CREEK ROAD GANG
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Joe Quinton: 5 Poems
copyright 2011
Do mothers set
a pattern in men
upon which
all loves form
Leaving such an impression
that ever after
our loves repeat
that ghostly image
in our hearts
MY FATHER
I kissed his dead body
My father had finally
Stopped struggling
He died twice
When anger at the inevitable
Was his only tool
The real man died
All that went on later
Was hatred for those around
That anger seemed stored
Had it been saved through life
As a good boy
WINTER
it is midwinter
the sun comes
weakly straight inside
the ground is white
uniformly coated
the solstice says
our lives are turning
joying those aware
ELLIE
Visiting my sister
a stream of gossip, news,
names fly out,
I hear one – stop –
what about her?
She died – over ten years ago.
She was my first New York girl
sharp talk
sharp wit
sharp looks.
When I proposed she laughed.
I saw her rarely after that
then not for years.
Still there is a loss
when someone is gone
PAPER
I wrote for a birth certificate.
I remember the original:
A paper you find in a drawer
While looking for something else,
Ornate, colored, an oval space
For a picture of the lucky baby -
Now gone who knows where.
Disappearances down a timeless hole
Are commonplaces despite holding on.
Certificates, passports, birth papers
Will prove nothing when we are gone
To the land of forgetfulness
Except to accent our absence.
a pattern in men
upon which
all loves form
Leaving such an impression
that ever after
our loves repeat
that ghostly image
in our hearts
MY FATHER
I kissed his dead body
My father had finally
Stopped struggling
He died twice
When anger at the inevitable
Was his only tool
The real man died
All that went on later
Was hatred for those around
That anger seemed stored
Had it been saved through life
As a good boy
WINTER
it is midwinter
the sun comes
weakly straight inside
the ground is white
uniformly coated
the solstice says
our lives are turning
joying those aware
ELLIE
Visiting my sister
a stream of gossip, news,
names fly out,
I hear one – stop –
what about her?
She died – over ten years ago.
She was my first New York girl
sharp talk
sharp wit
sharp looks.
When I proposed she laughed.
I saw her rarely after that
then not for years.
Still there is a loss
when someone is gone
PAPER
I wrote for a birth certificate.
I remember the original:
A paper you find in a drawer
While looking for something else,
Ornate, colored, an oval space
For a picture of the lucky baby -
Now gone who knows where.
Disappearances down a timeless hole
Are commonplaces despite holding on.
Certificates, passports, birth papers
Will prove nothing when we are gone
To the land of forgetfulness
Except to accent our absence.
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.
