Category Archives: ego

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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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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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 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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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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Constructionist cooking: what is it?

Constructionist cooking: what is it? Last night I put half a turkey breast, sea salt, two dried Turkish bay leaves, and water (to cover plus an inch) into a slow cooker on low, and forgot about it. share?

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Why I love newspapers

Or is it newscreens, newswebs or newsnets? I haven’t bought a paper paper in more than a year. One of my fav’s, TOI, isn’t available at my local newsstand. What’s the newsstand guy going to do when we’re all reading … Continue reading

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The Amateur

Calling someone an amateur is a common insult in the USA. But did you know that amateur comes from the French word for lover? An amateur is someone motivated to devote himself to something for the pure love if it. … Continue reading

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Unpunctuated (reworked)

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)

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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Characters like offerings

Characters like offerings thrown on oceans under shifting skies, bob up and down on sparkled wavelets of desire, where force of gravitas pulls focus on a single all to all that sucks in hard, and spits back out again. With … Continue reading

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Life on a little table

this little table is chaos for me home, exhausted i shed what i wear the table holds artifacts of no time and offerings for myself, set in silver, like these: moonstone pendant, a polished sliver of clouds and blue sky; … Continue reading

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Intentions

Stepping from a cab onto a rainy street in New York City where I live I’m splashed by cabs that pass at speed forcing force sheets of dirty water up and over enemies on foot, like me. Like that, the … Continue reading

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Sky Blue

the places, to live and to be, for the artist that’s inside of me, in wrenched-apart clouds were born, from skies broken open by storm: when i was a baby my mom carriaged me outside our home. my real mom … Continue reading

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