Quatrain Poems (303)

I watched a hatching baby chick
struggling to break free from its shell
that was its home for many days
but now was time to say farewell

Mom had pecked into the shell
a tiny hole to start the process
She did her part dutifully
Now the chick must do the rest

I felt sorry for the struggling chick
and could almost feel the pain
I wanted to break off the shell
thinking it would ease the strain

Then I remembered someone said
the chick must struggle on its own
to start its heart and lungs working
for it to become fully grown

I stood and watched as a miracle
unfolded right in front of me
All by itself the chick broke out
and stood there so cute and furry

There is a lesson here for parents
who are raising a family
Be protective of your children
but do not do it overly

"Be indebted and take the ghee
to the last drop," when said it he,
he did not mean that man lazy be
and the truth behind fails to see.

Be indebted and the ghee you take
to enjoy your life for life's sake,
not lazy man himself to make
but to remain ever awake.

Life is short and born accident;
water, air, earth, fire element
together with space do augment
the human life development.

On this earth if you are born once,
enjoy your life and gladly dance;
at other sayings look askance,
because for you there is no chance

to be born on this earth again.
Once this body is free from pain
of living, people say in vain:
Moksha the soul does not attain.

What remains after cremation?
How does not one get salvation?
With death ends life's crowded action.
So no soul is in operation.

Spiritual but not religious
what does it really mean
This claim is quite prevalent
on today's scene

Is it just a new age fad
or is it contradictory
If in fact it is the latter
then what is the discrepancy

Religion has divided a person
into body, mind and spirit
It claims it seeks the spirit's welfare
and is sincere about it

If religion really deals with the spirit
then why is there such a fuss
that many still continue to claim
they are spiritual but not religious

Miles and miles lie ahead
being even and odd at places,
having rise and fall on its ways
in the horizon the path mixes.

Unknown, sill unknown it is;
the path is still undiscovered.
it attracts me to be discovered
and I am a mad on this road.

The horizon moves away further;
the lonely path does not end.
Yet my cherished end unachieved,
and ahead have I to cross that bend.

Where leads it me? To a town
where man is a worm in gutter;
where man lives in empty din and bustle
without having his bread and butter?

Man is not a beast, but rational.
Why then they exploit us and cheat?
For us corruption covers them
under the umbrella of power to treat.

Here is no resort to take rest;
The lonely path lies ahead,and
I'm the lonely traveller on it
making my journey forward.

Come on my ways scenes natural:
lakes, forests, hills and vales.
Alive! Alive they are all
as I had heard in various tales.

A village perhaps is there
where leads me this path!
Yes, in this enchanted valley
there is at the centre of this earth.

Far form the noisy world, it is
amidst a calm and quiet atmosphere.
People are happy and of good nature.
Life is smooth and busy here.

It seems Paradise exists here.
Across it the lonely path lies further.
I'm the lonely traveller on it;
have to move through good and bad weather

to find out my own SELF, own nature,
like the path that itself differs
from place to place -- the most
vital lesson that it offers.

Especially this time of the year,
Of all the things I like to hear,
I would love to hear from you,
Of all the things that you do.

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'.

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.

A young man once asked a fisherman can you teach me how to fish?
Said the man, "Why, yes I can, if that is what you wish."
He set the boy to digging, after every storm
and told him "Come back and see me, when you've found the perfect worm.

After weeks of shoveling, and blisters on his hand
he still had not found one cause he didn't understand.
He wasn't searching for a worm, or some other piscine dish, but learning to be patient; you need that when you fish.

He came back to the jetty with a full bait pail,
and set it down at the mans feet as he began to wail.
The fisher glanced down at his feet and said "I guess this will do. Get yourself a rod from the shed, and bring one for me too."

The man waited patiently to see the ones he chose and asked him quite intensely, "What made you pick out those?"
The young man answered testily, "I want to catch big fish, so I got the largest ones I found, to help me with my wish."

"It's not about the size of pole, or quantity of bait,
it's about your patience and how long you sit and wait.
You see son, fishings much like dating, it can be done all wrong. Sometimes you just have to wait before the right one comes along.

