The Wrapped Refrain, created by Jan Turner, consists of 2 or more stanzas of 6 lines each; Meter: 8,8,8,8,12,12 and Rhyme Scheme: a,a,b,b,c,c.

Refrain rule: In each stanza the first 4 syllables (or 4 single-syllable words) in the first line must be the last 4 syllables (or 4 single-syllable words) at the end of the last line. This is what wraps each stanza with a repeated refrain …thus, the Wrapped Refrain.

Optional: The first stanza refrain and last stanza refrain can be joined (or loosely joined) together for the title of the poem.


United States, Land of the Free

United States, the world’s torchlight
Freedom’s beacon shimmering bright
Many seek our liberty life
Escape to her; escape your strife
For the downtrodden masses, a welcome awaits
Live the life of freedom in the United States

Land of the free; home of the brave
The Red, White and Blue proudly waves
God’s blessings have poured on our land
Protected by His mighty hand
Come one, come all, be a part of the people, we
America the Beautiful, land of the free

© 2014 Earl Parsons




The boy who sang love songs for her,
sang from a place that was so pure.
Heartfelt pangs sung in passion’s key,
as true a love as there could be.
His soulful sounds would fill the air and they would hang
around her heart and fill her soul, the boy who sang.

Songs from his heart, not knowing love
he reached his depths to rise above,
and people questioned what he knew,
to be so young yet love so true.
His wisdom showed in spite of his age, he would start
to reach her soul with tender words, songs from his heart.

© Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014



    When swallows fly across the lea
    in search of insects flying free,
    the grasses sway, the air is warm,
    and through it all the hint of storm
    overlays the land with a purple-tinted sky.
    That’s how it is, most any day when swallows fly.

    Summer is here: corn is growing;
    lawns are impatient for mowing;
    the trees all bear full canopies
    and sweet perfumes anoint each breeze.
    The fears of passing polar highs all disappear
    when swallows fly. Across the lea, summer is here.

    copyright 2014, William Preston

  2. The Girl Who Worried

    The rapping sound, knuckles on wood.
    Her heart skipped beats from where she stood.
    Though weary, she rushed to the door.
    At least, she would worry no more.
    Not a sober faced policeman making his round!
    Her tingling flesh, her heart, the door, the rapping sound.

    Seared in her mind from that day hence,
    Like old paintings of great expense,
    A dream come true, him bearing gifts.
    She smiled as her perspective shifts.
    Bright bouquet, box of chocolates, him being kind.
    His apologetic look now seared in her mind.

    • I think this is wonderful; so pleasant to read after a little build-up of tension.

    • Lovely, Connie. When I first began reading, I was reminded of an old movie where an invalid tapped on the wall behind the headboard of her bed and the young woman who cared for her.

      So glad this story had such a happy ending, and a lovely passage to get there. Thoroughly enjoyed it. 🙂

  3. “When breath is sealed with a kiss of death”

    We knew the truth when the dogs ceased
    searching and stood on point to geese
    languishing in a rancid lake.
    A mourning dove coo’d at a snake
    slicing through dregs of foam. Death does not salute the youth
    nor publicize with joy that now we knew the truth.

    Hearts of loathing urged averse hands
    to fan the tangled lotus strands.
    A heron flexed a leg breaking
    the boundary of grief, making
    known the vile entry of evil where betrothing
    final gasps consummated our hearts of loathing.

  4. My Defense is Plain

    My defense is plain, don’t you see?
    Dimness and shadow set me free
    To imagine whatever sight
    I wish to paint in this day’s light;
    Whatever art form or passing fancy I claim,
    Whether fractured or blurry, my defense is plain.

    Inner visions twirl, impressions
    left behind by eyes and questions,
    Aswirl with floating colors bright,
    Kaleidoscope pics, a mad sight
    Within darkened chambers, afraid but thirsting, curl
    In on themselves, my all-day inner visions twirl.


    Following Christ, I find my peace
    And graces received all increase.
    Walking in Light keeps me from sin
    That once the devil kept me in.
    Today I find true joy in my days and my nights
    Praising and thanking the Good Lord, following Christ.

