Types of Poetry Forms: Quatern

Today, I tried my hand at a new (to me) French poetic form that incorporates a refrain like in the villanelle and eight-syllable lines like in the kyrielle. Since I’m a big fan of refrains, I think this poetic form rocks.

Quatern Poetic Form Rules

  1. This poem has 16 lines broken up into 4 quatrains (or 4-line stanzas).
  2. Each line is comprised of eight syllables.
  3. The first line is the refrain. In the second stanza, the refrain appears in the second line; in the third stanza, the third line; in the fourth stanza, the fourth (and final) line.
  4. There are no rules for rhyming or iambics.

My Attempt at a Quatern

as the sun set in the forest, by Robert Lee Brewer

as the sun set in the forest,
she slipped out of her slip. she left
it on a branch and then asked me
to follow. her bells became stars.

when the boomerang moon melted,
as the sun set in the forest,
her trail went cold. i tried to find
which way but only the raven

knows. the moon caught a glimpse of sun
but shadow clouds surrounded her
as the sun set in the forest.
there was nothing i could explain.

she was naked and i was scared
of not having her promises,
not that i could ever keep them,
as the sun set in the forest.

Want to Try Your Hand at the Types of Poems on This Blog?

It’s as easy as pasting your poem in the comments below. You’ll be pleasantly surprised by how many take part and the kind of encouragement you’ll likely receive.

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Learn more about poetic forms…

…with the assistance of The Poetry Dictionary, by John Drury. This essential desk reference for poets shares poetic forms, poetic terms, history of poetry, schools of poetry, and more.

Click to continue.

 

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67 thoughts on “Types of Poetry Forms: Quatern

  1. Toby

    Wake My Heart
    by Toby Grubbs ©

    Wake my heart to the dawning star
    Rises majestic and silent
    Breaking horizon prison bars
    Piercing veil as twilight fragments

    Wake my heart for night has passed us
    Foreboding spirits parting ways
    Their wicked motives tenebrous
    They flee before the cleansing rays

    Wake my heart to angst departing
    As doleful shadows dissipate
    Though love lost is devastating
    Lament no more your shifting fate

    Wake my heart to Holy Wisdom
    A salve to heal the broken heart
    Embrace the warmth of its freedom
    From your spirit it will not part

  2. bergstm

    So here is my first attempt at a quatern. . . and poetry for that matter. Please be kind. ; )

    “Commute”

    Again I drove to work today,
    Seeing the same commuters with
    Pithy bumper stickers and plates
    In the morning rush to D.C.

    In vexing bumper-to-bumper
    Traffic today I drove to work,
    Dreading the unrelenting pace
    Of man-made deadlines and crises.

    But then my husband and I to
    Reclaim our souls moved far away.
    We drive or bike to work each day
    From our home just two miles away.

    A simple blissful life is ours
    In the other Washington, where
    We own our lives and little shop
    And bike or drive to work each day.

  3. priyajane

    Should I have made that call tonight?
    To tell you how I felt inside
    But then the skeptic self took charge
    And my silent words got jumbled

    Inside my spleen of dread which spread
    Should I have made that call tonight?
    But doubts, like spiders, spinning webs
    Just grabbed my ego’s burning hand

    and took command, with creeping friends-
    Regrets and a complaining mind
    Should I have made that call tonight?
    Amidst some storms that made their way

    To my tear filled memory box
    And whispered dreams with answers for
    That question which has plagued my mind-
    Should I have made that call tonight?

    PriyA Jane

  4. poeta

    I shared the Quatern form with my writing group. This was my attempt:

    Shells of Brass and Men

    I found a shell at Normandy
    while reminiscing on the shore
    of that June onslaught years ago.
    It lay, protruding from the sand.

    Retrieving it, unsure of what
    I’d found. A shell at Normandy,
    not made of brass, nor men that fell
    like lethal rain drops in the surf.

    But a charcoal weathered mussel,
    here, where bodies massed like driftwood
    I found a shell. At Normandy
    abandoned gun emplacements line

    beaches- rusted carapaces.
    Cupped in my palm – the empty shell
    of chitin, not brass nor man.
    I found a shell at Normandy.

