Picture Poem #99 (From, This Is My Wasteland)
Child to changes
dragon shadows dreams
concrete night
laughing
casting poems
of reflections
waiting for moon
of perfect seasons
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Time Eyes
time eyes
blue morning reality
walking instant
remembered
then confusing
dew on lilacs
loaded still
barefoot pretense
of aged innocence
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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time eyes (From,134 Picture Poems)
time eyes
blue morning reality
walking instant
remembered
then confusing
dew on lilacs
loaded still
barefoot pretense
of aged innocence
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Picture Poem #184 (From, This is my Wasteland)
Life creation
embarked the breasts
of destination
tough pride like
yellowed brown grass
correlation unrelieved
to cornerstones of hearts
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Picture Poem #2
linger on dreams
strength and courage grandeur
impressions
within quiet thoughts
the art of preponderance
drift with inspiration
consciousness
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Picture Poem #277 (From, This Is My Wasteland)
Catching wonder
from past on lives
flashing yesterday
dandelion
slowly in memory's
mantelpiece
delicious vision
reverently little sunshine gift
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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A Little Silence
In you
A little silence,
In me
A little silence,
In us both
A little silence;
That sometimes
Bursts into a noise,
That silence out
Silences,
In both of our lives.
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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In October (from Coradoba)
In October
Sweet love was in
With the moon in blue
And turning shadows
My window
Kept the cold outside
Of nearly frost earth
And shivering leaves
The birds have flown
To somewhere
And the bare branches
Are longing for next spring
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Give Me Time
Give me time to be
Give me time to live
Give me time to see
Give me time to give
Let me reach my goal
Let me find my way
Let me have a role
Let me learn today
Give me time to use
Give me time to make
Give me time to lose
Give me time to wake
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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These Guitar Tones
These guitar tones,
Singing into the air
With tunes of moonless nights;
I have heard them before,
When a candle light dies
When wind blows out the lights:
These guitar tones,
That make me morn
The days that all are done;
With only memories, to carry on
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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