Random Quatrain Poems (302)

DID YOU SNOW THAT BEFORE
That’s how it goes
The rain bounces off the concrete
And then some days it snows
When it’s difficult to lift one’s feet

Now imagine you have to get somewhere
A place where peace is found and personified
It doesn’t matter how far a trip you must bear
While thirteen inches of snow is by which your trip is defied

Now I’m talking about a place of perfect peace residing there
But hanging in a closet six miles away is your armor for protection
A place where few people would go from force or out of fear
But then you envision a shooting gallery where relaxation is found with every calming injection

Whilst outside a tenement window a teenager views the snow
And he never need wonder why he ends up there within
He hears the soothing sigh of every shot and the sound of the wind to blow
While the teen knows that going to a damnable domain is a sacrilegious sin

Now that once young teenage boy has swiftly turned too old
Yet and still he treks anywhere a junkie goes
‘It doesn’t matter if it’s 99 degrees or a freezing and frigid cold
Let’s look at it this way, at least there ain’t no grass to mow
And Lord knows this is one junkie ain’t going to be hampered by two feet of snow
© 2010 FREE4AWLPOET that would be me ~free cee!~

Gentle ripples on the water
Set in motion by a slight breeze
Move quietly on the pond's surface
With gracefulness and effortless ease

A fishing bird flies in suddenly
Skimming the pond's surface with its feet
Then dives headfirst into the water
In its search of a meal to eat

Something just broke the water's surface
Forcing me to full attention
I can see now an eye and the nose
Of a fledgling baby caiman

A bird's neck appears from the water
In its beak, there's a struggling fish
One gulp and the fish disappears
That was indeed a tasty dish

Water lily pads bob up and down
In harmony with the rippling water
Their crimson blooms standing upright
Sprinkled among the lilies cluster

Feeding close to the water's edge
There's a roving group of small fishes
They nibble on the morsels they find
Among roots of water grasses

I treasure sitting here in silence
Observing the pond in its glory
It fills me with such peacefulness
And deep feelings of tranquillity

CERTIFIED CURSE’S ASSISTANT


Did you know there are places our old folk are kept?
And if sadly they have no one else a guardian must decline or accept
If they choose to eat they’re served the cheapest part of the pig of course
However these elders aren’t aware that they may be eating horse

You’ve got your cocky little C.N.A.’s who think they have absolute power
And they’ll ignore the old people’s pleas at any particular hour
“You know, “ I said to one “Mrs. Wagner hasn’t eaten in more than ten days”
The C.N.A. responded “don’t make me no never mind ” and then she asked for a raise

Many of the Nurses are the same damned way
They don’t give a damn what the elderly have to you say
Cold sores, bed sores mount up by the score
But they say, “it’s five o’clock and I’m out the door”

So to wrap things up tidily some of those places will kill the old
And believe me because I saw it first hand and wasn’t just told
The C.N.A.’s run around not listening to what Mr. Hirsh said
Well perhaps they’ll take their job a little more serious when they find Mr. Hirsh dead

These professionals act without care or concern
So in school a lack of sympathy is the first thing they learn
The frail and elderly should receive mercy from the staff
Instead they are at thee mercy of the staff, and that ain’t no laugh © 2011.…Phreepoetree
(AND THE ADMINISTRATER HERE IS AN ALLIGATOR)

I think in some past lives, I was a girl,
Swept down that river - Sacred Feminine;-
And like the shell which once contained a pearl,
Was washed by Time, and freed of all my sin.

Some men say I am hard - and others strange,
They do not know the half of it I say;-
Great Cosmic Engine, where atoms re-arrange,
And Energies disperse and go their Way.

Many times re-born, and died, great wheel of Time;-
That spins the stars around - great light of day,
And when it's night, those stars begin their climb,
To shower Earth and Heaven with each ray.

I feel echo of past lives, which once were mine;-
Feel the sense of some great Eternity;-
I feel it as my pen construes this rhyme,
Made of stardust from some distant Galaxy.

I feel it when I meet a lady's eyes,
(I'm happy in the body I'm in now);-
Although it never comes as a surprise;-
To feel afresh, what I already know.