  5. Marcella Franseen

    There is a quiet for my soul
    found in a cup of coffee, cream
    and two sugars, or a good book,
    or a blank piece of paper that

    is waiting for ink words. Sometimes
    there is a quiet for my soul
    found on a walk in the woods, or
    watching leaves fall in autumn, or

    lying on soft grass, gazing up
    at the stars and moon hung at night.
    There is a quiet for my soul
    while watching a sunset, or a

    garden grow, or the soft, clean rain
    against my window. As I watch
    my daughter asleep in her bed,
    there is a quiet for my soul.

  6. Marcella Franseen

    I used to believe in kisses,
    sweet like the red candy apple
    we shared at the fair that first time,
    our mouths pressed, sticky and cherry.

    Remember that summer beach trip?
    I used to believe in kisses
    walking in the waves, your lips hot
    and salty, your hand soft in mine.

    And those nights on the porch eating
    ice cream, fireflies swirling our heads,
    I used to believe in kisses
    as cold and soft as new wet snow.

    But kisses are too easily
    given with eyes shut, and moments
    become memories, become dreams.
    I used to believe in kisses.

  7. FrankieW

    Wayward

    Capricious snowflakes float around
    me. As I stand they debark on
    my shivery, crimson visage;
    melting lucent, trickling ribbons.

    Twirling, blowing, careening, cold,
    capricious snowflakes float around.
    Chopin’s Prelude in E minor
    plays. My eyes close. Serenity.

    I walk a ways – on the ruins
    of a pallor world. Ignorant
    capricious snowflakes float around.
    The war is over! So rejoice?

    Kinfolk departed. I’m alone.
    My hollow soul screams silently.
    I wander, cloaked in winter’s brume.
    Capricious snowflakes float around.

  8. Patricia A. Hawkenson

    Guillotine

    When your lips brush my yielding neck,
    I remember why I should turn
    away from all the sharpened words
    that landed with a cutting edge.

    Your warm breath tries to soften me
    when your lips brush my yielding neck,
    but I’m still stiff and suspended
    above your pensive punishment.

    Even though I reprimand you
    as your strong arms coil around me,
    when your lips brush my yielding neck,
    you make me want to struggle less.

    For I’ve been found guilty of love,
    and if I have to bite my tongue,
    I’ll forgive my shoulders dropping
    when your lips brush my yielding neck.

  9. Jacqueline Hallenbeck

    Inspired by Kim King’s trip to Paris, and a dream I had last night…

    Ticket to Paris

    I bought a ticket to Paris
    times two. I’ve been wanting to do
    this for the longest time; visit
    The City of Light, my husband

    and I, a honeymoon at last.
    I bought a ticket to Paris
    for three weeks’ time, but I bought it
    with my sister and now I’m in

    a jam because it’s not with her
    I want to go but my husband.
    I bought a ticket to Paris
    in my dreams, and I’m afraid to

    go because my sister is dead.
    I miss her, but I don’t want to
    go just yet; such stress, ever since
    I bought a ticket to Paris.

  10. Jessica Lafortune

    Maternal Instinct

    When you ask what is wrong with me
    and I say, “Nothing,” I mean not
    anything relating to you
    directly. Not that I am fine.

    You are a blameless child. How then,
    when you ask what is wrong with me,
    can I say what I mean, which is,
    Everything. All of it. How then,

    could you feel secure knowing this
    truth: that I trust no one, not you
    when you ask what is wrong with me,
    nor me when I smile in response.

    I am a survivor, darling,
    longer than I am a mother;
    forgive me my armor, my cast
    when you ask what is wrong with me.

  11. David Greenwell

    The Intangible

    Obsessing the intangible.
    Grieved by the blurred image of what?
    Negating all, but for nothing.
    So that all, slips through a loose grip.

    Is there something I will find, while
    obsessing the intangible,
    to replace all it has consumed?
    Or is that brass ring out of reach?

