Why they did what they did

There they were, all in a row, crowding the wires strung high over the street, balanced over tight-gripping claws, looking something like small crows.  They were sparrows.

Continue reading


Leave a comment

Filed under creative process, fable draft

Spelling your name, 3 drafts

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 the sheets, which was surprising and memorable.

Continue reading


Filed under creative process, poetry drafts

Collecting bowls and such

While meditating the other day, these visions flowed in:
Continue reading


Filed under creative process

magic fills my air

my body is tired
worn out from pushing
my boat was cast too far inland
and dragging was out of the question

i rode a wave
ten thousand feet tall
no match for the mountain
whose pink walls rise from my imagined eyes

my time at sea is over
i return to my journey inside human kindness
a flood of people into my world
i snap and sketch
and pinch myself
can this be real
only dreams a moment ago

magic fills my air



Filed under Uncategorized

Callery pears

Callery pears,
their white lace and cream
like Watteau;
the etchiness of oaks
in bud,
scribbled high.
Reach for the sky,
the sap’s up!
As sweet and raw as a wood fire
am I,
and sad as the sea.
What to do?

© 21 Apr 2009, Heather Quinn, all rights reserved

1 Comment

Filed under finished poems

Frederick Seidel, poetry, love

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 a quarter of an hour, taught me more about what I do wrong when writing than anything I’ve ever come across.

Continue reading


Filed under finished poems


I am a desert.

Mirages sprout
on my horizons
big enough to
walk around in.

Then recede,
untouchable as tomorrow.

the lost wisdom
of a dozen races
lies hidden beneath
my drifts.

to be jiggled by
some archaeologist’s


Filed under poetry drafts