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Poems By Poet Peter S. Quinn  11/20/2014 8:11:51 PM
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  PETER S. QUINN
 
 
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  1285.     

Days Are Sometimes Dreams

Days are sometimes dreams going away
Filling their moments with the lost time gone
Like chaliced flowers that still grow here on
To give of beauty for every day
Buds of its summer in the sunshine high
Rising from the dawn to the hours that give
And we in instances always to live
Till existence open ways to eve die

Everything coming living its part
From beginning as every root grows
Those from within a feeling of our heart
And on to the moments flourish and glows
To primes of fields of existence earth
With each its dreams deepness and its true worth
 
Peter S. Quinn
   
 

   
   
 

  1286.     

Day's Fever

Oh fever of day
Come here to my heart
And make it cry
To the night

The sorrow
Is always walking
Among shadowed trees
And death

Embrace the flowers
Those are falling
 
Peter S. Quinn
   
 

   
   
 

  1287.     

Days Found and Lost (from Coradoba)

Days found and lost
Into the bursting life
Moment’s waves passing
Dark or light ways

Something to be lost
From multiplying reasons
Over to there from here
Circling through and on

Yesterdays coming lost
With its turning impression
Everything inside to blear
Lucking the keys unknown

Sun and the moon showing
From the clouds afar
Diluting moments through
Never restoring again

High and low occasions
Waves to doubtful shores
Dreams some oceans away
Tangles in lives highways

Some paths barely seen
With threads of the passing
Stained glass multiplied tincture
Encircling new forms
 
Peter S. Quinn
   
 

   
   
 

  1288.     

Days Growing Longer

Tongues of the forest will soon awake
With the days growing longer to new spring
And the hours of the sunrise again sing
When winter's ice is released from the lake
Soon rays will explode to bright appearance
Giving silences a voice through the night
And darkness will be blue diamonds of light
In optimistic moods and in clearance

Each tide comes again with new season
Every hour shall become again fresh
Rising to the living toward complete
And the old ways to fall on its reason
With all the yesterdays they did enmesh
In everything previous they did meet
 
Peter S. Quinn
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Peter S. Quinn