CREEK ROAD GANG
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Joe Quinton:
4 Poemscopyright 2011
rain has its own sound
under the trees each drop echoes
hitting leaves then ground
the noise is softly welcome
rain silences the crow
and woodpecker chorus
leaving a special quiet
TEN WINDOWS
windows are spies
opening others lives
to view
the window
sees though we are
closeted
looking
through the window
we can see the way
the window opens
for the poet
to release the pen
winter
at the window
white absence
maskers
at the window
imitate reality
the window
sees the sun
painting
boxes
with windows
have no secrets
the window
opens mostly
to roads
the window
distracts
and adds
DREAM
A recurring dream
a room a place of safety a refuge
I first dreamed of it
when my life was confused
I can still picture
map it
but only murkily
like a dream talking
a long room well furnished
it was never mine to own
a stranger introduced
me to it
I cannot puzzle out why
but somehow it was in my possession
there was a key once
then that was not necessary
sometimes it was a whole house
but always
that room
Now it is decades
since I first pictured this refuge
in my dreams
it does not frighten me
when it comes back
but it puzzles me
I don’t need shelter now
Ordinarily
my dreams fade
are not remembered
except the one of a girl
in the train shed
PENTECOST
A poet can read
The symbols of the Holy Ghost
Tongues --- the speaking
Of fire --- the mystery
The words
Fleshed out on paper
Are they from the heart?
Does the Spirit lead?
Listen
under the trees each drop echoes
hitting leaves then ground
the noise is softly welcome
rain silences the crow
and woodpecker chorus
leaving a special quiet
TEN WINDOWS
windows are spies
opening others lives
to view
the window
sees though we are
closeted
looking
through the window
we can see the way
the window opens
for the poet
to release the pen
winter
at the window
white absence
maskers
at the window
imitate reality
the window
sees the sun
painting
boxes
with windows
have no secrets
the window
opens mostly
to roads
the window
distracts
and adds
DREAM
A recurring dream
a room a place of safety a refuge
I first dreamed of it
when my life was confused
I can still picture
map it
but only murkily
like a dream talking
a long room well furnished
it was never mine to own
a stranger introduced
me to it
I cannot puzzle out why
but somehow it was in my possession
there was a key once
then that was not necessary
sometimes it was a whole house
but always
that room
Now it is decades
since I first pictured this refuge
in my dreams
it does not frighten me
when it comes back
but it puzzles me
I don’t need shelter now
Ordinarily
my dreams fade
are not remembered
except the one of a girl
in the train shed
PENTECOST
A poet can read
The symbols of the Holy Ghost
Tongues --- the speaking
Of fire --- the mystery
The words
Fleshed out on paper
Are they from the heart?
Does the Spirit lead?
Listen
Biographical Note: Joe
Quinton settled in Chester County after various stops around the United
States. He began writing poetry from a desire to make sense of the
varied lives he has led in his eight decades. His poetry is both
autobiographical and forward looking. Joe is a regular contributor to Creek Road Gang. See also the Author Index for Poetry and Author Index for Prose L-Z to find more of his work.
