By adewpearl
I skipped a stone upon a stream,
meandering through mountain glen --
it skimmed the surface like a dream,
not once, not twice, not thrice, but ten.
The sun shone bright that splendid day
I skipped a stone upon a stream.
The water caught each shining ray
and sparkled with each brilliant beam.
You can't imagine how it gleamed,
that laughing water struck by light.
I skipped a stone upon a stream
that summer day when all seemed right.
On days when life goes racing by
and I am running out of steam,
I recollect that fine July
I skipped a stone upon a stream.
| Author Notes |
In the past week Judian James and Alvin Ethington have both posted beautiful quaterns, and I became enchanted by the form.
This is my first quatern, which is a poem composed of four quatrains. The first line of the first quatrain becomes the second line of the second, then the third line of the third, and finally the last line of the fourth and final quatrain. While I have used the abab rhyme scheme, that is not required. For those who like the trivia I dig up when researching poems, I found out the world record for skipping stones, according to the Guinness Book of World Records, is 51 skips, a feat accomplished by Russell Byars on July 19, 2007. This shattered the old record of 40 set in 2002. I think I've never managed more than 5 or 6 skips, but I've watched my son and his dad skip a stone over a dozen times. When you do it right, it feels as if you've just won an Olympic medal. |
By adewpearl
I feel the sure and steady beat
of life's blood pulsing through my heart --
its course a circuit to complete
and then begin again at start.
As tides of fortune ebb and flow,
I feel the sure and steady beat,
an affirmation meant to show
the rise that follows each retreat.
With constancy my pulse repeats
in steadfast pattern every day --
I feel the sure and steady beat
that helps me keep defeat at bay.
I cannot cheat that time to come
when life will not be mine to greet,
but till death stills that final drum,
I feel the sure and steady beat.
By adewpearl
The branches tremble in the breeze
as pink among the white trees grow,
while petals pirouette with ease,
displaced by zephyr's tremolo.
As petals from their perch depart,
the branches tremble in the breeze,
while wafts of wind fall calm, then start
to blow again in soft reprise.
On springtime days like this I seize
the chance to watch in fine display
the branches tremble in the breeze
that breathes upon the blooms of May.
God has not gifted me with gold,
but yet I fall upon my knees
for this, His dance, that I behold --
the branches tremble in the breeze.
| Author Notes | I have double checked in several American dictionaries, and reprise is pronounced repreez. Every American dictionary I can find lists it as either the only pronunciation or the preferred pronunciation. I am adding this note because several people have commented. Thanks. |
By adewpearl
I cast a bottle in the sea
to ride upon the waves' white crest
and find a shore so far from me
where it could take its journey's rest.
While standing on familiar ground,
I cast a bottle in the sea,
and hoped my vessel would be bound
to lands alive with mystery.
I felt I had no way to flee
entanglement from things mundane.
I cast a bottle in the sea,
my dreams caught up within my aim.
No matter where the distant strands
my bottle lands and dreams might be,
I've held my hopes within my hands
and cast a bottle in the sea.
By adewpearl
I found a fawn among the ferns
while walking through the nearby wood --
my path had taken many turns
till now beside this fawn I stood.
While lost among my darkest thoughts,
I found a fawn among the ferns,
and though this was not what I'd sought,
it soon replaced all past concerns.
Within her eyes I could discern
my presence made this babe distraught.
I found a fawn among the ferns
but never meant the fear I'd brought.
With silent steps I backed away
and hoped she'd know I'd not return.
I meant no harm that fateful day
I found a fawn among the ferns.
By adewpearl
As stars bejeweled the ebon skies
one midnight preternatural,
a howling of a hundred wolves
joined voice in mournful madrigal.
Their chorus cut through must and mist
as stars bejeweled the ebon skies -
a polyphonic counterpoint
of predators' rapacious cries.
Each creature caught within the sound
knew death might stalk them swift and stark.
As stars bejeweled the ebon skies,
their light could not outshine this dark.
No hiding place is safe enough,
no second guessing if's or why's --
fate even hunts on fairest nights
as stars bejewel the ebon skies.
| Author Notes | This is a poem, folks, NOT a quatern, because in the final line, I write bejewel, and not bejeweled. So please, know that I realize I have done this and am more than happy to drop all claims to my poem's being a bona fide quatern. In return for my concession, I ask that you not hold it to the quatern form's requirement that the final line be an exact duplicate of the repeated lines in the other verses. |
By adewpearl
Aloft amidst the popcorn clouds,
above the forest's canopy,
I spy a hawk abreast my course,
my only source of company.
