The Triquatrain form was created by Robert L. Huntsman.  It is a quatrain (stanza of 4 lines) poem in tri-rhyme (3 separate rhyming sounds per stanza).  See specific rhyming pattern below.  Note that lines 1 and 3 have internal rhyme, whereas lines 2 and 4 do not.

Rhyme Pattern:



. . . and so on.

The groupings in the parenthesis are on one line separated by a comma. This poem can be of any length or subject and does not require perfect meter.

See Shadow Poetry at:


(Disclaimer: I’ve once again turned to an older piece of mine, which I hopefully improved a bit.  When I wrote this originally, I was not aware of the Triquatrain form.  I thought I was just writing in a style I made up. 😉 )

(A story in Triquatrain form)

“I’ve been here since eight! Why are you so late?”
asked Samantha of Anthony Lou.
“I’ll give you a warning – I’ve waited all morning,
and I am not happy with you.

And no lame excuse; I don’t need that abuse –
just so you know in advance.
So tell me dead straight, why are you so late?
Now I’ll sit back and give you a chance.”

Though Anthony’s mind is the devious kind,
he stalled for a moment or two.
“You don’t want to know.  I’m not telling.  Although …,”
and a story then started to brew.

“I was dreaming a dream with a marvelous theme,
when my clock screamed “Get out of that bed!
But, keenly aware that I had time to spare,
I just hit the snooze button instead.”

Samantha was staring – no, actually glaring
straight into her Anthony’s eyes.
“Let me underscore that there better be more,
or else … can you say, pul-ver-ize?”

“So may I go on?” Tony said with a yawn,
unfazed by her angry out pour.
“The next thing I knew, it was eight thirty two,
so I jumped up and ran for the door.

But I found it was stuck. What a stroke of bad luck!
It seemed it had willed to stay shut.
Well, I tried and I tried and I pried and I pried,
but nothing worked – no matter what.

I tried all sorts of tricks, but was still in a fix.
Was I worried? Not even a bit.
For, although in a bind, I knew that my mind
would think something up, lickety-split.”

Samantha just knew that her Anthony Lou
would concoct something wild in his brain.
She knew he’d take nothing and stretch it to something,
to keep it from being mundane.

“Get on with it, Tony, whatever bologna
you’re going to make up to tell.
‘Cause really, this story’s beginning to bore me –
get to it, or I’m gonna yell.”

“Just chill, antsy friend, and I’ll get to the end,
once I’ve fed you the spice-laden center.
A tale of this scale simply begs to regale …
try not to disturb the inventor.”

The look on Sam’s face was meant to abase,
but Anthony quickly defused it.
He had no desire to watch Sam conspire
to promptly compose his obit.

“Remembering Noodle Superior Poodle,
I beckoned her quickly to come.
She answered my call, alert in the hall,
and ready to rescue her chum.

‘Ah, Noodle,’ I said, from my comfortable bed,
‘I desperately need you to help.’
I explained what I needed, and then she proceeded
to yelp her superior yelp.

Due to my poodle’s superior noodle,
I knew she’d come up with a scheme.
So knowing my cause was in capable paws,
I went back to my marvelous dream.

Next, I woke up to the sound of my pup,
sounding nearer than surely she’d be.
And the next thing I knew, I was feeling the eew
of her slobbery tongue, yessiree.

‘Stop licking my chin; show me how you got in,’
I wiped myself off as I said.
She jumped to the floor, disregarding the door,
and went to the window instead.

What I saw with my eyes was a total surprise:
a ladder was neatly in place,
Erected by Noodle Superior Poodle –
I could tell by her proud little face.

Out the window we swung, and we climbed down each rung,
then I ran here with all of my might.”
“So,what do you think,” Tony asked with a wink,
“now that you know the tale of my plight?”

Sam choked back a grin, took a hold of his chin, and said,
“Here’s what I think about you:
The snooze button start is the only true part of your tale,
Mr. Anthony Lou.”

© 2009 Marie Elena Good – revised 2012



It’s about time I start getting busy, if I wait too long I’ll get dizzy.
It’s taken nine months to find my groove
with all these girls and boys, wanting new toys
I feel that it’s time that I make my move.

Check the names twice, this list is nice,
the naughty – I’m sooner forgetting.
I can sense their terror; there’s no room for error
and they’ll be changing their ways soon, I’m betting.

Their logic and reason, when we get to this season
just flies in my face; my profession.
And despite their folly, I’ll still remain jolly
and hope that they all learn a lesson.

For goodness sake, and make no mistake,
I have no fear to show you who’s boss,
in my mind, it’s never too late, change your ways and celebrate.
I’ll be coming ‘round soon. I am Santa Claus!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2012


While we’re poeming, consider hopping on over to Robert Lee Brewer’s Poetic Asides, where we are encouraged to write an “appointment” poem: