
so much so that by force we took much
of their lands with egregious aggression.

Throughout the years this did continue,
this giving then taking back more,
until with little reservation they live
with minuscule resources left in store.

Dispersed amidst the clatter of our laws
with pride, strength, resilience, determination
First People have sought legal ways to
reclaim some of what was once their nation.

On this day, may we celebrate Thanksgiving,
by learning to judge our wealth by care—
not by what and how much we own—and
take steps toward a world we all can share.

An iron will, a heart of gold,
It's true, these two can dwell in one.
As sure as one blue sky can hold,
The rising moon and setting sun.

When chararacter is forged by life,
To stand the tests that fate does bring,
It hones an edge just like a knife,
That cuts through lies that others fling.

But heart is born inside us all,
Each child has love enough to give,
And those ignoring evil's call,
Can love as long as they shall live.

A heart of gold, an iron will,
Though rare, we all have met a few,
Who's currents run neath waters still,
Strength and compassion coursing through.

Morning is the springtime of the day,
Awakening, rebirth, renewal.
Warm and fuzzy creatures, out to play,
The scampering of feet diurnal.

Midday can be thought the summertime,
For summoning up the resources.
A time of strength in the warmer clime,
Thus gathering up all our forces.

Gloaming brings us autumn's retraction,
Pulling in all tendrils from chilling.
Protect, retreat, nature's reaction,
In every creature instilling.

Winter, of course, comes with the darkness,
Huddling deep in our safe retreats.
Outside is the gloom and the starkness,
As we sleep til the pattern repeats.

Thus cycles within one another,
In endless arrays, ever-changing,
All prepared by all-knowing Mother,
In seemingly random arranging.

I'm misery, how do you do.
I've no soul and no reflection.
And though I'll paint your world blue
You'll love my dark complexion.

Listen now and look at me
I've tales of woe and pain.
In ugliness, I find my glee
So please let me explain.

I want to share my hopelessness
A cloud of gloom above.
Dishonestly I won't confess
But company is all I love.

I've nothing nice to ever say
I'm brooding, dark and bitter
But when it comes to nastiness
I'll babble all atwitter.

Yes, look at me and see my view
As I wallow in my mire
And fingerpaint my filth on you
For it's all my heart's desire.

I need to drag you down with me
I cannot stand your light.
I'll snuff it out with vile glee
Till days are black as night.

I must persist till you begin
To you join me in your tears.
And I won't rest until I'm in
A world of hopeless peers.

Twas my first trip to Ireland,
In fact, my only time abroad,
And it cost me every penny,
But was a choice I still applaud.

Oh, the trip was long and grueling,
Over twenty-four hours, in fact,
And I got there beat and hurting,
With the carry-on bag I'd packed.

But the people were delightful,
And the scenery rich and lush.
Time seemed to come to a standstill,
Without ever a need to rush.

While on my first trip to market,
For to buy a few things I'd need,
Some soap to wash the dishes,
Gave to me a broad grin indeed.

Printed there on the label,
Not dishwashing liquid, no,
"Washing-up" liquid named Fairy,
That is what it's called there, you know.

Now it may seem such a small thing,
If that was the name you knew,
But this old Yank from o'er the sea,
Well, I was charmed quite through and through.

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The kiwi is a fluffy fowl
With a long, slim, pointed beak.
But Kiwi's come to mean to all,
Folks of which I wish to speak.

I've made some friends online you see,
And they have taught me quite a bit.
The culture is quite int'resting,
They are a folk of soul and wit.

Whalers, sealers, traders and such,
They put the island on the map.
Shepherds, miners, farmers then came,
The rich resources there to tap.

Maori tribes lost all they had,
To greed and violence of whites.
This led to their almost collapse,
These horrid wars and bitter fights.

But now there's harmony so sweet,
As natives and Kiwis made peace.
With grit and courage they have won,
The trouble and the wars surcease.

Mountains, forests, beaches so fine,
Their island home has ev'rything.
This paradise in which they dwell,
Enough to cause a tear to bring.

Though I've only seen in pictures,
And some few videos and such,
It is a place I long to see,
Upon these shores I yearn to touch.

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We all have our limit,
Just how much we can take,
Til we blow a gasket,
Before we start to break.

Some go off so easy,
Their trigger is a hair.
Always on the threshold,
Without a nerve to spare.

I am not so touchy,
And can take quite a bit.
But when I've had enough,
There comes that raging fit.

Anger clouds the senses,
Throws judgement out the door,
Blows out of proportion,
And shakes us to the core.

So let's all try and see,
If we can raise the bar,
Maybe all together,
Perhaps prevent a war.

The chill's arrived, the crop is in.
It's time for feasting to begin.
The smell of baking fills the night,
And time has come for bonfire's light.

Let's raise a mug of hearty ale,
In lantern's shine from hill and dale.
To toast the harvest and the feast,
And gather round the roasted beast.

While gathering from near and far,
We'll make a wish upon each star.
Haul in the wood and light the fire,
This is a feast not fun'ral pyre.

The veil is thin between the sides,
Where living lives and death resides.
So don your mask and chase away,
The evil spirits on this day.

As I looked into the mirror
That face looked back at me

Tell me what did I see
That face staring back at me

It looked like Ive seen it before
But something about it I didn't know anymore

I heard it call out my name
But it just kept staring at me the same

Did I know you at one time I said
Or something about you that seemed unread

I still don't know who you are
Will you tell me please

It's just the inner self you see
It's you looking back at me

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The Mother's taken brush to sky,
And painted leaves of red and gold.
In hues of riotous display,
She slings her paints with strokes so bold.

The crisping air, the chilling breeze,
They tell the tale of things to be.
But here before the winter's blast,
She gives us this one final spree.

The Autumn here in Ozark hills,
So beautiful beyond compare,
With scenes that bring the heart such joy,
You simply have to stop and stare.

With camera I tramp around,
To try and capture this sweet time.
It doesn't last, but just for now,
We must enjoy this perfect clime.

So here's to Mother's plan so fine,
That gives us all such a delight.
Her glory is an endless line.
Her beauty makes the heart take flight.