    A haunting song without the words.
    A picture yet to be painted.
    Obsessing the intangible,
    has left me too long in my head.

    The years have past and still I wade,
    through depths of dreamlike consciousness.
    Searching to somehow justify ,
    obsessing the intangible.

  12. Marcella Franseen

    There is a quiet for my soul
    Found in a cup of coffee, cream
    and two sugars, or a good book,
    or a blank piece of paper that

    is waiting for ink words. Sometimes
    There is a quiet for my soul
    found on a walk in the woods, or
    watching leaves fall in autumn, or

    lying on soft grass, gazing up
    at the stars and moon hung at night.
    There is a peace for my soul
    While watching a sunset, or a

    garden grow, or the soft rain
    against my window. As I watch
    my daughter asleep in her bed,
    There is a peace for my soul.

  13. David Greenwell

    Poisoned By Love

    If ever you’re of the notion,
    That things can really be the same,
    After tempests of commotion,
    Are quenched by leaving me to blame.

    To justify your hemlock phrase,
    if ever you’re of the notion.
    Look down upon me with your gaze,
    while questioning my devotion.

    Cut my heart and my emotion,
    tearing open freshly healed scars.
    If ever you’re of the notion,
    Mix in the salt from hate filled jars.

    For all these poisons that you use,
    To concoct you’re lovers potion,
    I’ll drink them down and won’t refuse,
    If ever you’re of the notion.

  14. Nancy Posey

    Coffee

    I was stopping by for coffee;
    you were only killing time.
    There’s no way I could have known
    you’d be there just ahead in line.

    You were catching up on reading,
    I was stopping by for coffee,
    didn’t want to interrupt you,
    I’ll just say hi, hope you don’t mind.

    Long ago we used to meet here;
    in fact, we met here that first time.
    I was stopping by for coffee;
    you joked about the same old grind.

    I won’t say I’m sentimental
    but I will admit you caught me;
    I’m here almost every day–
    only stopping by for coffee.

  15. Walt Wojtanik

    IN A POET’S HEART IS BEAUTY

    In a poet’s heart is beauty,
    it is through a sense of duty
    that a true poet will express
    what all poetic hearts possess.

    This fact one cannot refute, see;
    in a poet’s heart is beauty.
    Romantic words to rend his soul,
    the feelings wrought will not control

    the depth of expression within.
    To deny this muse is a sin.
    In a poet’s heart is beauty.
    Lightness of words, sad or moody,

    bring delight to such expression.
    They lift souls from their depression
    never sounding harsh or haughty,
    in a poet’s heart is beauty.

    As Mary Mansfield had mentioned earlier, Marie Elena and I had highlighted the Quatern in one of our IN-FORM POET segments at POETIC BLOOMINGS (http://poeticbloomings.com). Our “garden” is growing like wildflowers! You can read more Quaterns at http://poeticbloomings.com/2012/01/24/in-form-poet-quatern/

  16. Janet Rice Carnahan

    A Jewel Found in a Dark Cave

    A jewel found in a dark cave,
    Brought in many who sought treasure!
    Like the jewel itself summoned!
    “Come and seek me out, I am here”!

    They first came unaware of it,
    A jewel found in a dark cave.
    Many were just searching for gold.
    Startled to find the hidden gem!

    It only glowed to those of heart,
    With good and positive intent!
    A jewel found in a dark cave.
    Couldn’t just go to anyone!

    It would only reveal itself,
    If attuned with similar light,
    Possessing a pure reflection,
    A jewel found in a dark cave.

  17. Joseph Harker

    A slightly tongue-in-cheek one for the guy across the street when I walk to work in the morning:

    Extra, Extra

    Crying, “Post! Times! Journal, and more!”
    he perches before the station.
    And shakes greasy hair, lifts gloved hands,
    repeating his invocation.

    No matter your taste, he keeps on
    crying “Post! Times! Journal, and more!”
    Different angles for everyone,
    points of view peddled by the score.

