Relaxing On The Grass
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© 2009 - Ben Heine
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A picture I took around Oxford in England
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Engaging
Hands of
Earth

A poem by Peter S. Quinn

Engaging hands of earth - you touch us still
Around and round in every transparent dream
Each bleaching falling glisten in quietness seem
Dear sweet autumn that my yearnings fulfill
Your smooth earthen mixture of shadings to thrill
With stars in your hair of yellow brown stream
Summer of gold is now leaving in gleam
Giving to dim every song in its skill

Withering dark to the changing grass confer
With ground tincturing that dresses the leaves
In the placid of days that are going by
Now is the time of full harvesting year
Just before tomorrow comes in with grieves:
Crack of dawn calm and the red clouded sky
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Get On Through

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© 2009 - Ben Heine
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Always Be a
Beginner to See

A poem by Peter S. Quinn

You, always be a beginner to see
The runaway in motions close from you
The street's not empty if there is a tree
Shadowing your footsteps from the sky blue
Each of your moments is nearly not fed
Like rain bowing colours in cyberspace
The prism of few: yellow, purple, blue, red
Coming and visiting each of your place
Come see a few pictures there in your mind
Experience passing longitude in line
If I'm not wrong and you're not colour-blind
It's hard all those shades clearly to define
Closed book gets open a guide to the way
How you each moment meet with a new day.
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Lost Girafe on the Highway
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© 2009 - Ben Heine
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Daydreaming Is
Often Bad

A poem by Peter S. Quinn

Daydreaming is often bad
Getting you nowhere at time
Living with once that you had
When it was early and prime

With every move and sensation
Giving you much to think
Love in its much tarnation
Into each catch like a blink

Riding on clouds to the far
Into the beguiled of their dark
Knowing sometimes what you are
Before on journeys you embark

When there's time just to know
What it is that you give me?
In every up and air blow
When we on dreams ride free

And if we are lost by a heart
In darker moments than some
Knowing when again then to start
To bring back where good is from

When we dream much of it
It isn't going to hurt us so much
We shall have time then to quit
Before it ever becomes to be such

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The Way To Her Heart

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© 2009 - Ben Heine
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My sweet Marta.
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Beautiful
Evening
Comes

A poem by Peter S. Quinn

Beautiful evening comes,
In sweet rendezvous melody;
Like the silvery amalgams,
With it's wings so playfully.
Daybreak in orange grove,
In the blue blossomy;
That comes for a night glow,
And late hours so bonny.

Where can a brownie be,
That loves a glitter bloom;
And flies a round a tree,
Like summer's little groom.
Heart as gold at daybreak,
When the fairies all fly in;
Newborn in morning wake,
With their little fluffy spin.

Then starts the new singing,
For what was quiet and still;
The fiery light is clinging,
Over the sleepy drown hill.
Come closer you new day,
With breeze there roundabout;
Amid rose bay in the way,
Taking away the nights doubt.

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The African Pony
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© 2009 - Ben Heine
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Elemental Clouds

A poem by Peter S. Quinn

Elemental clouds now ride the skies alone
Through the bound of the net raindrops falling
I hear a little music from some pebble stone
While the drizzles are splashing and calling
Steams in the wild it’s the forest song
Flowing with its drum drops earth-rending
Something for my heart in harmony to long
Each the flower petals and leaves bending

You and I we had our different ways
Sunshine and the rain songs that we found
In slanting slashing sky like horses that gallop
Tinctures in its shades dyed many plays
To the underneath water lustrous around
A thought in a walloping like the raindrop
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In Search
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© 2009 - Ben Heine

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Landscapes

By Peter S. Quinn

My search is through
Time and space,
To moments
They don't belong;
Each search has threads
To new ways,
Like a never
Ending song.

Thoughts wander
To clouds I see,
Drifting off from
Fields of view;
I have landscapes
Within me,
That I'm sending
Out to you.

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Find Your Face
.© 2007 - Ben Heine

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The Simple Line

By Laura Riding

The secrets of the mind convene splendidly,
Though the mind is meek.
To be aware inwardly
of brain and beauty
Is dark too recognizable.
Thought looking out on thought
Makes one an eye:
Which it shall be, both decide.
One is with the mind alone,
The other is with other thoughts gone
To be seen from afar and not known.

When openly these inmost sights
Flash and speak fully,
Each head at home shakes hopelessly
Of being never ready to see self
And sees a universe too soon.
The immense surmise swims round and round
And heads grow wise
With their own bigness beatified
In cosmos, and the idiot size
Of skulls spells Nature on the ground,
While ears listening the wrong way report
Echoes first and hear words before sounds
Because the mind, being quiet, seems late.
By ears words are copied into books,
By letters minds are taught self-ignorance.
From mouths spring forth vocabularies
To the assemblage of strange objects
Grown foreign to the faithful countryside
Of one king, poverty,
Of one line, humbleness.
Unavowed and false horizons claim pride
For spaces in the head
The native head sees outside.
The flood of wonder rushing from the eyes
Returns lesson by lesson.
The mind, shrunken of time,
Overflows too soon.
The complete vision is the same
As when the world-wideness began
Worlds to describe
The excessiveness of man.

But man's right portion rejects
The surplus in the whole.
This much, made secret first,
Now makes
The knowable, which was
Thought's previous flesh,
And gives instruction of substance to its intelligence
As far as flesh itself,
As bodies upon themselves to where
Understanding is the head
And the identity of breath and breathing are established
And the voice opening to cry: I know,
Closes around the entire declaration
With this evidence of immortality—
The total silence to say:
I am dead.

For death is all ugly, all lovely,
Forbids mysteries to make
Science of splendor, or any separate disclosing
Of beauty to the mind out of body's book
That page by page flutters a world in fragments,
Permits no scribbling in of more
Where spaces are,
Only to look.

Body as Body lies more than still.
The rest seems nothing and nothing is
If nothing need be.
But if need be,
Thought not divided anyway
Answers itself, thinking
All open and everything.
Dead is the mind that parted each head.
But now the secrets of the mind convene
Without pride, without pain
To any onlookers.
What they ordain alone
Cannot be known
The ordinary way of eyes and ears
But only prophesied
If an unnatural mind, refusing to divide,
Dies immediately
Of too plain beauty
Foreseen within too suddenly,
And lips break open of astonishment
Upon the living mouth and rehearse
Death, that seems a simple verse
And, of all ways to know,
Dead or alive, easiest.

(The poem appeared on poets.org)

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