I am aware, as it is too,
aloft amidst the popcorn clouds,
that this, our kinship, can't be shared
with those amongst the earthbound crowds.
Allotted only brief reprieve
from worldly cares and problems' mire,
aloft amidst the popcorn clouds
my time to sail will soon expire.
I wish I could this creature be
who soars the heavens swift and proud,
as I absorb each moment left,
aloft amidst the popcorn clouds.
By adewpearl
I dreamed I wore Orion's belt
to mark the way in dead of night
for wand'ring souls who'd lost their way,
whose course my stars could set aright.
Heroic, in eternal stance,
I dreamed I wore Orion's belt,
the Bible and the Iliad,
two ancient books within I dwelt.
My legendary exploits told
by storytellers 'cross the globe,
I dreamed I wore Orion's belt,
loosed only by the God of Job.
A million years this legend's lived --
this hubris but one night I felt.
Though I know death's my destiny,
I dreamed I wore Orion's belt.
| Author Notes |
The three stars of Orion's belt have been visible in the night sky for a million years, and astronomers estimate they will stay visible in this formation for almost two million more. This constellation of the hunter is the most recognizable of constellations along with Ursa Major, the Big Bear, or Big Dipper. The stars of the belt are, like the North Star, used in navigation, and the constellation appears in records of the Babylonians, the Greeks and Romans, the ancient Egyptians, the Chinese, Indians, ancient Scandinavians, Native Americans and Australian aborigines.
In addition to all these cultures having their own legends about the figure in the constellation, the constellation itself is mentioned in The Odyssey, The Iliad, the Aeniad, Horace's Odes and the Bible. God asks in Job, "Can you loose Orion's belt?" This refers to God's power - only the Creator can change the configuration of these stars - and over the course of the next couple million years, the configuration will eventually change. Hubris is a concept in ancient literature that means pride - many mortals were punished by the gods for exhibiting hubris, some belief that they had as much power or skill as the gods did. It would indeed be hubris for a mere mortal to believe he or she could live as long as Orion, save sailors and other lost souls for millions of years like Orion, live in legend for generations and generations like Orion. |
By adewpearl
Does God reside within the barn
where horses in their stables feed?
Is He within each succulent,
each sugar beet and sunflower seed?
When children's laughter fills the loft,
does God reside within the barn?
And as they leap from stacks of hay,
does God's hand keep them safe from harm?
As chores begin at crack of dawn,
does He help hold the milking pails?
Does God reside within the barn
when sheep are sheared and hay is baled?
When roosters crow and cats chase mice,
while Grandpa tells the kids a yarn,
as life is lived in every way,
does God reside within the barn?
By adewpearl
I wish I could remember us
that day in 1951
when in your arms you cradled me,
our lives together just begun.
That summer day in '53,
I wish I could remember us,
two bathing beauties on the beach,
just hanging out, no need for fuss.
The pose we struck in '55,
your polka dots, my party dress --
I wish I could remember us
on days so filled with happiness.
But memories abandon me,
eight Christmas mornings turned to dust.
If I could ask for just one thing,
I wish I could remember us.
| Author Notes |
May 28 marks the 50th anniversary of the death of my mother.
She died days after I turned eight. I have a handful of impressionistic memories of her that I cherish, but they are few. I have collected all the photos I can find of us together, not many as my father was not big on saving things, and put them in an album. Sadly, I cannot remember a single event the photographs capture - days in our backyard on the swing or in the sand box, vacation photos, birthday party celebrations, Christmas mornings under the tree. I know the people in the pictures are my mother and me, but the photos are the only evidence I have that we shared those experiences. The memories are just not there. The poem says the rest. |
By adewpearl
Four centuries have come and gone
since Shakespeare's sonnets first debuted.
Accomplishments of human kind,
too long a list to here include.
From horse to iron horse to jet,
four centuries have come and gone,
while candlelight gave way to lamp
as sure as dark gives way to dawn.
From long before the telegraph
to satellites that orbit space,
four centuries have come and gone,
advancements of the human race.
Yet where, I ask, might poet be
in all those forty decades long
whose words surpass what Shakespeare wrote?
Four centuries have come and gone.
| Author Notes |
On May 20, 1609, Shakespeare's sonnets were first published.
In case you didn't catch it from my poem, I'm a big fan. :-) |
By adewpearl
The Earth spun round and there you were,
a love like none I'd known before.
The world revealed anew to me,
a place in tandem we'd explore.
One day I knew you not, and then
the Earth spun round and there you were --
not mine to question why such joy
should in my troubled life occur.
Some mysteries are best unsolved --
why question gifts of Godly grace?