    First for photos, second for news,
    the last for suits to read on trains.
    Crying, “Post! Times! Journal, and more!”
    he counts up his curb-gotten gains.

    When the dollars deplete his stash,
    he drifts towards the wide station door.
    Vox pop prophet, shaved clean of words,
    crying, “Post! Times! Journal!” no more.

  18. De Jackson

    Robert, “boomerang moon” woos me, and in all honesty is just the sort of incredible wordmelt that most likely get osmosized into a piece of mine a year from now. I shall try very, very hard to remember that I read it here in your gorgeous poem, and give credit where due. 😉

  19. De Jackson

    Selah
    (a quatern)

    Stand still, strong and sing your own song,
    even when the music stops and
    the band goes home and the lights go
    down, even when the whispers say

    hush. No rush, lungs fill, spill as you
    stand still, strong and sing your own song.
    Taste the timbre on your tongue, rung
    as a bell into the waiting

    wind, these trees dance and sway, swirl a
    -way on your phrase, rhyme and make time
    stand still, strong and sing your own song.
    The silence that follows is your

    own, the laughter a promise, for
    the leaves that fall as breezes blow
    carry what trees already know:
    Stand still, strong and sing your own song.

  20. Bruce Niedt

    Purple Heart

    I gave away your clothes last week.
    A truck rolled up and took six bags
    to some forsaken warehouse where
    they’d be passed on to people who

    cannot afford to buy them new.
    I gave away your clothes. Last week
    I couldn’t stand the closet full
    of coats and dresses, hung like ghosts

    and so I yanked them off their racks,
    stuffed plastic bags with memories
    I gave away. Your clothes, last week,
    went to a world that never knew

    how fine you were, how beautiful
    in that red dress, that silken blouse
    some stranger walks the street in now.
    I gave away your clothes last week.

  21. Mary Mansfield

    I really enjoy this form, been playing with it for a few weeks since seeing it over on the Poetic Bloomings site.

    The Next Step

    I strip the trials and pain away,
    Tomorrow starts a brand new day
    Of searching for a way to start
    To mend my aching, shattered heart.

    To keep my spirit from decay,
    I strip the trials and pain away.
    I’ve tried but just can’t be consoled.
    How many tears can one heart hold?

    How can I be brave, be strong?
    I’m tired of singing that sad song.
    I strip the trials and pain away,
    Abandoning the old cliché.

    If I can make it through this night,
    I may just find the will to fight.
    For strength to carry on, I pray.
    I strip the trials and pain away.

  22. taylor graham

    NIGHT ON THE MOOR FALLING

    Don’t get caught on the moor at night.
    The pathways are so few and faint,
    no shelter against sudden storms.
    Climbers of the tors don’t return.

    A white-gowned woman haunts the Falls.
    Don’t get caught on the moor at night.
    Ferns and flowers are treacherous.
    She comes when someone is drowning.

    Walking alone with none to guide,
    you hear strange voices on the wind.
    Don’t get caught on the moor at night.
    Far from sea, Crazywell has tides,

    and no bottom. A cross stands guard.
    See the mirrored face of the next
    to die, and listen for his name.
    Don’t get caught on the moor at night.

  23. taylor graham

    MATT’S WORLD

    Yes, brilliant color’s everything.
    Finger-paint smeared red with sky-blue
    on butter-yellow, till the black
    and white of every-day gets lost

    in labyrinths of green and orange –
    yes, brilliant color’s everything! –
    purple, what Mrs. Frazier calls
    the Secondary Colors; then

    she points to the big Color Wheel
    on the dull kindergarten wall –
    yes, Brilliant Color’s everything –
    as if that explained what Matt sees.

    His dad would call it a mishmash,
    those aqua-mango-sunset swirls
    and spirals dancing on the page.
    Yes! Brilliant color’s everything.

