Author Archives: heath quinn

Am writing

#‎amwriting‬ when work is so intense I sometimes forget to breathe even though I’m listening to natural sounds like waves and rain wind and birds and a break from almost not breathing is advisable. #‎amwriting‬ when courage waves at me … Continue reading

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Water-centaur

In the Playa Azul video,
there’s a shot-sequence of grey and blue
sea
cloud,
with mountains erupting across a bay
at low tide.
A man, a little left of center, is wading… Continue reading

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Refresh

Changes: After a move from NYC to the Hudson River Valley region of New York State (USA), life is less circumscribed by a city’s dense population and urban landscapes. My mind and feelings are slowly infiltrating empty spaces, as if they’re shoreline caves and I’m the sea… Continue reading

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One

  One mistake, touching my joyful cloth, bleeds texture, its darkness.     One leaf, curling under the snowy wind, flashes color, its fire.         share?

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The edge of a leaf

You touch me and stay like an autumn leaf on rain-wet stone, elemental, separate, subdued, same in beauty of this season. You touch me. I stay like an autumn leaf on rain-wet stone. (2007, rev. 2014) share?

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Thanks. Anonymous

Someone wrote the other day (or I heard, somewhere) something like, “Intimacy is where truth meets love.” I can’t credit the thought, or say it just as I read or heard it. But I’m grateful for it. So here it … Continue reading

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Portulaca too

Sere earth tiny seeds next season’s beauty share?

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Portulaca

Sere earth, tiny seeds. Economical green. Fireworks of color on delicate petal membranes, visits from bees and breezes. A soft quick death, withdrawal, ripening and, with one touch of a fingertip at the right moment, an explosive burst. Tiny seeds, … Continue reading

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Ferment

Your love, without relief of occasional plosive hi-howya-doin’s, without punctuation of kisses or hugs, feels like a maelstrom. Its whirling me, its force in ferment, takes me to uneasy places, when I’d rather be by you simply listening to your … Continue reading

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Warmth

Drifting snow piles up on east-facing window screens north wind breaks it down   Wrapped in cashmere memories sliding down cool as fresh snow share?

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Christmas bouquet on a rainy afternoon

share?

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Reading on the wind

When I fell for one of Ben Lerner’s recommendations in New Yorker Magazine’s The Best Books of 2013, Part 2,  Geoffrey G. O’Brien’s poetry volume “People on Sunday,” it was partly because I haven’t read poetry for two months, and partly … Continue reading

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Objects of Desire: A handful of plums

Like I want to close my eyes and sleep past the end of time right now, that’s how Macy felt, at the point where my story of her begins. To see her then would have been like watching one of … Continue reading

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How I choose to tell of myself

Should I darken you with me, sluice over you like water spilled from a vessel kept in the center of my heart, to justify the way you say I stain your pride? Should I loosen my words and tumble them … Continue reading

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Soft basket

A basket slung over my shoulder by leather straps, its belly shaped like a plum, wove of three kinds of grass — thick-striped — holds a stone, a shadow-self that comes and goes, places where I touch the ground, a … Continue reading

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The cut

…on / my cloud-shadowed palm, / a cut, / still bloodied, / where my falcon’s / taloned foot / grazed my hand… Continue reading

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Simple

I’m blots of ink, a line or two, a supergirl you draw from inner sight. Now split the paper with your pen to find my comic heart. © 6 Jan 2009, Heather Quinn, all rights reserved; edited 5 Jan 2012, … Continue reading

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A story about me

Thomas Hardy girl-woman, spiritual sailor, seasoned hunter. That’s me. But I won’t tell you this. When I was a kid, a parent blew the magic away from an improvisation in a chair. That taught me to keep my stories to … Continue reading

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Silk jacket (wip)

She was smart, lost and afraid of being both. Hunting for allies. she tried to catch me by leaning against a doorway to chat for a quarter-hour every day. “Come, sit,” I’d say. When she would came in, she’d pick up … Continue reading

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By way of the northern sky (edit 1, in work)

In the light that enters morning by way of the northern sky, a Swede encloses a Finn in his arms, absorbing her darkness, softening with his smooth brow the recurve tension on her lips, ignoring that she took him for … Continue reading

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