Poetry

Quatrain Poetryyy?

Can I just have some quick short quatrain poems?
I’m in the mood to read poetry.

I saw your question had no answers, so I felt bad. I hope you enjoy some of these!

1. jenny 1

and jenny this night is darkest
as i’m standing in the rain
you taught me every pleasure
brings with it its own pain

i thought you were my lover
you were sweetness in my tea
you were honey in my coffee
now you ain’t got time for me

you brought me in one stormy night
you were warm and laid me down
you swept away my darkest fears
you made my head spin round

you took this poor boy for your time
you caught me in my sleep
you caught me with my ‘fences down
i gave up not a peep

and i guess you never planned it
that you’d tear my heart in two
you probably never thought that i
would fall in love with you

and it’s not your fault you’re heaven
to this poor boy from the farm
you didn’t conspire to take my soul
when you took me on your arm

and it seems a longer life ago
that you sat upon my knee
when i walked the midnight alley
and you shinnied up a tree

then i went to work and off to sea
with sparkles in my eyes
and came back home to tennessee
weary of the lies

and meanwhile you had grown up
from that tomboy to shining star
your daddy’s bright-eyed baby
has come along quite far

one wink, a blush, a giggle,
and i was hooked upon your line
you were just too old for ribbons
and just too young for wine

but i’m thinking all this in the rain
with the taxi meter on
that i had you my brief moment
and once again i’m moving on

jenny 2

i look and i wonder
where jenny was sent
the postman has come
dropped the mail and went

the sun risen sky filled
the evening it set
and all of this happened
with no jenny yet

i look and i see
that my jenny has gone
the night came and passed us
and left us with dawn

the morning unfolded
its bright golden blues
and the wind whispers yes
we are just passing through

2. my book

i’m writing again
though I’ve nar’y been able
but i’m pecking away
and hunched o’er the table

got plans to submit
there are words for these for feelings
what essence? what truth?
the thought sends me reeling

i’m carving out passages
searching for words
keeping it simple
write in halves – no in thirds

i’m writing again
seems it’s never complete
what i ‘m trying to say
what it is got me beat

but i look to the words
i’ve come to the pen
to search for the sense of it
starting again

there’s a kernel of truth
hidden deep somewhere here
the plot is disjointed
the meaning unclear

but like cake in the oven
each dog has his day
my book has it’s place
(it’s not finished today)

3. how day is done

habit struck my hand today
i felt its sting – i pulled away
it said: get up and grab your drawers
shower shave and close the doors

your daily task looms large ahead
(i left my other self in bed)
what is this way? how can it be?
a shape walks on – some form of me

i am the nineteenth fabricator
i build the fifteenth elevator
i sport the cables, cut the rod
the channel’s ready – i give the nod

another workman pulls a lever
this metal box could rise forever
encasement taking one and all
the fat and slim the short and tall

to cubicles and conference rooms
these neatly girdered plate-glass tombs
they write and check and test and measure
all we call our worth and treasure

count and tag and tie and tote
til plan’s complete – another mote
to water-in our magic castle
the way is rote, the manner facile

the day is done – i’ve done my time
king lear, macbeath have played their rhyme
the play’s complete. the time is when
i’ll sleep, get up and start again

4. zams!

“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.” Henry David Thoreau (1817 – 1862), “Walden”, 1854. Do you?

textbooks cluttered
someone muttered
zams today
can’t get away

students’ woes
and students’ wills
careers that froze
the course that chills

hurry, faster!
that’s the way
cram all that crap
inside to stay

deeper, deeper
into the labyrinth
mother, father
i can’t think!

get me far away from this confusion.
i can’t stand this mind’s contusion
what’s the purpose of it all
at 2 am in the wandering hall?

i’m learning to throw health out the window
i’m learning to become some bimbo
parking cars and pumping gas
stuffing, cramming, trying to pass

woe is me! it works for some
they bash their heads, and still they come
calculus, econometrics, psycho-biology
flash by me, ai! a dizzying pastry

grades- a structure, just a framework
where the mortar’s poured and the workmen work
grades- the measure of accuracy
grades- the pleasure of mimicry

grade point- such a magic spot
a pivot point, and angle hot
aspire to excellence, they say
just pay your dues: it was our way

i feel a vast compression here
my mind is sputtering- out of gear
i seem to hear a tiny voice
your might, your mind. it’s all your choice!

and who’s this fine-wired heretic?

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A Mother’s Love Touching 8×10 Poem, Double-matted in Dark Green Over Burgundy and Enhanced with Watercolor Graphics. A Gift For A Mom. $11.95 This beautiful, heart-stirring verse was created by nationally recognized poet, Genie Graveline.This quality product is 8 x 10 in size. It is double matted. The Verse is…… A Mother’s Love…… No gift on earth is greater, …… No treasure held above, …… The joy that comes from knowing, …… A Mother’s endless love. …… In spite of how it’s tested, …… It grows from year to y…

Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam $5.74 In the eleventh century, in Persia, there lived a mathematician named Ghiyathuddin Abulfath Omar bin Ibrahim al-Khayyami–or, Omar, son of Abraham, the tent-maker. Omar wrote poetry, and while his rhymes received little attention in their day, they were rediscovered and translated into beautiful English–more than seven centuries later–by a gentleman and scholar named Edward FitzGerald. It was a …