three-quarter poems

may 2007

2007-05-08T19:02:00.000-04:00

rain

splits open
sheathes of buds
on branches' tips
luminous and pale

a walk

a breakfast fire
of laughter crackles
in my ears
the cool of you

this morning

shadowed in your mind
my yellow
slippers
tied with silk

dust

of lies
motes in sunbeams
settle on
the marble floor

soft breeze
love sweeps it all away

© 8 May 2007 (edited 25 May 2007) Heather Quinn

lunch with you

2007-04-19T17:36:00.000-04:00

foxtrot wolves
mongrel sweets
forest clearing
linen sheets
pillows of grass
untied shoes
view of the sky
mind on cruise
tiny bird chillies
holy fuck
lemongrass basil
ginger for luck
design price mail
what can I say
lunch with you
late in the day

...aa chal din ko roke
dhup ke peeche daude
chaanv chhue na
o saathi re... (from O Saathi Re, lyrics by Gulzar)

© 18 Apr 2007 Heather Quinn

love set free

2007-04-01T17:05:00.000-04:00

ocean called me
so I came to stand
upon a patio of stone
encircled by
low walls
unchained
I looked out at the sea
the sun rose
over eastern straits
I drank the wine
of piney air
and danced this love
for you
an ocean
breeze
the sun
are you
for me
I live in you
love set me free
with joy and peace
and if you look into
my gray-blue eyes
you'll see
the strength
this love for you
has made in me

© 1 Apr 2007 Heather Quinn

sorrow

2007-03-21T15:19:00.000-04:00

I woke to see
two hillocks
covered with high grass
all russet-red
you were lost there
on your journey
lost to me
were you walking
with me in the valley
of my heart
or hiding
in anothers' arms
with your head
against her breasts
while my heartbeat
echoed as it dropped
like a stone
down a well

© 21 Mar 2007 Heather Quinn

march snow

2007-03-16T16:23:00.000-04:00

March snow:
drifts of small
quick birds, all white,
curtain streets, stone walls, a city,
sliding down, a fall
of open layers
of grace.

© 16 Mar 2007 Heather Quinn

silence

2007-03-13T11:01:00.000-04:00

The silence of you
contradicts your voice.
The silence of you
is a mountain echo,
endless in its songs of truth.
Your heart rests softly
in my heart.
The tales that hide the
honest feelings that you
live are faint,
like ghosts, for me.
I've always listened to
the silence of your heart.

© 13 Mar 2007 Heather Quinn

late winter blues

2007-03-08T12:06:00.000-05:00

Canadian skies, chill and blue like the sea,
with white feather clouds that slide (like the
lid of a balsawood box of Ceylonese tea --
that's Sri Lanka to you and the tigery Tamils),
ceiling life in this city of stone gray and brown,
thin glass, red brick, dark trees that have
branches like fingers of soot, they ladder
perspectives and reach for a sun coming soon
with some heat for their buds that will burst,
while I wait for the bus, in the wind, in a sweater
like stone, my jeans like a sky, in this jacket of
glass, aching for you, like the buds wait for sun.

© 8 Mar 2007 Heather Quinn

life without you

2007-01-07T15:33:00.000-05:00

I sit
fists clenched
with this moment
before me
in all its clear structure
alone with my dreams
this emptiness
is my art
I've been impatient
to be here
I heard the whistle
of this train
far around the bend
ten months ago.

© 7 Jan 2007 Heather Quinn

the jackal and the tigers

2007-01-05T19:58:00.000-05:00

a jackal sniffing at tigers' prey,
surprised by the moon in the night,
cries at the moon as if it's a man.
then it gnashes its teeth and eats.

under the trees, the tigers recline,
and watch the jackal feed.
they look at the moon and blink their eyes,
and look at the jackal again.

