Category: Ballad

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The storage tent gave up the ghost,
the weather had been such
that over time its structure'd failed
the stress had been too much.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

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The dog will sniff from here to there;
her nose will show the way.
She tries to find the places where
she'd stopped the other day.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

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No rain is quite like rain at dawn -
it wakes you up, you see;
a rain like that is integral
to making dreams be free.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

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The sea is not what seems to be,
instead it sloshes there:
a mass of molecules and space
that grasps up at the air.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

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The moon was there behind the clouds,
and lurking like a whale;
the sky was like the surging sea:
a torn cloud showed its tail.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

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The map was drawn by idiots
it failed to show the way;
instead it lead the gullible
to lostness - and astray.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

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When I was young I liked the rain
it always seemed to sing.
I'm older now but I still like
that tapping, plonking thing.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

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The dream presented seas in flood
I had to flee the flow
But at my spot along the road
the buses were too slow.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

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The words, they fell like winter rain,
they scattered as they fell.
Those listening refused to hear,
in silence they would dwell.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

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If I could choose a certain dream
I'd pick a house with halls -
with corridors that never stopped,
with decorated walls.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

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A state of liminality
suspended me, alone,
and slowly I returned to see
I'd made my way back home.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

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A branch flew past me borne by wind
and landed on the ground.
The trees were swinging left and right
and making whooshing sounds.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

Marginally related:

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The time for poems is past for now,
there's nothing new to say.
The rain has tired of being praised,
it's staying every day.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

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The rain, it comes on even days
and then it comes on odd;
the weather site predicted sun -
the forecasts, they are flawed.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

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I like to watch tomatoes grow
but mostly they just wait
and only when I turn away
do they increase their weight.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

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The bugs will buzz and fly around
because they're testing things,
to try and see if somewhere's worth
a stop to rest their wings.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

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the hills are robed in dreaming mists
the sea is smooth and green
a distant boat adjusts her nets
the deckhands barely seen

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

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Computers don't believe in things
they really only know.
Their knowledge spans the integers,
from one down to zero.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

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It comes with dusk and settles in;
it dominates the air:
a feel of calm exhaled by trees
as if they are aware.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

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A day of rain seemed just the thing
to wash away the dust,
but then the clouds decided that
more days would make more rust.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

One day I saw the sun come out.
It was a big surprise.
More often here the rain just falls.
It's easy on the eyes.

– a quatrain in ballad meter

I cut my bits of twigs and sticks
to clear my path below;
and looking through, down at the road,
the rocks I stacked just show.

– a quatrain in ballad meter

The rain insists, its forceful hints
keep tapping in the breeze.
The droplets fall on barren wood
and timpanize the trees.

– a quatrain in ballad meter

Some trees survived to tell their fate
to birds that passed them by,
but others lost their lives and fell,
then, disowned by the sky.

– a quatrain in ballad meter

I feel consumed with stress these days;
I worry and I sigh.
My stomach ties itself in knots;
my soul just wants to cry.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #379 on new numbering scheme)

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The universe extends outward
in spirals, cavities
and loops of filamentation,
vast pools of gravity.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #301 on new numbering scheme)

Some leaves with flashing silver eyes
begin to spin as wind
attempts to steal from them their trust
and leaving them chagrinned.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.
[daily log: walking, 1km]

(Poem #300 on new numbering scheme)

Most people seem alarmed to learn
I rarely feel alone.
They ask me why, insist I must
spend time with those I've known.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #299 on new numbering scheme)

I stepped out today feeling rushed -
forgot my metaphors.
So things were dull, like dirt or jobs.
My words waged pointless wars.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #298 on new numbering scheme)

I didn't mean to keep writing
these droll, clichéd quatrains,
but time stole my initiative
and now I'm lacking brains.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.