CALL IT DAWN

I woke and saw the sun pretending

so  weak it fades before the day

as if the cold pulled strength

failing in its warming task.

It makes faint patterns on the far wall

as if Talbot was still experimenting

faint shadows of leaves branching

in faint December image.

analysis

we are was

composed of past

the waves of yesterday

break upon our now

still causing pain

 WINTER         

Winter breeds unhappiness.

The earth cooperates.

J had made summer

A special time.

A cold day at the beach saw

A start of a new intimacy.

Then she was gone.

Life with B was not working.

Living together had been her idea

I went along not wishing pain.

The separated WIFE and I were far apart

Yet strange strong bonds persisted.

I went back to DR. S. She listened to me.

After eight years I did not evade.

Job gone.

Broke, Brooding.

Shaved my wolfman beard.

My God, B said. 

No money.  Christmas

Walking on candle-lit Beacon Hill

I talked suicide with a friend

Nothingness seemed right.

My marriage breakup was

Painted with self destruction

A party. J walked in

Suddenly she was the only one there.

Winter was over.

FOURTH

The ceremony of the fourth

Calls up the rites of other years.

Memories do not sadden

They are there to touch to feel.

Awesome crowds

Spilling into the river.

Gathered with friends

Childlike mirth unforced.

Meeting at midnight

Expecting to go further.

I did not know it was the end.

One life closed off.

                  The unknown ahead.

Biographical Note: Joe Quinton is a recent resident of Chester County, Pennsylvania after lives spent in Providence, Boston, West Palm Beach and Kingsville, Texas.  He came to poetry after retiring and seeking some form of expression.  He finds it serves as a journal of life today and a memento of what was once.  Both themes appear and reappear in his poetry. Joe is a regular contributor to Creek Road Gang. See the Author Index for Poetry to find more of his work.