The magnolia almost whispers to me.
Let the stream pass by me, nourishing
Food that comes from the sweet current.
That flows from hills down to my cottage.
There are many quant cottages around,
All decorated with climbing green plants,
I love them all, ivies, clematis, vines, and more.
But I am in love with the magnolia tree.
She blooms in late Spring, silently full of fragrance
Night or day it is a splendour of pure delight.
Alas the bloom will fade, as all things must,
But beauty is not eradicated easily.
Its petals remind me of days long gone,
Of laughter echoing through the garden air.
Now I sit beneath its shade alone,
Yet feel embraced by fragrance that once spread.
grand towering limbs
reach to meet
branches a flourishing keep
twigs to trunks create
a stretch to breathe
crooked seedlings bow in need
live to die, and sow to reap
sewn together a needle to seam
hand to cheek
a means plunges deep
moves a steady pulse to bleed
seeping shallows underneath
beating tree to tree
a hollow quant and sweet
free will drives the darkness
a gesture to greet
the animal unseen
shadows join in to deceive
the passerby and inbetweens
a hunter to a prey
the profile of trees
dazed in the headlight beams
outline reality as a thief
stealing moments
yet to be
the forgotten trinkets
hang from trees
a keepsake for a figurine
trapped beads concede
to a broken string
fall along the wayside
finding hope is still free
playing content in the wind
chasing tossed debris
gathering leaves
one by on they fall weak
remnant colors in deceit
raise to a scatter
a boundless retreat
content to repeat
the redeeming sweep
Terry D’Arcy-Ryan
Quant Causing Complaint
Could be caused by something quant;
That had turned into quite a complaint,
Further inspected;
Became connected;
When they would say I was such a saint.
Jim Horn
He was her reason
She was his rhyme
Her quirks seasoned
What he kept in line
He came across square
She was defiant
But the two, as a pair
Achieved compliance
A hard boiled bond
Beneath a shell of steel
A promise beyond
The everyday feels
Coordinating paint
Branded their wrists
A quote, quite quant
Hers and his
Days came and went
Always together
Not a thought was spent
On bad weather
They were naive
Their parents were right
But you better believe
For love, they would fight
O, but ask
I'm delighted to say
As I covenanted those views
O' alas
I'm caught at bay
Surrounded by tools
99 years ago
Ahh, enchanted chrisms
Covered in diamonds and pearls
Perils times
Travers unfold
Stories rendered retold
Held altogether, yet unraveled
99 years ago
I was created 62 days ago
While my love toward you happen at 19 years
A stout revision
A quant decision
So, Oh enduring
Seldom visons shown
99 years ago
11/13/17
written by James Edward Lee Sr.
Horse Became An Angel
Not only had we both been riding;
Smoothly through air we were gliding;
Momentous occasion soon would meet,
We did love and wanted to repeat.
Felt horse muscles as they flexed,
Not knowing what would happen next;
Another hill and dale we did pass by
Below a quant blue almost clear sky.
After wearing ourselves out died
And into sky would ride and ride
Free of all my fortune and fame;
My horse, an angel, she became.
Jim Horn
Oui !!
l'Amour rend aveugle
quant a` la heine
elle offre de la Vue.
Oui.
Two is company
Three a crowd
A and B call the shots
I'll C my way out
I've become a nuisance
With the key to their heart
A knee high fence
Setting them apart
They clear with ease
The top of my Hurdle
I'm just a disease
A bothersome girdle
I gave them a boy
Adopted their man
Then a girl brought joy
They don't understand
They dote on the first
A monster in training
I have been cursed
No need for explaining
A fantasy solution
There's no such thing
Entitlement, illusion
They'll continue to bring
Pick a seat, not a side
A quant little quote
The author was high
When he joyfully wrote
An invisible line
Heavy and thick
Clear to the blind
A blunt, jarring kick
I won't sugar coat
My pen speaks truth
Start building your moat
And digging your boot
For the glory of God in the skies
Thanks for being forgiving and so wise;
Considerate, kind and understanding;
I will only pray and not be demanding.
When for God want to complete a task
All I ever have to do is simply ask
Him for great guidance and direction;
He will point me towards his perfection.
What you should do is first start
By making God source of your art
And ability to put things in your works
Even if quant and have a few quirks.
Ashes are always ashes and dust is dust
But before you die you so surely must
Brunswick Arts Council become part of
And for local art will have much love.
I close my eyes and tuck myself into my soft blanket
And before long, I feel something nudging my hand.
And there it stands, a horse—a black beauty so intricate;
Something quant about her: it’s like she belongs to another land
Far away beyond this plane of existence. And neighing,
She stares at me like a well-trained race horse looking for her rider.
As I shrug my reluctance away, I stand on my bed and, jumping,
Get myself on her back. Tame at first, she goes wild—and wilder.
I held on to her tight, my fingers gripping into her flesh.
Raging, oh, she picks up speed! Old graveyards and abandoned schools,
Desolate shrines and run-down parks—all in my memory so fresh
“By God, make her stop!”—my only thought as I cry like a fool.
Through fingers’ failing strength, I lost my grip on her and backward
I fell to my tight bed. Still sweating I still feel my fingers digging deep
Into the night mare’s back; I tuck myself into the blanket, dead awkward
Like a lost child finding his way home; having nowhere to comfortably sleep.
Time is fallen,the lights are dim,the hole in space is very thin!Cold nights and strange days in
my life demons do play,but still I pray everyday,standing in the light fighting evil at night
watching the stars so bright.Now warming myself by the sun in this fight theres no use for
guns!A quant sinner I may be but still the father stands by me!
I should have left you in the past
and not dragged you into my present.
You should have stayed with memories
of tank tops and Mary Quant make up,
school discos and music by Mud.
The long lazy summers preceding adulthood.
When you arrived in 'now' you didn't belong,
it seemed strange; didn't work somehow.
You squinted to try and see me as I was
and I you, but it jarred and mismatched -
it didn't fit despite the trimming
and the sanding to try and make it.
So now you're gone again.
Settled with the dusty photographs
and nestling with teenage reflections.
Back where you belong; in the attic of the past.
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