Newest Quatrain Poems (304)

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Big guys with chainsaws revving loud,
Fake blood and spiders hanging down,
Screams and eerie music blaring,
Sheets floating cross the "haunted" town.

These places don't do much for me,
Guess kids are more who they are for.
My mem'ries are of dressing up,
And traipsing, begging door to door.

Course we had to soap some windows,
Or TP houses without light.
Up and down the blocks we hurried,
With candy on our minds that night.

When all the goodies had been got,
And all the pumpkins' candles gone,
We'd drag our bags back home again,
While vainly trying not to yawn.

Now's my turn to carve the pumpkin,
And hand out goodies at the door.
But very few come round it seems,
The spirit's gone forevermore...

Hangin' out on the corner is,
A fine pastime that educates.
With poems from all walks of life,
It sometimes even leads to dates.

The subjects too are varied wide,
From love to hate and all between.
From flow'rs and trees to cars and boats,
It really is a happ'nin' scene.

It teaches and it entertains,
From minds and hearts around the globe.
With worlds of words that cross the seas,
To hit you in the frontal lobe.

Community, comraderie,
With comments kind in thoughtful prose.
Emoticons add style and flash,
Usually add some of those.

Sometimes our tears are brought to eyes,
From verses touching from the heart.
And others make us laugh out loud,
With silly lines from some ol' fart.

My friend had introduced us,
That crisp late autumn day.
He'd told me she was easy,
Would let me have my way.

But she was babysitting,
Her younger brothers, three.
Had to wait until they slept,
Before she would be free.

So we necked a little while,
My hands went roaming round.
I got so damned excited,
My heart began to pound.

Then the kids came in from play,
We quickly jumped apart.
She made us all some hotdogs,
I tried to slow my heart.

When she put the kids to bed,
We necked again some more.
She checked in then after while,
They had begun to snore.

So I took her by the hand,
To lead her off to bed.
She hesitated then cause,
They may wake up, she said.

I swept her up in my arms,
And carried her to lay,
Upon the bed so sweetly.
Then closed the door to play.

The condom that I carried,
I slipped on inside out.
Of course it slipped right off,
Oh such a clumsy lout.

Was over in a moment,
My trigger was so prime.
But hey give me a break now,
It was just my first time.

We fought like cats and dogs as kids,
But made up as we grew.
Yet loved each other all along,
That, at least, we knew.

Though only three years older than,
She thought it made her boss.
But I did not take orders well,
And ev'ry line would cross.

She married young, and not so well,
Divorced then right away.
He used her to get papers so,
Stay in the USA.

Then tragedy struck later on,
Blood vessel in her brain.
Six months in a coma as,
Our mother prayed in vain.

Though over thirty years ago,
It still hurts to the bone.
A fighter to the end, you see,
Was my big sister, Joan.

Just one more wayside tourist trap?
Oh no, the wizard said!
And gals with pistols looking sad,
Although they've roses red.

A feathered redhead splits the air,
So loud it sets you free.
A beet so sweet with rhythm wild,
And scent so heavenly.

Who cares if limbs are kinda thin,
As veils fall all around?
Amphibians drowse in quiet repose,
In bedclothes that they've found.

Infirmities be damned, he cried!
Too hot, and vivid too!
Disguised as hut, a manse is found,
Who knows just what is true?

We all have a hard luck story,
A sad sob tale to tell.
No more songs of fame and glory,
Just tolling of the bell.

I've heard them all from near and far,
No joy seems to be had.
I lost my job, my wife, my car,
My luck has all been bad.

The skies are grey, the wind is cold,
My health is failing fast.
You hear these stories often told,
The end has come at last.

No sad songs any more I sing,
The bluebird's on my sill.
With sunshine to my life you bring,
My heart with joy you fill.

So tell me not the tales of woe,
Won't hear them any more.
Just sing me songs soft, sweet and low,
Of happiness in store.

The pain is now subsiding,
As wine has done its thing.
A gentle fog has settled in,
This sweet relief to bring.

A delicate balance is sought,
Too much brings morning woes.
Not enough means no sleep at all,
Restraint I must impose.

The grape has brought relief again,
My steady, trusted friend.
A temporary, brief solution,
Until my joints can mend.

I'm working on more permanence,
A cure rather than just,
Relief of symptoms, dirty quick.
I feel this is a must.

But until full revovery,
Surcease is what is best.
To get me through another night,
So I can get some rest.

Stains on yellowed linens,
On arms of easy chair,
Tear stains on a pillow,
And stains in underwear.

Coffee stains on tables,
From burning midnight oil.
Stains on faded bluejeans,
From gas and grease and soil.

Tar stains on crooked teeth,
From years of sucking smoke.
And similar addictions,
Like coffee, tea and Coke.

Stains that tell a story,
Of life lived day by day,
Until the final staining
As life's blood drains away.

The pops and creaks and grunts and groans,
Are caused by my condition.
Arthritis, not old age, you see,
Puts me in this position.

Still young of heart and mind I am.
With wild imagination.
Just aching joints spread here and there,
That cause me irritation.

I try hard not to let it show,
This awful aching pain.
But if perhaps you catch a wince,
Arthritis once again.

I do some carpentry at times,
Some painting and some plumbing.
Each take their toll, my body pays,
Just wishing for some numbing.

But work I must, so off I go,
Into the breech once more.
Just take it slow and carefully,
As I go out the door.

There's some folks seem to understand,
And some who never can.
They think my pain a weakness so,
Think me a lesser man.

I hope one day they find a cure,
To end this woeful mess.
But until then, I'm what you see,
In pain and under stress.

Don't get me wrong, I can't complain,
There's others facing more.
I wish them well, a healing wish,
Their wholeness to restore.

Sweet rosebud, oh so pink and pretty,
You hold yourself so tightly closed
Until the time is right for op'ning,
Then petals spread, so all exposed.

You open when the time arises,
When warm and gentle breezes blow.
When the world is is right and synchronized,
In Mother Nature's gentle flow.

Or at times when need to fertilize,
Becomes the overpow'ring thing.
When your opening becomes a joy,
Tis then you cause my heart to sing.

Oh dear rosebud you have won my love,
I dedicate this ode to you.
We all know what makes the rose grow best,
The sparkling drop of morning's dew.