Unless you have a great big boat from which you can go trolling, just drop your line into the brine, and continue with your lolling.
That's the end of the lesson, at least until much later. Come back and see me sometime, when you're a better sit-and-waiter."

For weeks the young man searched about for the perfect bait, thinking the whole entire time "I REFUSE to wait!"
Grubs and worms were gathered in, and anything else he found. In his over-frenzied search he turned a lot of ground.

He dove into reading about every kind of fishing
And practised with a rod and reel, and kept a fly a-swishing
One day he finished learning and stood up from his rock, to go looking for the fisherman out on his favorite dock.

Sure enough there he was with his familiar pole
the boy went stalking out to usurp his teaching role
As he walked up to the man he started to rehearse, everything he had read chapter, page and verse.
As he went on about the fishes and their favourite diet, the fisherman just sat and fished and wished that he'd be quiet.

When the boy was finally done and he had ceased to speak, the fisher turned himself around and gave his nose a tweak.
"So you think you've learned everything about worms and fish and bugs?
Pull up a stool and have a try."
The boy complies and shrugs.

Words succinctly remind us tonight
it is, after all, a no-cost dating site
no more, and certainly, no less
on this defense my argument will rest.

This much, too, I must, dutifully, confess
It is not Forums, nor Blogs to address
nor Videos viewed, nor Games played
not Flowerbox planted nor Photos displayed

nor eCards or Mailbox to receive or to send
or Polls to take or Groups to jump in
No Articles of import inserted to share
nor Online Now to see who is there.

Not one of the Tags, colored, small, large
that shout how different or alike we each are
Nor a post or review of one’s favorite CD
Music categorized for enjoyment by you, by me.

Nor one of the 248 pages of Movies, so far, shared
to see what others watch and get to know who cared.
Nor your favorite Books list complete with fans
where The Secret reigns, so at the top it lands.

But rather Poetry, a corner where poets reside
to share with the reader what lives and dies inside
that pours onto paper from the sweat of the pen
risks being judged “mediocre”, beginning to end

thoughts, hopes, ideas, what appears in vivid dreams
captured in rhyming or un-rhyming verse that streams
byte-by-byte through the internet ether, with hope on wing
to resonate, a tear or smile to each reader might bring.

As words succinctly remind us tonight
we’re connected through this no-cost site
so, by now you can, in good humor, guess,
my “mediocre” poem finds a quiet place to rest.

A Christmas Miracle

It was six months ago, and a day,
when her husband passed away.
The doctors said there's no more to do,
so she quit her job to help him through.

The child was sleeping when his father died,
to tell her son, oh, how she tried.
The little boy cried that night,
full of fear, full of fright.

And on that night she lost her faith,
never to believe in the "Pearly Gate."
She made a vow to never pray,
it meant nothing now, anyway.

At the funeral, he could only stare,
wishing that his dad were there.
Tears were filling people's eyes,
saddened by the young boy's cries.

As the months went by, things got rough,
she went back to work, but it wasn't enough.
With no food, no money, and bills to pay,
she just couldn't bring herself to pray.

Before she knew it, it was Christmastime,
and she wasn't able to save a dime.
She felt so bad that she had no tree,
for all her son's friends to see.

On Christmas Eve, they slept together;
she promised her son, she'd be there forever.
He asked her if Santa was coming tonight.
she whispered no, with tears in sight.

Her son would sulk; it wasn't fair;
she hated to see him in despair.
She wanted to give her son some joy,
oh, how she wished she had a toy.

Then:

The mother got to her knees to pray,
asking the Lord to hear her say.
She asked for help to return a smile,
to the face of her little child.

On Christmas morning, the boy was screaming;
she saw his eyes were wide and gleaming.
At the door were games, toys, even a bike,
and a card that said, "For the tyke."

With a great big smile and eyes so bright,
he kissed his mom as he held her tight.
She learned that a charity heard of her plight,
and frantically scrambled through the night.

Then again:

The mother got to her knees to pray,
thanking the Lord for hearing her say.
She thanked the Lord for returning a smile,
to the face of her little child.