The Earth spun round and there you were,
all sorrow from my life erased.
I know I lived before that day,
but often those days seem a blur.
No greater gift have I received --
the Earth spun round and there you were.
| Author Notes | My firstborn child, Eric, will be 30 later this year. One day I was not a mother and the next I was, and nothing in my life ever has or ever will compare to being a mom of two of the finest young people I've ever had the privilege to know. With thoughts of my own mother foremost in my mind lately, I guess it's natural I also reflect on being a mother. I've heard people say they have no regrets. I have regrets. One is that my mother never had the chance to meet her grandchildren. She died less than a week before my oldest sister had her first granddaughter and less than two weeks before my middle sister gave birth to her first grandson. She died many many years before my precious children entered the Earth. My children are the joy of my life. This poem is for them. |
By adewpearl
As each flag waves I see a face,
determined gaze, so resolute,
far from a mother's fond embrace,
a child no more, a proud salute.
And if I listen through the breeze,
as each flag waves I hear a voice
that travels from across the seas
to say, "I made the patriot's choice."
I have no way to understand
what grips the heart as death takes hold.
As each flag waves I touch the hand
of one whose last thoughts stay untold.
No matter what the war or cause,
the price is paid in human loss.
I pray for all mankind because
as each flag waves, I count the cost.
| Author Notes |
In a traditional quatern, the first line of the first verse becomes the second line of the second verse, then the third line of the third verse and the last line of the final verse. The exact line is repeated. In this modified quatern, the repeated line is slightly changed each time. If you prefer not to call it a quatern at all, that is fine by me.
Each Memorial Day I visit our local cemetery where my parents and many other loved ones are buried - it is quite moving to see all the American flags on the graves of veterans, including my dad, who served proudly in World War II. |
By adewpearl
My faith is seeded in the soil
where roots grow deep and life is born,
where worker ants and earthworms toil,
where acorns drop and oaks are formed.
On days when skies are overcast,
my faith is flowing in the rain
that feeds the fields as clouds roll past
and washes clean my sins and pain.
On days when skies are clear and bright,
amidst my gratitude and joy,
my faith is glowing in the light
that darker days cannot destroy.
Though faith finds tests in times of grief,
in passing tests faith thrives and grows.
Rain feeds both fields and my belief --
my faith is rooted in the rose.
By adewpearl
If I could give you anything,
no limitations placed on me,
if all the world were mine to bring,
what might the perfect present be?
Prismatic colors I'd create
if I could give you anything,
blown into bubbles with no weight
to circle you with rainbow ring.
From every bubble there would swing
a fairy frocked in raiment fine.
If I could give you anything,
each swing, a honeysuckle vine.
At every vine a hummingbird
would feed on wine and flap its wings.
I'd make this yours, I give my word,
if I could give you anything.
| Author Notes | My daughter had an accident at work a couple days ago and spent a few hours in the emergency room. She is recovering nicely, but upon seeing a picture of her looking so forlorn in the waiting room, I ached that I could not be there to comfort her. After hearing her story of being in such pain, I just wanted to send her the best present in the whole world to make her smile her sweet smile again. I hope it goes without saying that she loves bubbles and fairies :-) |
By adewpearl
Serene, its circuit of the pond,
a single swan at break of day
did glide among the lily pads
that framed a path with pink bouquet.
This creature curvilinear,
serene, its circuit of the pond,
seemed in its flowing gracefulness
a consequence of fairy's wand.
In spellbound captivation's hold,
I watched beguiled without a word,
serene, its circuit of the pond,
this undefiled and regal bird.
A minstrel might have raised his voice
in hopes to such a sight respond,
but I in silence watched the swan,
serene, its circuit of the pond.
By adewpearl
Do not expect a tragic tale
of angel felled by happenstance.
She pushed that needle in her arm -
she made her choice and took the chance.
If you require a fall from grace,
do not expect that tragic tale.
She slept her way to ill-repute,
her compass pointed straight to fail.
If you reserve your tears for those
who don't "deserve" to waste away,
do not expect that tragic tale
of tainted blood or bride betrayed.
She "earned" each bedsore, I suppose,
each weakened limb, each wrenching wail.
Locked in a fetal, withered pose -
you can expect that tragic tale.
| Author Notes |
Earlier today in a review of a story about a person who suffered bedsores, I mentioned to the author I had a young friend who died of AIDS, and when I drove her elderly mother to the nursing home a few times a week to visit her in her dying months, I saw the kind of bedsores she had described, the ones that eat away clear to the bone and leave gaping holes. This author asked me if I had ever written about my friend's death. I have not until now.
