Rooftop Poetry Club - Walter W. Quin III

Walter W. Quinn III

Bio:
A recent high school graduate from Kenmore West High School in Kenmore, NY, Walter is now a freshman at Buffalo State College. Though he's been writing off and on for years both poetry and short stories, it wasn't until his AP English teacher in his senior year took an interest in some of his poems that he showed her that he began writing with a real passion.

Walter enjoys writing both poetry and short stories alike, and bounces back and forth between the two. However, his real passion lies in poetry. As he writes, he tends to keep in mind all things that influence him, such as the physical environment, emotional state, and people around him. He also doesn't always follow the 'rules' of conventional poetry- some of his favorite things to do include playing with rhyme scheme, organizing poetry in unconventional ways, and wordplay.

Walter hopes someday to have his work published in a book of poetry or even in work completely of his own. But for now, he's very content writing for those who will read.

Poems:

What Dreams May Come

I lie in bed at night with visions
Slowly appearing on my eyes like incisions
Of reality, as other worlds begin to leak
Inside, interweave, and start to speak
In language no one else can hear
But me, but still I begin to fear
What dreams may come.

Though my day has passed and tired
My body rests, but my mind is wired,
It imagines, supposes, commences construction
Of this place where time has no function,
People fly and die and turn into things,
And all the while the sirens sings
What dreams may come.

I have watched others go to this place,
Friends and enemies alike, I've watched their face
As our time passed, and it begins to overtake
Their bodies, and then their minds, and like a snake
Winds 'round their soul, essence, it is all roped
And I watch as they waited, for they hoped
What dreams may come.

Time spins and flies, but I know the clock will stop
As I find my way up to the top,
Or maybe the same, I'll go away and under,
And let feelings burn and my voice thunder.
As my eyes darken, my thoughts are thrilling,
A sudden revelation, and I find myself willing
What dreams may come.

Fallen

It was a day no one saw coming.
He fell from the sky, amongst the ground the rain was drumming.
Not one person saw where he came from.
No buildings around were tall enough, not a plane in the sky. Clouds, some.

Someone screamed. They had their first glimpse of that ethereal corpse.
His clothes whirled in the air, his beard, white with age, wind warps.
His eyes were closed. Body limp. Hands that Created now immobile.
But this One person's last fall was the beginning of a crisis, global.

Both believers and those that didn't began to gather,
Drawing in a circle near where he would land, but rather
Than the speedy mess they expected to encounter He
Had fallen without a sound and now laid there for all to see.

Despite this great trauma, his body was perfect
Just as He was. Some even expected (wished?) for him to stand erect.
But before their eyes, their celestial divinity began
To rewind in life, age, story of this old man.

His eyes played the history
Of everyone. Everything. Everywhere. And this mystery
That was this fallen deity, was now becoming clear
As civilization saw their divine murder weapon, fear.

Battles, war and death of peoples of every place,
The absolute look of horror on His face
Told them what they had done was nothing close to what
He had wanted, created in his image.

It seemed, however, that those things that were good,
Like love, kindness and happiness, for which He stood,
Were not enough to balance out what we had made,
And this sickness that was us, to His neck, a blade.

Murmurs arose from the crowd,
Their connected fear growing loud,
And as they turned towards each other, and they began to pray,
His body, into the earth, melted away.