  24. Mystical-Poet

    Love the form, so here’s my attempt at Quatern

    A Ponzi Dream

    He’s perched upon a ponzi dream
    Where nothing is as it may seem
    He’s just a beggar at fate’s throne
    A broken life to those he’s known

    Private tutors, vixen nannies
    He’s perched upon a ponzi dream
    Diamonds and gems, hidden crannies
    Still recruiting, come join the team

    Love and power extract their cost
    Hard to earn and easily lost
    He’s perched upon a ponzi dream
    L A sunset stirs another scheme

    Swindling champ with preacher flair
    Super “duper” extraordinaire
    Your fortune’s lost you won’t redeem
    He’s perched upon a ponzi dream

  25. PKP

    The whispered wind

    The whispered wind floated in air
    In sweet embrace they gathered there
    Connected in diversity
    Shimmered shining sacrosanct

    They came from corners of the earth
    The whispered wind floated in the air
    Dropping hard or tentatively
    Lyrics fell on the glistened street

    Once a season a storm might pass
    Stirring passions and poetry
    The whispered wind floated in the air
    As all settled back into one

    Walking safely on paving stone
    Joined in collective love of same
    Tumbling as lovers in leaved grass
    The whispered wind floated in the air

    Until it hissed and went silent.

  26. tjholt

    Reassurance by Timm Holt

    Reassurance I’m not alone,
    sometimes a touch is all it takes
    to know that someone cares for me,
    their caress, goose bumps on my flesh.

    Quiet is sometimes what I want.
    Reassurance I’m not alone,
    silence is not always silent,
    wisdom breaches the solitude.

    Sometimes I just want to be shown,
    to watch creation unfolding,
    reassurance I’m not alone,
    I’m part of the whole universe.

    Sometimes I’m required to atone
    be accountable for my touch,
    help in time of another’s need,
    reassurance I’m not alone.

  27. PKP

    She thought love was reciprocal (first attempt at form)

    She thought love was reciprocal
    Gathered together all for one
    Bright eyed enthusiasm yet
    Renewed each time together met

    Gathered together all for one
    She thought love was reciprocal
    Brought bouquets of words from her heart
    Month melted years were not apart

    Bright eyed enthusiasm yet
    Renewed each time together met
    She thought love was reciprocal
    Gathered together all for one

    Month melted years were not apart
    Brought bouquets of words from her heart
    Gathered together all for one
    She thought love was reciprocal

    1. PKP

      I think I followed the form in terms of eight syllables and the refrain line… before I knew it I also moved the same lines about in different orders… Well, fun to try something new.

  28. Marian O'Brien Paul

    This form sounded familiar, so I checked my files and found one I’d written before. But I had unwittingly only written 3 stanzas, so I added another stanza to correct the error:

    Love – a Quatern

    How did I love you? Let me think.
    Your azure eyes ignited mine
    until I noticed how often
    they lit up other women’s eyes.

    After your first affair, I thought,
    “How did I love you? Let me think.”
    Our daughter has your golden hair;
    our son, your shoulders, your blue eyes.

    But when a young woman, merely
    seventeen, caught your wand’ring eyes,
    “How did I love you? Let me think,”
    I asked myself and changed my mind.

    Forty-six years have hurried by,
    the lifetime I thought we would share.
    Are you still alive? I wonder . . .
    How did I love you? Let me think . . .

  29. Peggy

    A very interesting form.

    Against the Wind

    Against the wind we stand our ground
    from mercenary doubt of will
    attacking from within, and out
    in whispers, “Why are you here still?”

    A tempest tempers passion as
    against the wind we stand our ground,
    securing every little tree
    to bloodless broken branches found.

    They tell us we are chasing ghosts
    who long past fought this battle, lost,
    against the wind. We stand our ground
    and swaddle slips against the frost.

    To every apple, every tree,
    to every chestnut we are bound.
    As unrequited lovers go,
    against the wind we stand our ground.

  30. barbara_y

    You’d think I could follow a form with so few constraints, wouldn’t you?
    But I like the result, so…

    Now

    …the day before tomorrow,
    and tomorrow’s nothing special:
    just a month before the Ides of March.
    It’s Tuesday, and looks like more rain.

    Found a token on my laptop
    just the day before tomorrow,
    nothing special, just a few words,
    small things on a rainy morning.