This young woman in her early 30's was far from a saint in so many ways, but she would make me laugh so hard when I took her to the Chinese buffet restaurant and she tried to crack open crab legs. She loved books and she loved my little daughter, and her mother loved her fiercely. I know there are quite a few people who believe AIDS is a divine punishment for the sins of people who make choices like hers. I cannot be one of them. |
By adewpearl
My bare feet dangle when I swing,
unfettered by constricting shoes,
for who needs soles to tread the ground
when flight above the earth I choose?
I wear no laces firmly tied
on bare feet dangled when I swing,
for knots that bind and hold things down
are best for anchor, not for wing.
My toes when freed first stretch then curl,
then stretch again to seek the sun.
My bare feet dangle when I swing,
a world with all restraints undone.
In exultation I rejoice
a life that offers zest and zing
whenever I kick off my shoes
so bare feet dangle when I swing.
By adewpearl
Sing songs to summer's memory
when shooting stars streak out of sight
and seem a dream illusory
to punctuate the sultry night.
When day gives way to autumn chill,
sing songs to summer's memory,
a time when sun its warmth will spill
with spirited delivery.
Hope thrives on possibility,
so when the winds of winter blow,
sing songs to summer's memory,
and with their notes you'll melt the snow.
There is no need for special powers,
for witch's spell or wizardry --
to find a field of sunlit flowers
sing songs to summer's memory.
| Author Notes | A quatern is a poem consisting of four quatrains with each line consisting of eight syllables. The first line of the first verse becomes the second line of the second verse, then the third line of the third verse, and finally the fourth line of the last verse. I have written this quatern in abab rhyme scheme, but that is not a requirement. |
By adewpearl
On pleated petals spun from gold
a butterfly paused from her flight,
for sunbeams pressed in every fold
had summoned her from lofty height.
She must have felt the pull to light
on pleated petals spun from gold
when every bloom seemed to invite
her rest upon a marigold.
So with her journey put on hold
in Grandma's garden bold and bright,
on pleated petals spun from gold
she spent her sojourn in delight.
I still can feel my heart ignite
when thinking of those days of old,
when I saw butterflies alight
on pleated petals spun from gold.
| Author Notes | A quatern is a poem of four quatrains. Each line of eight syllables is written in iambic meter. The first line of the first verse becomes the second line of the second verse, the third line of the third verse, and finally, the fourth line of the fourth verse. |
By adewpearl
Great bursts of golden flowers grow
without the aid of human hand,
a million petals set aglow
as sunshine pours upon the land.
I gaze on gleaming fields to see
great bursts of golden flowers grow,
a gift of glory, made for me
to revel in their dazzling show.
Where raindrops fall and breezes blow,
where gracious soil provides abode,
great bursts of golden flowers grow,
a blessing on my life bestowed.
Some choose the blossoms man has tamed,
but I among the meadows go
to seek the dandelions' flames
where bursts of golden flowers grow.
| Author Notes | The quatern is a poem of four quatrains. In each verse the repeating line drops one line, so that it starts as the first line in the first verse and eventually becomes the fourth line in the final verse. It is a rhyming poem, but the rhyme scheme is at the poet's discretion. I have chosen ABAB. I have also made a slight modification in the final repeating line. |
By adewpearl
As snow upon the evergreen
paints every bough a pearly white,
each crystal sparkles clear and clean
when struck by shafts of winter light.
What other landscape seems so bright
as snow upon the evergreen
or brings the soul such sheer delight
as found within this tranquil scene?
Unspoiled and spotless, so pristine,
this peaceful world seems pure and right
as snow upon the evergreen
falls softly down to end its flight.
As still of day turns silent night,
I know that I have never seen
more radiant or calm a sight
as snow upon the evergreen.
| Author Notes | The quatern is a poem of four quatrains in which the first line of the first verse becomses the second line of the second verse and the third line of the third verse and finally the final line of the last verse. It is a rhyming poem, but the particular rhyme scheme is optional. |
By adewpearl
The world illumed by moon's soft light
becomes a place of blessed peace
as lambent moonbeams grace the night
to bring my torments sweet release.
A hush spread through the air becalms
the world illumed by moon's soft light.
Anointed with her soothing balms,
I feel my sorrows taking flight.
So beauteous, this gentle sight
could pacify the hardest heart.
The world illumed by moon's soft light
makes life's afflictions soon depart.
