Biography of Richard Quinby
Above my computer desk where I write hangs a Charles Bukowski drawing with the quote, “These words I write keep me from total madness.” And in many ways that sums up how I feel about writing, it is not something I want to do; it is a catharsis, a way of exploring my feelings.
Born and raised in a small town in northern Alabama; I inherited a love of the written word from my mother, an English teacher. While I have been an avid reader since early childhood I did not first start writing poetry seriously until I was in my mid-twenties; even trying my hand at song writing until I decided I really did not have the ear for it. For the past twenty-five years I have been writing sporadically, mostly as a form of therapy or to share my feelings with someone.
Only recently have I begun to write with the idea of being published someday. That is the reason I have posted some of my poetry here in hopes off getting feedback and constructive criticism from others.
Richard Quinby Poems
A Poem Never Written
I found your panties tangled in my sheets and
What’s This All About?
We can’t go on like this Living like two prizefighters In this ring we call love Locked in a clinch
Just A Quiet Summer Afternoon
Just a quiet summer afternoon Easy comfortable conversation Two old friends Catching up on each others lives
A Passing Phase?
A passing phase, Pus draining from a few Festering sores, A mild case of
Was my drinking, What I fondly call My disease, A dam blocking
A Season Of Neglect (Revised)
Looking out my back window today I saw what this season of neglect has done to my yard The weeds running wild, the shrubs untrimmed And all the flowers I so lovingly planted,
There’s a cat sleeping in my bathroom sink.
The Last Poem For Robin
This is the last poem I’ll write for Robin No more sad songs or Lyrical longings Enough with morbid metaphors,
It has become a pattern; each night I sit here at my desk writing, delaying going to our
Their voices call to me Old friends whispering pleading and entreating Their siren song
Two bodies Trapped In each others Gravitational fields
When I Write...
Am I too honest? Do I reveal too much? I open my veins at the keyboard, my poems are written in blood.
Binary Stars: Two Stars trapped By gravitational pull,
Six AM The stars fade away and I am still drinking looking for the way
Was the way our bodies
as if God had
molded them to mate that important?
The way my cock
curved and touched you,
the perfect fit
of my hips between your thighs,
and the coincidence