Heath Quinn elsewhere
work in process
- from half poems (1)
- Disarrangement (1)
- from heatherquinn (1)
- from heathquinn (3)
- Prescriptive (3)
- from hera's boat (6)
- from hera's fire (15)
- from shikara (4)
- from the heather garden (4)
- from writings2 (6)
- work versions (40)
- from half poems (1)
Category Archives: from hera’s fire
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
A woven-grass basket slung over my shoulder, shaped like a plum but larger, holds a stone, a shadow self that comes and goes, some places where I touch the ground, a river, a sea, a hot-metal sun, a frigid moon … Continue reading
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.
I’m simple in your hands — black ink on paper. Supergirl in skintight garb, your pen’s the blade that finds my comic heart.
I’m simple in your hands — black ink on paper, supergirl in skintight garb. Your pen? A knife that finds my comic heart.
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
Riding south on the Major Deegan, across the river, a mile below the George Washington Bridge, see? The tower, bluffs and an island of tree-covered hills. And today, sun-painted faces of rows of fast- moving, sullen clouds — like El … Continue reading
Riding southeast down the Major Deegan, about a mile below the George Washington Bridge, there’s a heaven of driven clouds, like El Greco’s Toledo. The clouds rise over the river and the hills of Manhattan beyond. On the bluffs, the … Continue reading
In your hands, I’m simple now — just fields of black India-ink laid on rice-paper cream, a heroine in skintight garb. There — you’ve drawn a line, an arch where my ribs would be, a stroke to cut my skin, … Continue reading