When poisoned grief has claimed its toll
to sting me with its painful bite,
one thing can still my troubled soul --
the world illumed by moon's soft light.
| Author Notes |
blessed is pronounced in two syllables in this poem
balm and calm are a true rhyme - baam/caam The quatern is a poem of four quatrains, with the first line of the first verse dropping to the second line of the second verse, the third line of the third verse and the last line of the final verse. |
By adewpearl
The sun arose like any day --
a robin flashed her crimson breast
(a sight not rare at all in May)
before returning to her nest.
As mothers and their children slept
The sun arose like any day,
a promise that Creation kept
then topped off with a bright bouquet.
Not one thing seemed to be astray
within my quiet neighborhood.
The sun arose like any day,
the way one would expect it should.
No gray clouds pushed the white aside,
no winter scared the spring away;
that morning when my mother died
the sun arose like any day.
| Author Notes |
The quatern is a poem consisting of four quatrains in iambic tetrameter. The first line of the first verse becomes the second line of the second verse, the third line of the third verse, and finally, the final line of the fourth verse.
My mother died on May 28, 1959, shortly after my eighth birthday. It was a beautiful spring day. The fact that she died shortly before sunrise did not disturb the robins in the nests of our trees, nor did it stop the flowers from blooming. Most neighbors slept peacefully through that night. Six days later my oldest sister bore my first niece on a glorious June morning and five days after that, my other sister bore my first nephew. I remind myself each year as the anniversary of her death approaches that life has given me so many gifts since that morning that changed my life forever. |
By adewpearl
If I can climb this tall oak tree
with branches that grow heaven-bound,
what splendid spectacles I'll see
when I'm unfettered from the ground.
I just might find a jumbo nest
if I can climb this tall oak tree,
where raptured eagles pause to rest
before they once again fly free.
Perhaps it is my destiny
when on this journey I embark,
if I can climb this tall oak tree
to touch a rainbow's crescent arc.
When I'm aloft above the land,
I know that I will hold the key
to every sight that's rare and grand
if I can climb this tall oak tree.
| Author Notes | The quatern consists of four quatrains with any rhyme scheme the poet chooses. The poem's distinguishing characteristic is that the first line of the first verse becomes the second line of the second verse, then the third line of the third verse, until it descends to become the fourth line of the final verse. |
By adewpearl
A star fell silent through the night,
and I, alone, prayed from afar
that I might find true love's delight
by wishing on that falling star.
In years to come I'll tell our child
a star fell silent through the night
and kindly on my wish it smiled,
for love soon found me in its sight.
Who knows when passion will ignite,
when souls will meet and ardor burn?
A star fell silent through the night
and brought delight to one who yearned.
I once stood in a dark abyss,
but now I bask in love's great light,
clear proof that miracles exist
as stars fall silent through the night.
| Author Notes | The quatern consists of four quatrains where the first line of the first verse is repeated as the second line of the second verse, the third line of the third verse and the fourth line of the final verse. Mine is modified because I have made a couple of changes in the fourth appearance of the descending line. |
By adewpearl
Who puts the sparkle in the snow
and paints it bright with iv'ry sheen?
Who took one seed and made it grow
into a tow'ring evergreen?
As flakes reflect the noonday light,
who puts the sparkle in the snow,
and as each day turns into night,
who flicks the switch that dims the glow?
When mighty stag and graceful doe
through great drifts trudge, no longer fleet,
who puts the sparkle in the snow
as they refuse to meet defeat?
As spring awaits its chance to break
the ice now blocking river's flow,
I ask as blossoms soon will wake,
who puts the sparkle in the snow?
| Author Notes | The quatern is a poem consisting of four quatrains. The first line of the first verse becomes the second line in the second verse, the third line in the third verse and the fourth line in the fourth and final verse. |
By adewpearl
Come celebrate the first of May,
this festive day of sprites and flow'rs --
as streamers circle, maidens sway
in interweaving dance for hours.
Sweet acclamation of the spring,
come celebrate the first of May,
as dancers round the Maypole swing
while children with their garlands play.
And should you spy the elves and fae,
be sure to smile and wish them well.
Come celebrate the first of May,
a time they cast their magic spell.
When lilies of the valley bloom
and daisies overflow bouquets,
forget all thoughts of winter's gloom --
Come celebrate the first of May.
| Author Notes |
fae is another word for fairies
lilies of the valley are especially associated with May Day in France, where they are sold on the streets on May Day. May pole dances are, of course, one of the staples of May Day, as young maiden hold onto the streamers that hang from the pole and dance in interweaving patterns. Several fairy festivals are advertised on the web for May Day and craft sites offer directions for making May Day garlands and crowns. This is a day of many celebratory traditions, all with springtime as their theme. |
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