Category Archives: editing

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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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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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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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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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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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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Blue eyes

Rain-streaked bricks, pepper-green trees, and the sky — thick as oatmeal, and gray as a city cat — welcome a procession of Nanas, walking slow, humming descants, dressed in wraps of blue — turquoise, aquamarine, and harbor — stirring up … Continue reading

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The man in the purple shirt (wip)

What a storm. Dark, choppy river, big whitecaps riding the cross-currents. In many places, the water is higher than my ankles — I might as well have left my shoes home. There are mini-floods everywhere. Going past tennis courts, lighthouse, … Continue reading

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Late winter #tweetpoems

February flings rain out into the cold, then curves its infant hands to catch the earth’s perfumes. (24 Feb 2012) Others’ hands, keeping my tempo, try to rinse away my voice, then hang what remains out in the wind, like … Continue reading

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Clouds, like Toledo

Riding south, across the river, a mile below the Bridge, see? A tower and forested hills, with leaves glowing in nooks in the bare, smoky trees, as if someone’s been shooting paintballs there, and the wind shearing the earth to … Continue reading

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Prescriptive

If happiness is honey, tickly-thick enough to make you choke, if happiness is wine, a smooth swallow and a short-lived high, if you’re defended against joy,     share?

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The value of dissolution, part 2

Chhoti Bahu, she of the biggest eyes and motion most honey-like, begs you to stay. Here is she: bound by your space, still at your whimsy,    share?

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Tere liye, life goes on…

Present moments: listening to this still — it came in via Outlandish‘s Facebook feed. I’m still a little open-mouthed at how ebrahim / @eebsofresh wraps his voice in, out and around the lyrics to make something totally new of the … Continue reading

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The sloop on motor

In this story of then, long ago, there are just two of us:  a man, wet through, in soaked purple shirt and running shorts, fast-walking through stands of lush trees tossing down by the river; and me, lounging against a … Continue reading

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A poem, an edit

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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Confusion

Cr — t and cr — t both have wickets. One’s boring, the other’s chess on the run. Croquet’s wickets I confused with cricket’s, as a kid, so gave cricket a miss for too long. Love it now, though I … Continue reading

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Taking notes

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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