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This page contains several recent poems by Peter Quartermain.  "In Como" appeared in Golden Handcuffs Review 1:7 (Summer, Fall 2006).  All material on this page is copyright © 2006 Peter Quartermain.

 

IN COMO

 

When I lean back

wood shades my right

eye through the window

the leaves still the noise of

a drill from the town down

below that the sound of a man

as he clears out the pond

by the door a truck starts

goes away

 

Sun blurs my lash catches

cold fire the heat of my hand

like love goes through the plashy fen

vole's questing feathered feet

to type what right

here I can never see

but feel

 

 

 

The following poems are taken from Getting Here, Backwoods Broadsides 95 (Ellsworth, Maine, 2005):

53 WORDS

 

all very well outside a new

leaf the neighbours fence whose

grass inside what seed pens

windows and a blind car goes

by the perhaps gate on its uneasy

post unsung a part song.

Thin clouds the day so many not in work

unpenned goods written out lie

round tight corners

what apart.

 

 

 

AUSTIN, TEXAS

 

This is the kind of a town

where they would throw

out of a car

speeding

onto the sidewalk

a dead dog

amidst those

  who

walk

 

 

 

In the night

breath

rainís soft plod

on the skylight spatters

flurried dull

smattering at two a.m. dim

or maybe three light patter next

quiet silent stop paused syncope

in your steady breath a

counterpoint almost for

thirty years some car goes by

its light smothering the ceiling

now not so dark

comes day.