    Flocks of chickweed by the driveway–
    can’t count how many wet white stars.
    On the day before tomorrow,
    I’m standing, smiling, in the rain.

    Little stars keep on returning,
    against the odds, suggesting spring,
    and a host of days to follow
    the day before tomorrow.

  31. Earl Parsons

    Feb 14

    February fourteenth again
    More flowers and candy to buy
    Flowers are not a sign of love
    And candy only makes you fat

    So what can be done on this day
    February fourteenth again
    Same-old, same-old is just boring
    And money’s too tight for diamonds

    I’m pulling my hair out once more
    I can’t believe it’s come around
    February fourteenth again
    And I’m looking for directions

    Should I write a mushy love poem
    Should I take her to a movie
    Will “I Love You” be sufficient
    February fourteenth again

  32. Earl Parsons

    My Life

    I present to the Lord my life
    After all, He gave it to me
    Of course, I have freedom of choice
    I could do with it what I wish

    But to keep it would be wrong, so
    I present to the Lord my life
    I submit to His perfect will
    And I trust Him to get me through

    For so long I went the wrong way
    Years of lost darkness now must end
    I present to the Lord my life
    The Prodigal Son has returned

    To the safety of loving arms
    Communion with the Only One
    Never more to roam in darkness
    I present to the Lord my life

  33. foodpoet

    like the form will try to edit to make smoother line breaks

    Fade away into dolphin dreams
    Just below the surface i
    Float and sink and invade your dreams
    I am thought bubble that rises

    In night to shatter light to dark
    Fade away into dolphin dreams
    The light ray shines glimmers in the
    Fading of sinking time passing

    Tentacles of day encroach to
    Claim another thought dream and i
    Fade away into dolphin dreams
    Just out of reach of peace and calm

    Sharks and lions of the deep prowl
    Ray ideas glide down into
    the deep and I swim ever down
    fade away into dolphin dreams

  34. Jane Shlensky

    I don’t mean to bum you out on Valentine’s Day: some loves are harder than others, but are still worth the doing.

    Constancy

    I have a friend who betrays me.
    Often and painfully, she breaks
    my heart and challenges my trust
    in her and my faith in myself.

    And it hurts every time I say
    I have a friend who betrays me,
    for what sort of friend is that to
    lie and abuse those who love her?

    But somehow I’m engaged by this
    constant forgiveness rehearsal.
    I have a friend who betrays me,
    whom I can’t forget, whom I love.

    This poem comes from a sad place
    in me, for I don’t crave abuse,
    and yet I want to honor truth:
    I have a friend who betrays me.

  35. Jane Shlensky

    It’s true–I’m in love with Woody Woodpecker’s progeny. Happy hearts today, friends!

    Among the Trees

    A flash of red among the trees
    pulls me from window to window.
    Binoculars in hand, I wait
    in silence, ears leaning, tuned to

    a pileated woodpecker,
    a flash of red among the trees,
    like a pterodactyl reborn
    in black and white, red plume rising

    like flame to crown him as he delves
    deep for insects in dead branches,
    a flash of red among the trees,
    yodeling at work, keen on ants.

    He does not know I wait for him,
    passing by other feathered friends,
    for him, uncommon visitor,
    a flash of red among the trees.

  36. taylor graham

    NIGHT ON THE MOOR FALLING

    Don’t ever get caught on the moor after dark.
    Miles of wilderness. Pathways are few and faint
    with little shelter against sudden storms.
    Who seeks to climb the tors may never return.

    A woman in a long white gown haunts the Falls.
    Don’t ever get caught on the moor after dark.
    Lovely with fern and flower, it’s treacherous.
    The Lady appears when someone is drowning.

    Walking here alone with no friend to guide,
    you’ll hear strange voices on the granite wind.
    Don’t ever get caught on the moor after dark.
    Far from ocean, Crazywell falls with the tides.

    Crazywell has no bottom. It’s guarded by a cross.
    Midsummer Eve, the face of the doomed appears
    and Crazywell calls out the name of the next to die.
    Don’t ever get caught on the moor after dark.

