Category Archives: writing poetry

A poem, an edit

Posted on September 8, 2011 by heath quinn

A poem’s beginning is maybe a waking dream — expressed in words. Inside that beginning, the writer hides something secret, even from him- or herself.    share?

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Walking meditations

Posted on March 19, 2011 by heath quinn

Kinhin… the doll in the corner recognizing the hero’s enemy who do we tell stories for? share?

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Where to go: Haiga

Posted on January 29, 2011 by heath quinn

Haiga share?

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Tanka

Posted on January 28, 2011 by heath quinn

31 morae, 5-7-5-7-7, or, roughly, short-long-short-long-long and this by Chen-ou Liu share?

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Writing poems

Posted on January 26, 2011 by heath quinn

haikai haibun tanka prose haiku – 3 lines, 10 to 17 morae as roughly 5-7-5, about nature, with kireji and kigo senryū – 3 lines, 17 or fewer morae, about human foibles, cynical or darkly humorous, with no kireji (cutting … Continue reading →

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Taking notes

Posted on August 22, 2009 by heath quinn

Sometimes I get so dramamatic. Know what I mean? I think it’s insufficiently-focused energy, leaking out in words. I’m full of power, brilliance, wit and tenderness (hehehe, I’m so fine), but I hold it back most of the time. The … Continue reading →

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While you sleep

Posted on August 18, 2009 by heath quinn

While you sleep, cicada songs rise and fall, a crow flies in from north-northeast, calling as it goes, redwood’s sweetness kisses the air, a harbor breeze brings drinks of bruised roses and salt, and eddies of leaves and white butterflies … Continue reading →

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Spelling your name, 3 drafts

Posted on May 4, 2009 by heath quinn

Last night I fell asleep under only a sheet. There was a chill rain all night, and my windows were open. Later I woke from the cold. My right hand was tracing the name of the man I love in … Continue reading →

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Frederick Seidel, poetry, love

Posted on April 14, 2009 by heath quinn

On the weekend, I read an article in the NYTimes about Frederick Seidel, whom I’d never heard of. He reads six of his own poems in a multimedia piece attached to the article. His six readings, which last less than … Continue reading →

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Tough love, 3 versions

Posted on April 5, 2009 by heath quinn

(1) “Still in love?” she asked. “Yes,” I said. share?

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For the first time

Posted on February 26, 2008 by heath quinn

For the first time,   I face the edge of      me & the world,drawn like a line   of Conté red      on pale paper:If I cross I’m dead. Holding my arms over   bowed head, all these      years of self defense,I didn’t know   there was a line to see. I … Continue reading →

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There’s a room I keep for you (reworked)

Posted on August 16, 2007 by heath quinn

There’s a room I keep for you in the woods near a spring, a mountain cabin with blued-edged corners, soft cream-colored walls, a lilac bush growing by the door. The door is never locked, though it has a key. The … Continue reading →

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Unpunctuated (reworked)

Posted on August 12, 2007 by heath quinn

dark light frogs sing in the night of me tigers stroll in the crowns of trees my words slid from the strings of me lose softness in your strong square hands the hour is late tigers hunt frogs sing in … Continue reading →

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Perfect (open-ended)

Posted on August 4, 2007 by heath quinn

Two-thousand-meters-high icey-pristine. Soft, warm and welcome as mothers (can be). Powerful, valiant, just like my dad. Pear-sweet crisp-apple-ish classically bad. Noblesse oblige of the high-wired kind. A mind soaked in honesty, gulabi-style. Compassion in person for all that you meet. … Continue reading →

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The jackal and the tigers

Posted on January 1, 2007 by heath quinn

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. … Continue reading →

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A wild house mouse

Posted on December 12, 2006 by heath quinn

a mouse a mouse wild in the house clothed in velvet soft like a cat gray as a stone with apple-seed eyes looking for rice share?

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