Most Commented Quatrain Poems (302)

Christmas should be a time of joy
For every little girl and boy
They gather 'round the Christmas tree
Little hearts beating eagerly

Their eyes closely scan each present
Wondering what Santa has sent
Some hope they have been good enough
And would get their requested stuff

Mum picks up each present gently
And reads to see whose it might be
A little heart leaps at its name
And then joyfully makes its claim

After presents are given out
Then it's time for another bout
It's time for presents' unwrapping
One can feel excitement growing

Tiny one still in diaper
Tries to peel off wrapping paper
Mum assists the eager beaver
Expectation growing stronger

Squeals of excitement fill the air
From the other kids gathered there
Their delight they cannot contain
Santa has delivered again

Once again thank you Dear Santa
Setting little hearts a-flutter
Making Christmas a time of joy
For every little girl and boy

Traditional poetry has rhyme and metre
Which determines the way it is composed
These features make it a simple matter
In distinguishing such poetry from prose

A lot of writing now is in free verse
Where the main focus is on the content
The thing that now really matters the most
Is true capture of the poet's intent

Some free verse strive for a sense of metre
By carefully managing line layout
Some focus on painting a word picture
For that's what their poetry is all about

Prose rich in sentiment and imagery
Can also be rewritten as free verse
Would it then be described as prose poetry
Or should it be labelled poetic prose

What new poetry forms will the future grow
It's time alone that will give the answer
For poets may come and poets may go
But poetry shall continue forever

The pain of love.. what can I write,
To warn about this 'thing',
Its beauty can impair your sight,
Then like a wasp will sting.

Love at first sight ? I'm not so sure,
Approach on tippy toes,
Flirtatious eyes might be a lure,
To tears and lifelong woes.

Some love is destined not to last,
And fails the test of time,
Like actors in a play miscast,
Or verse devoid of rhyme.

This poem is written half in jest,
And half in searing pain,
But every word I can attest,
Is penned not in disdain.

For me .. in lovelife I was stung,
My heart it bore the cost,
And there at love's cold graveside flung,
A red rose white with frost.

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.

I want to write a poem
But I'm not sure if I should
It's about the process of aging
And the effects which are not so good

Anyway, here I go and
No matter what you may think
The time will come when
Your health will not be in the pink

Your skin will start to sag
And wrinkles will appear
It's a natural process
One which you should not fear

Your body joints which once had
A lot of flexibility
Will begin to tighten up
And cause you pain and anxiety

Your ability to focus
And to multi-task
Will weaken as you age
And become a thing of the past

You may find yourself asking
Did I do that or not?
For your sake I hope
That does not happen a lot

Some folks reading this may say
Such things will not happen to me
In response I say to you as you age
Let us just wait and see

In-person meetings suspended
Conference rooms closed to use
By keeping a 6-foot distance
everyone stays apart—not aloof.

Blues, folk, rock concerts rescheduled
Museums closed to showing art
Theatre not performed on stages
Citizens asked to do their part.

Flattening-the-curve approach required
But when our leaders fail to lead
people are driven to poor decisions
and takers feed upon their greed.

Shelves in stores stripped to empty
Essentials horded, stock-piled away
Preparing for the worst to come
Hoping to be spared anew each day.

Public schools closed until April
Red Sox Opening Day postponed
Weighing decisions to self-isolate
with every day to be spent alone.

Boston Marathon moved to September
Walk for Hunger canceled complete
Needs in air still hover, linger though
movement ceased beneath our feet.

With tents as makeshift hospital wards
first-come-first-served policy goes out the door
Triage decisions necessary to be made
disproportionally impact the poor.

Forego cavalier, casual attitudes
Avoid need for imminent, acute care
There are vulnerable people everywhere
Covid-19 travels through touch and air.

Individual freedom temporarily bartered
to provide better protection for everyone
Embrace physical-distancing as one way
war against this pandemic can be won.

© 2020-03-14

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.

Kathy, Abby, Pink and Mady
Each a CS poetry lady
Keep the corner glowing warmly
Each one with her heartfelt poetry

This applies to all on this site
Each one who decides to indite
Seek to improve with every write
Your true talent shall come to light

Let your true feelings be your guide
And express what you feel inside
You can feel a deep sense of pride
Knowing that you sincerely tried

You are a new generation
To carry on the tradition
By posting your own creation
Of poetic inspiration

Vultures on the wing high up in the sky
Careen in flight as they go sailing by
Tracing out patterns of vanishing lines
As they create most exquisite designs

Other birds like eagles, gulls and falcons
Also engage in such exhibitions
Viewing them gives a feeling of freedom
That transcends daily life's din and humdrum

With wings outstretched they effortlessly ride
Rising air currents that support their glide
With angled wings they dip down and then rise
Navigating their way up in the skies

In total mastery of flight they appear
Cavorting and floating up in the air
With the gracefulness of their flight on high
They are true avian sailors in the sky





vulture





eagle





seagull





falcon

The wear and tear of my past experience
has ravaged my spirit, body and soul
Now my life is a mere shallow existence
with a deep longing to be made whole

I was caught in the beauty of your charm
and savouring its full pleasure was my goal
Now I experience a deep sense of alarm
at the loss of my feeling of control

But with my own inner resolve and firmness
and the strength I can get from other avenues
I must overcome this sense of helplessness
and move on to live my life as I choose

The phoenix bird burns itself to ashes
whenever it becomes worn out with age
And from those ashes a new phoenix arises
and starts a fresh life cycle on a new page

Scorched and burned by my actions of the past
and having learned from the anguish and pain
I also will rise from those ashes at last
and move on afresh with my own life again