Last Viewed Quatrain Poems (304)

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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.

When lightning strikes the sodden trees
and bad weather does prevail
steer not from your chosen course
across the hills and dale

When thunder is about you
and the sky delivers hail
keep pace along the country lanes
despite the howling gale

In time the sun will shine again
there is no time to wail
for many a mile is still to go
be sturdy as a rail

Honesty is the best policy
That's a lesson I was taught at school
But today in a world of trickery
Is that merely advice for a fool?

One time a person's word was his bond
A handshake was used to seal a deal
Today, no oath can be relied on
For some are always trying to steal

I shall be honest in my action
For to myself I have to be true
In each and every situation
No matter what others say or do

Peace of mind is most important to me
That's why I shall always strive to be free
To act in all truth and sincerity
For honesty is the best policy

Antithesis of avian beauty
Monstrosity of the bird family
Head and neck very hideous looking
In dull black wrinkled up unfeathered skin

Exposed decaying animal matter
Can produce unhealthy bacteria
That can endanger other life species
Threatening them with illness and disease

Consumption of animal carrion
Is part of your normal food ingestion
Though your appearance may cause revulsion
You fulfil a most essential function

Your motion on land is very clumsy
With those black legs you step so awkwardly
Yet when you take off to the air in flight
Your graceful movement is a pleasant sight

Riding air currents way up in the sky
On motionless wings you go sailing by
While cruising up there at such a great height
You still search for food with your keen eyesight

Though to some, you may appear unsightly
Your role in nature is prized most highly
You are indeed a most worthy creature
I pay tribute to you, noble vulture

A thousand islands in the sea

I am an island, all on my own,
Eroded by the oceans foam,
God’s heaven temporarily on loan,
Like a grazing sheep, free to roam.

A thousand islands in the sea,
A plethora of souls isolated like me,
I am a chronicler of my times that’s been,
And some of these things my eyes have seen.

I find you in the mornings,
Like honey from the sun,
Rays shining through the blinds
Will fate today opt to be cruel or kind?

You whisper sweet reveries, of times you have seen,
And use subtle tricks to ascertain which way I will lean,
Insidious mind games, you plot to win,
Permutations of loss, loss through the wages of sin.

I am an island,
Destined to stand alone,
Aloof from the continent of fellow men,
But on the island is the ever moving scribe’s pen

So should you find me in the orchards in May,
And not having anything with my voice to say,
My words will be recorded in all its various stages,
As Bukowski said “Man’s soul or lack of it will be evident by what he can carve on a blank page”.

to decide how things must be
or tell you what is best for you, nor
clothes of a bystander wear, watching silently
while you are threatened or killed.

So, in your life, what role do I play?
How does one make a difference
but not get in your life’s way?
Questions that haunt are deeply instilled.

Searching for answers, pecking the keys
to type paved pathways to freedom
Doors and hearts opened, fingers squeezed
back-spacing over hatred, a better life to build.

With wounds and demons to fight
both from within and without, all
as our circle closes tightly, under harsh light,
ozone comes through holes waiting to be filled.

Though within the spectrum of light lies,
within its whiteness, colors, we cannot see
those bands of caring that span the skies
until by refraction rainbow-beauty is spilled.

While it is not for me to decide
or to tell you what is best for you
It is for me with you to abide
together, by beveled mirror, revealed.

He pulled out every trick he had learned from what others had been writing,
but no matter what he tried, the fish just were not biting.
He tried grubs and snails and rare Brazilian skinks; maggots,
salmon eggs, and every bait that stinks.
He finally shook his head and spoke, "That's everything I had
and not a nibble did I get, what say you, grandad?

The fisher looked at him and winked, said "You need to learn some more. Just remember there's a fine line between a fisherman, and an idiot on the shore. I told you once, now this is twice: come back and see me later. And next time don't bring along your voice, you little master baiter."


Third times the charm he thought, as he showed up on the dock
and sat down to wait the fisherman, on his favorite rock.
Two hours passed, and still he hadn't shown
the boy just sat and waited there, on the jetty all alone.

A passerby just shook his and said "Old Jed is gone. Reeled in by the greatest Fisher, been a week since he passed on.
He told me if I saw you, did my old pal Jed,
that he left you all the fishing gear that there was in his shed."

While the boy was trying cope with the fisher being dead,
his unheeding footsteps took him over to the shed.
His hands sought out a bamboo pole and a bobber made of cork,
and baited a worm upon the hook before his mind could work.

His sensibilities came to him with a little splash,
of sinker hitting water and the leaders flash.
He sat there contemplating Jed until the dawning light.
And as he sat there silently, the fish began to bite.

A lesson learned too late is still a lesson learned,
for Jed had taught the boy exactly that for which he yearned.
The fisherman is gone, no more for worldly strife,
but where he used to sit and fish, there's a new one, such is life.

i've buried more shining friends than you can believe
and buried so many psychiatrists that you can't conceive
i've been to seedy places most people wouldn't dare to enter
and of the people who try to censor me you are in the dead center

i write what i see, hear and with clarity know
yet and still you want to turn rain into snow
well i'll always be snow no matter what you may say
and for no one or reason shall i alter my way

my poems are warnings to parents they need to heed
so they can recognize when Johnny has a habit to feed
but there you are trying to stifle what they need to hear
and i deem you doing that totally unfair

i do take criticism but first i'd like to read you
because something tells me you write about a sky so blue
you probably scribe words about warriors so brave
while i tell people how to save themselves from an early grave

well at this particular time that's all i have to state
that and i wish your irrational reviews of me would abate
because i don't give a damn if you kick me or sock me
but then you have the unmitigated nerve to block me
yours in rebellion, relaxation, and reflexes that reflect
my attitude toward critics like you
~free cee!~

as I skim the treetops
gazing all around
birds on nearby branches
joyfully sing their song

looking upwards on high
never ceases to astound
white clouds on a blue sky
looming in the background

glancing downwards
my vision contacts the ground
where water in a nearby stream
gently flows along

leaves that fell from the trees
have all turned to brown
dotting the green grass
growing on the ground

among the fallen leaves
some wildflowers abound
painting a lovely picture
leaving me spellbound

To exist, a living thing must be born
Whether animal, plant or some other
This marks the initial stage it builds on
And heralds its life that follows after

After its birth, there is the growth process
Which requires adequate nutrition
In this vital stage, there must be success
In order to attain maturation

A living thing in full maturity
Displays its species characteristics
These serve to define its identity
In testimony of its uniqueness

Living things are programmed internally
To keep their species continuation
To make this action a reality
They engage in acts of reproduction

Living things cannot live eternally
The process of decay cannot be stopped
Bodies that once were quite firm and healthy
With time they become shriveled and dried up

The action of decay is precursor
That signals the final stage which is death
For living organisms wherever
This occurs when they take their final breath