  37. Connie Peters

    She Stood Alone

    She stood alone and faced the crowd.
    The dam of tears about to break.
    Smiling sadly and shaking hands
    of friends from all stages of life.

    She highlighted his finer points.
    She stood alone and faced the crowd.
    To her—the words just a caption
    of a complicated novel.

    Flashes of feelings, memories,
    good and bad times passed through her mind.
    She stood alone and faced the crowd.
    She wondered how she would go on.

    She felt guilty knowing she could.
    Grief wrestled with thoughts of freedom,
    of hope and joyful days ahead.
    She stood alone and faced the crowd.

  38. PKP

    Oh these are wonderful… as is the form… which I do agree is reminiscent of cascade. Will try my hand at some point…. for now from Roberts sun setting slipping out of slip on through dominos raven , Michael’s finish line, bus and ending and Ber’s walk on the line BRAVO to all.. Loving the form and the particular poems (HA.. will find you later) …. Thanks to Robert for fun form for Valentine’s Day ..

  39. Ber

    Walking the Line

    I ask you to set me free
    It’s the least you can do for me
    I have fought back these thoughts for so long now
    I can’t stay here anymore you see

    I know you really want me
    I ask you to set me free
    I know we could make it work
    I can’t watch you hurt yourself

    Cant watch you go berserk
    The person I once knew
    I ask you to set me free
    Has turned their back on reality

    Doesn’t even go to work
    Where will we go from here?
    What are we to do?
    I ask you to set me free

  40. Michael Grove

    Ended This Way

    It shouldn’t have ended this way.
    It should have been a sunny day.
    So much rhythm and so much rhyme.
    So much to do. So little time.

    A time to go. A time to stay.
    It shouldn’t have ended this way.
    Nonetheless, it was of the grace.
    He went to a wonderful place.

    A place for one. A place for all.
    Beautiful music and the call.
    It shouldn’t have ended this way.
    He followed the light of the ray.

    A ray of hope. A ray of sun.
    A short time here, he had his fun.
    Life was a game. He loved to play.
    It shouldn’t have ended this way.

    By Michael Grove

  41. Michael Grove

    Under the Bus

    She threw them all under the bus
    because her husband could not throw
    and catch the ball at the same time.
    She was more than just frustrated.

    They were the ones who dropped the ball.
    She threw them all under the bus.
    It was a great big giant bus
    and it was certainly rolling.

    They had plenty of chances to
    rise above everything but when
    she threw them all under the bus
    they became outraged and told her

    of her place. Gladiators in
    combat to prove themselves worthy
    they failed during and after and
    she threw them all under the bus.

    By Michael Grove

  42. Michael Grove

    Here is a Quatern with a twist. In addition to the proper form I have also made the last line of each quatern the first line of the next quatern. I wrote this just a few weeks ago for a form prompt.

    The Finish Line

    I’ll be there at the finish line.
    It’s written here by grand design.
    The words I speak always ring true.
    Count on me to be there for you.

    Count on me to be there for you.
    I’ll be there at the finish line.
    Together all our dreams come true.
    This light we share will always shine.

    This light we share will always shine.
    Our future is so very bright.
    I’ll be there at the finish line.
    Forever more we‘ll share the light.

    Forever more we‘ll share the light.
    We’ll live with vision and with sight.
    Now everything will be just fine.
    I’ll be there at the finish line.

    By Michael Grove

  43. Domino

    This was fun, but I sure hope I did this right!

    Kindly Raven

    When I first walked outside today
    a raven hopped onto the wall
    and croaked the way they sometimes do.
    He must have been reminding me

    to look up, see the gorgeous sky
    when I first walked outside today.
    And as I left my yard and walked,
    the spring breeze carrying the scent

    of flowers all around, I thought
    I knew what he meant by that croak
    when I first walked outside today,
    that there was so much beauty here

    in my small world, but also in
    the world at large. And so, grateful
    for his message, I softly smiled
    when I first walked outside today.

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