© lovecanbereal
All rights reserved

DID YOU SNOW THAT BEFORE
That’s how it goes
The rain bounces off the concrete
And then some days it snows
When it’s difficult to lift one’s feet

Now imagine you have to get somewhere
A place where peace is found and personified
It doesn’t matter how far a trip you must bear
While thirteen inches of snow is by which your trip is defied

Now I’m talking about a place of perfect peace residing there
But hanging in a closet six miles away is your armor for protection
A place where few people would go from force or out of fear
But then you envision a shooting gallery where relaxation is found with every calming injection

while outside a tenement window a teenager views the snow
And he never need wonder why he ends up there within
He hears the soothing sigh of every shot and the sound of the wind to blow
While the teen knows that going to a damnable domain is a sacrilegious sin

Now that once young teenage boy has swiftly turned too old
Yet and still he treks anywhere a junkie goes
YET AND STILL A JUKIE KNOWS
It doesn’t matter if it’s 99 degrees or a freezing frigid and cold
Let’s look at it this way, at least there ain’t no grass to mow
And Lord knows this is one junkie ain’t going to be hampered by two feet of snow
© 2010.….Poefree

Trudged outside to drive to work
Warmed the car and applied some torque
Wheels spinning and going nowhere
Except downwards until I didn't care

Seems I'm stuck I saddly lamented
A mild spell made snow soft I vented
What should I do now I thought
Phone in to work and explain I ought

Whatever will I do with myself today
For in my house I am forced to stay
Well I'll happily while away the hours
Go to PC before my disposition sours

A happy place where I may jest and fun
Somewhere they laugh at my bad puns
A place where people always lend a hand
No buried heads in the pages or the sand

A wondrous place of creativity and mirth
Simply not like any other on this earth
Where kindness and sympathy abides
Understanding as constant as the tides

A place where the sun is always shining
They gladly listen to my constant wining
A place where people are reaching out
Sanctuary where I can scream and shout

Now that I've got your attention
Glorified all as helpful by intention
Do you consider it less than absurb
Could you all push my car past the curb??

the other day i stumbled upon
something i'd been trying awhile,
to find but it was contingent on
my memory being more versatile

to where it was when last seen
by me or anyone else i think,
not right or left but in between,
recalled location my missing link

with much glee i picked it up and
my palm turned and rolled it around
what occurred after memory offhand
said it was nowhere to be found

© agoodguy2have 2011-07-13

She calls her band Rasputina,
Melora Kreiger's the one.
Dressed in Victorian underwear,
Her shows are a lot of fun.

Electric rock cello she plays,
Pushing through Marshalls and loud.
Her lyrics are edgy and cool,
Knows how to work up a crowd.

Plays in New York now and then,
Touring costs too much these days.
Caught her show in St Louis once,
Man, does she rock when she plays!

So check her out if you've time,
Listen online if you would.
Her music is best listened loud,
Telling you, it's really good.

I shouldn't but I do
Have command of my lovers hands,
Though I don't need their tanned advances
Or their delightfully soft demands.

Flecked with yellow and cinnamon
His lovely warm brown eyes,
Are the charming and most disarming
Keys to my demise.

For I drown in their soft beauty
Regardless of where he reposes ,
So he plies me with Belgian chocolates
Wrapped up in the reddest of roses.

Trapped here within this blackest of sin
That surrounds me when he is gone,
I know,
It's wrong,
His gold ring tells me so,
But when he begs, 'Be my other woman'
Then my lips just won't whisper 'no'.

A UNKIND KIND OF KINDLING

I am taking pictures off the wall
Then taking them to the flame
I am burning each and all
Food for a fire fueled by blame

Snapshots that still had the sweet aroma of your perfume
Here are the figures and figurines that once posed the query, “Can love get any better than this?
Figures and images we hung in the front room
And a thousand scenes of me giving you a kindling kiss

I never let things go but fought over so many paltry things
It’s easier burning photos than the memory of the night she took my name
A night of an angel in white and a man in black and tails trading rings
Further food for a fire fueled by shame

I’ll have to spackle those holes and heal them quite well
But I am incapable of healing what which has been done is done
I’ve a legion of sins and there’s so much more to tell
But what’s gone is gone so I’m burning pictures one by one

I will always remember when I first heard an angel’s song
Lyrics of love as two hearts were bound together by desire
But not even that angel could accept all that I’ve done wrong
Disregarding the deepest description of both desire and this fire

She knew I had to go as her face betrayed a frigid frown
It hadn’t been easy letting her down easy at all
I simply said “I’m saddling my horse Scout and leaving town”
And Scout is getting restless so I’ll stop taking pictures off the wall
© 2011.….Phreepoetree