"shall we run it off?" a tiger asks,
while another blinks and yawns.
"oh no, let it eat, let it have its fill,
there's plenty of food for all."

the answer comes from a tigress, of course,
the heart of a tigress is warm.
but a jackal who feeds in the tigers' den
may lose his life after all.

a cobra's asleep under the tree
where the slumbering tigers dream.
its duty, to keep the dirt away
from the spring where the tigers drink.

if the jackal thirsts and trys to sip
from the tigers' pure water source,
the cobra will rise and strike just once
and the jackal will rise no more.

tell me no lies and I'll tell you none,
my story's authentic, you see.
though couched in a meter a fairy might beat
it's as real as you and me.

© 5 Jan 2007 Heather Quinn

a cream-colored rose

2006-12-31T13:15:00.000-05:00

a ballet a dance
offered in joy
love passes
from heart to heart
give and take
when two hands meet
a gift of desire
and care
love untwists
like a
cream-colored rose
a smile full of love
for you
is everything
it's love for me
it's love, it's love,
for you.

© 31 Dec 2006 Heather Quinn

(11:45 PM 31 Dec 2006 ist...)

a wild house mouse

2006-12-12T23:20:00.000-05:00

a mouse, a mouse,
wild in the house,
clothed in velvet,
soft like a cat,
gray like a stone,
with
apple-seed eyes
looking for rice
or something else nice
with koshur spices
tiny and sweet
just like itself.
in
New York City
Christmas nights sparkle
the days are balsam
and Austrian pine
chestnuts roasting
over a fire
just like the song
noses like ice
gray velvet gloves
reminding me of
a tiny gray mouse,
wild in the house.
a red velvet bow
would honor the mouse
and the elephant god
who made such a friend
of a little gray mouse,
tiny and sweet,
but as wild as a fox.
mouse, oh mouse,
wild in the house,
your soft coat of velvet
is gray, like a cat or
an old stone wall,
and
your apple-seed eyes
are looking for rice
or something else nice
with koshur spices
tiny and sweet
just like yourself.

© 12 Dec 2006 Heather Quinn

autumn sometimes walks to summer

2006-10-06T07:04:00.000-04:00

Sweetgums' autumn scent
claims this sacred clearing
from the darkened, dappled ground
up to the morning sky.
A canopy of intermittent starry fire
is held above the
sweetgums' long-stretched, rugged necks.
Or are these columns legs,
in stockings made of dark, rough bark?
Do sweetgums walk at night?
Their black-brown vaulting holds
the stars of fire high
above my head, and keeps me safe,
although a star or two is always
wafting down. They sometimes drift into my hair,
they rustle softly underfoot,
a dry, sweet snow of sweetgum leaves.

In drifts of ruddy stars upon the ground
my steps disturb a layered natural order.
New and tender, gently laid in current time,
the stained-glass wines and reds
are stripped away, and show
the brown-black ferment underneath.
And in that dark transition zone
where fire is changed to earth,
a tuft of summer grass
will sometimes show.
A gleam of August green,
untouched by fall's decay
above its head.

Note: The title above comes from two places
of current color transition.
One is a grove of sweetgum trees.
The other is a mystery:
My gmail chat status was set to busy last night,
and when I woke today, I was available, instead.
It changed itself, from orange into green,
like autumn walking into summer,
like August grass that flourishes
under mounds of autumn leaves.

© 6 Oct 2006 Heather Quinn

Love Like the Sun

2006-09-28T08:22:00.000-04:00

I know what love is.
It's like sun.
It's friendship,
multiplied.

I love
the earth, that touched your feet
the air, that kissed your mouth
the light, that gilds you every day
the forest glens, wherein I hear your voice.

If you need warmth
need peace
when winds are biting
crows are flying overhead,
this autumn time,

I'm walking here with you,
hands in pockets,
whistling, best I can,
the tune of Ab mere paas tum aayee ho
(though I don't whistle well,
I can do that song).

Like friendship,
multiplied,
is love.
It's like the sun,
and so's my love for you.

© 28 Sep 2006 Heather Quinn

Ab Mere Paas Tum Aaye Ho was written by Jagjit Singh, with lyrics by Majaz, from the album The Best Of Kahkashan. To hear Jagjit Singh sing Ab Mere Paas Tum Aaye Ho, go to The Best Of Kahkashan at Music India Online.