Quinn Graw

Quinn Graw Poems

Walking down the wagon trails
sure thing you aren't reading braille.
Finding the path of the country roads
old stomping grounds have grown cold.

When you are riding on the pine
the train blurs the scenery outside.
Inside the car the essence of time stands still
the wheels on the track and the clock

The wind is cold
traffic drives by on the highway
one wanders on the trail
softly stepping on old and new grass

Walk down the trail
the seeder and the tractor
starting to move without fail.
Half an hour

The sun is shining above
on a cool, windy Saturday morning
after the Friday night rain
made the garden a muddy rut.

Don't give a licken
to your chicken
unless you are in the kitchen.
White or dark meat

I paint verse with my pen-brush
here there is no rush
to create my world of words.
But on the weathered work table

If the eyes deceive
then the brain blindly receives
what the ears are itching to hear
as the soul begins to believe

Space X now launched into orbit
Pluto still banished from the planetary club
Astronomy is God's c osmic finger painting

As we exercise the body
how often are our mind exercises shoddy?
Those little grey brain cells
where our existence dwells

Mid-evening sunshine
beaming down on the side of my face
a calm but slight wind
on this near perfect Father's Day Sunday.

Instructions to die
after you spent the life force
hopefully without a divorce.
Take risks, stick your neck out

On a private Monday afternoon
the tall grass waving to the last
under the calm, gentle wind beast
the Sun teasing behind clouds

South words
popped into my mind
random words
living as a flat lander

Lightning, thunder and the rain
throughout the night sky terrain.

Let the artists have their say
a baton, a paintbrush or paper and pen
different medium to create the hidden story
expanding our creativity


On a cold drab October afternoon
the grey sky beckons rain


Expiry date unknown
date of creation known.

Even a park can be a prison
if beholden to the warden.
The hidden prison
like the village

As the season of Yuletide commences
let the lessons of quietude grow.
Christ's birthday glows
under the star at Bethlehem

Quinn Graw Biography

I enjoy writing poetry beginning in 2012.. I have self-published three poetry books -However only in the last few years have I taken my writing more seriously. My works vary in different topics - Christianity, nature and the four seasons are some of the them although I write about a wide variety of subjects. I have another book of poetry ready as a manuscript 'When the Words Walk to Me Through My DNA'.Writing is a blessing in exploring different themes that are dear to my heart. I am also working on my first novel at this time via Christmas 2020 as I ponder my upcoming 50th birthday shortly in the new year.)

The Best Poem Of Quinn Graw

Trails Of Time

Walking down the wagon trails
sure thing you aren't reading braille.
Finding the path of the country roads
old stomping grounds have grown cold.
Many trees no longer there on the nine mile corner
people moved on may no longer be in this world.
New buildings on the old yard sites
even with the old plow
sitting by the home intersection
just a ghost of the old times
clinging on as the winds of the past silently chime.
An afternoon drive down the trails of time
brings back the sweet sadness of memories
never to be relived or brought back to the present.

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