    I’m not a fool thinking it’s fine
    To be a grape far from the vine
    Or insist the world just appeared
    As if that idea were not weird.
    To live alone without God is not very cool.
    Jesus is here deep in my heart. I’m not a fool.


  6. Pingback: Wrapped in Sea of Lace | Metaphors and Smiles

  7. Wrapped in Sea of Lace

    Sea of roots rise and dive beneath,
    black undergarment never seen;
    evocative leg – tendril shows,
    a hint of that which lives below.
    Here a gown of tender growth in darkness resides,
    she’s fertile and alluring – her sea of roots rise.

    Earth’s wrapped in lace – a natural weave,
    delicates hidden under feet,
    suggestive of her secrecy –
    beckoning us to mystery…
    Woven clover and roses crown her royal grace,
    woos us in to explore this place – earth’s wrapped in lace.

    Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2014

  8. Into a Tale

    I stepped inside the pages inked
    in vibrant shades that seemed to wink.
    A caterpillar sat and smoked;
    he blew out words, but did not choke.
    The March Hare asked me to decide,
    did I want tea? I stepped inside.

    Such strange creatures I ran into,
    a cat that vanished right on cue.
    A rabbit who was always late,
    a queen whom you could not debate.
    Back at hoe, I told my teacher
    of those I’d met, such strange creatures.

  9. Pingback: Into a Tale | purplepeninportland


    The fields were green clear to the lake,
    and still I see the old hay rake
    that braced the barn, as though to trace
    its own shadow in wisps of lace.
    And everywhere I looked, everything was so clean:
    the air was bright; the lake was blue; the fields were green.

    This was my home. Though many years
    have passed since I left there, and tears
    flow free as rain when I recall
    that sweet used-to-be, still and all,
    I always will be the child of haystacks and loam,
    where fields were green clear to the lake. This is my home.

    copyright 2014, William Preston

  11. (Poem w/image:


    So much beauty in our bright world
    Colors, textures, the sounds are swirled
    And though the light’s not always right
    Essence remains through day, through night
    Unaffected beautifully. Dark drowns, its plea
    Lost in frothy seas, whirling in so much beauty.

    There, motionless, its siren rests
    Muffled below, in sandy nests
    To surface on a rising wave
    It crashes and echoes a cave
    Then smoothing out, it quiets down in warming dress
    Which did enwrap that lonely peak, there, motionless.

  12. Sit Beside Me
    Sit beside me, for a moment
    where sunshine glints warm elfin imprints
    where, I would etch your name in spells
    and watch it spill in star shaped shells
    where my gossamer dreams enchanted rainbow seas—
    For that old forgotten glance, come sit beside me

    Sit beside me, just for a moment
    where the sky blew strawberry scents
    where moonlight rolled and found a nook
    with words unheard in picture books
    Let me show you that heart woven butterfly tree—
    To breathe in special moments, come sit beside me

    • I think this is so lovely, and I especially admire the construct, “the sky blew strawberry scents.”

  13. The Boy Who Would Be A Pirate

    A boy set upon a voyage.
    A pirate he’d be, plunderage
    of his local sweet shop, of fudge
    so his stomach filled to a bulge,
    a blackened patch on his right eye, a long sword bound
    tightly to his belt, and his shallow pockets round

    with shiny pound coins, and his mind
    set on chocolates and red gum vines.
    That small boy crossed streets and swam ponds,
    dashed between parked cars to respond
    to his sweet-tooth’s cried demands and cravings. This boy,
    a swashbuckling pirate is our paperboy!

  14. Pingback: The Boy Who Would Be A Pirate | The Chalk Hills Journal

  15. I spent most of PAD in the hospital – doing well now – so now I’m back to my scribblings. This poem is inspired by the ad campaign, “Find Your Yes.”

    My Yes Is Me

    To find my yes, what does it mean
    Do I dance and smile and sing, keen
    For rhythm and joy without end
    Guaranteed happiness my friend
    But golden skies fade to gray, manic turns depressed
    Party’s over, and I have yet to find my yes

    My yes is all me, unabridged
    Mad, sad, glad, and more, acknowledged
    Daily discoveries enhance
    Self-portrait, too much for a glance
    Exuberant expression, light and dark, a spree
    Spending each moment without fear, my yes is me

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