The Poetry of Quent Cordair

Between Venus and Mars

Crickets below, dippers above,
Night rising cool around the foxglove,
Floor of warm stone, ceiling of stars,
Jewel on the ring between Venus and Mars.
You’ll find my address between Venus and Mars.

Striding the plain, mountains surround,
Strove to find flight, broke the earthbound,
Made from this place, evolved and sublime,
Blessedly born and right for the time,
Mastering all but the passage of time.

Tick the count down until thunder and burn,
Children will fly, no thought of return,
While I remain, wave to their wave,
Watching them wing from the home of the brave.
I’ll keep the lights lit on the home of the brave.


My Kingdom

My kingdom has no subjects,
No serfs, their backs to bear
The weight of lives of others;
None here are forced to share.

A kingdom filled with kings and queens,
Their castles great and small,
With princes blue, princesses true,
Good dogs to guard them all.

A kingdom built with brains and brawn,
Each year less brawn than brains;
We sow and reap, invent machines
That till the fertile plains.

We sail and dream, we wing the skies,
Beguile with arts refined;
We trade for riches far and near,
Hold forth in courts of mind.

We mine and dine, automatize
The tasks that bore to tears;
Our engineers, second to none,
Lean back and toast to cheers.

Our six policemen quite suffice;
We’ve seven hard Marines
And thirteen jets with bombs so smart
That no one intervenes.

We welcome independent souls,
No honest man we shun—
Our markets thrive on goods well made,
On services well done.

Be immigrant or passing guest,
As equals all we greet;
New buyers all, new sellers some,
New friends and loves to meet.

My kingdom has no subjects,
No serfs, their backs to bear
The weight of lives of others—
Come join us if you dare.


Now and Then

The fractured image flickering over the millennia,
broken and begrimed,
Healing for brief seconds, a few minutes,
now and then—
The wholeness, the clean, bright view, coming suddenly
visible again
Through the curtaining Dark—
And the Age of Man
yet lives.


Spirited Gods

Spirited gods of body and mind,
Cleaving the earth and taking the find,
Arranging the atoms above in a bend,
Beneath which to dine, to dance, and attend
To desirable ends and needful things,
Burning the coal, inventing the wings
Upon which to soar like winged beasts do,
While raising fat herds for the savory stew,
Weaving silk threads, carving bone combs,
Harvesting timber for warm and dry homes,
Gathering the knowledge to hold in one hand,
On tablets of plastic and metal and sand,
Harnessing horses and nuclear parts;
Rocket plumes rise over rickety carts;
From building mud huts to high towers of glass,
From warring with spears to debating with class,
Climbing from caves to the moon and to Mars,
Masters of nature, eyeing the stars.


The Independent Power

For the sucker born each minute
There’s a con born every hour,
But blessedly each day is born
The independent power
Who’s neither host nor parasite,
Who’s neither lord nor bower,
Who keeps his mind with sober art,
Before no king would cower;
He earns his take and pays his due—
A man, a sovereign tower.


At Last

It matters not which border crossed,
From desert dry or tempest tossed,
To waves of grain and freedom’s sigh,
From womb’s dark hold to first-light’s cry—
You’re here, you’re here, at last.

It matters not what age you came,
Eight months or eighty years, the same,
What color skin your parents’ face,
What faith from which they fled to grace—
You’re here, you’re here, at last.

Now eye to eye, measuring minds,
The hopeful search for justice finds
No honest man can blindly curse
One more like he in chorus and verse
Than different—yes, in essence we
Are species same, from nose to knee—
As equals born with equal right
To live and work and dream the night
Where best we may, and here you are,
Your place of birth be near or far,
Your life and loves as dear to you
As mine to me—and this is true:
As innocent till guilty proved,
Against you none are justly moved.

So come, let’s toast to freedom’s song,
And may someday you pass along—
It matters not which border crossed,
To nurse’s hands or shoreline lost—
You’re here, you’re here, at last.


No Sea Was Ever Sailed

No sea was ever sailed
By fear of drowning in the deep.
No bridge was ever built
By huddled souls in castle’s keep.
No cloud slipped ‘neath the wing
Of one who dared not leave the ground.
No daunting height was scaled
Without a test of holds unsound.

No barn was ever raised
By hands that wouldn’t plant in spring.
No city skyline drawn
By those whose vision wouldn’t sing.
No rocket ship was launched
Without a dream to touch the stars.
No man stood on the Moon
Who didn’t long to land on Mars.

No writer wrote a wonder
Without braving the first line.
No sculptor carved a marvel
But for craving sight divine.
No dancers spun a ballroom
Before graceless learning turns.
No masterwork was painted
By a critic’s clucks and burns.

No cure was finally bottled
Without trials that failed to save.
No bulb illumed the night
Of those who never left the cave.
No gear turned fine and smoothly
Till the first rough models broke.
No wheel turned light and quickly
Till a rebel carved a spoke.

No friendship grew and strengthened
Without hearts opened to hurt.
No neighbor’s warmth was nurtured
With responses cold and curt.
No lovers’ cove was treasured
More than after storms astern.
No passion’s flame rekindled
But for bringing fuel to burn.

No man was free a master
Till his mind was unenslaved.
No people shed a tyrant
Till they faced him unafraid.
No peace was long in lasting
When unanswered went the call.
No justice served for any
When no one would stand for all.

No life is fully lived
In pallid dread of pending death.
No fear is faced and conquered
Till accepted with deep breath.
No step into this world
Is ever taken until willed.
When last your eyes have closed
May they’ve seen a life fulfilled.


To Your You Being You

To the best that’s within you,
To your lift and your try,
To your will to see dawn,
To your laugh while you cry,

To your hope through the sorrow,
To your float over pain,
To your push through the dark,
To your dance in the rain,

To your rise from the ash,
To your straightening the bend,
To your fire to the lie,
To your go till the end,

To your cutting the knot,
To your swearing anew,
To your mind of your own,
To your you being you.


Enjoy more of my poetry & short fiction in my latest collection, My Kingdom, now available in paperback and Kindle editions. ~

I could not put the book down! I read the poems out loud to my kids as though I am Cyrano on stage! Inspires me to be the best I can be! Love it! ~ Heather Pendaris

If you enjoy life and a positive view of mankind, if you are a valuer and enjoy reading uplifting works, you’ll love this collection of short works by Quent Cordair. This is a great book when you just want a short read that will leave you feeling better than when you started, when you need a little emotional fuel. No need to read it as a whole, just enjoy a little morsel when you need it. You will find yourself going back for more, over and over. I have thoroughly enjoyed Quent’s longer works, but they are a deeper dive. This collection can be enjoyed even if you have only short spurts of time available for reading. I highly recommend it. ~ Steve M.

I can only say, if like me you admire human independence and have a belief that each of us are sovereign individuals and that the greatest joy can be found in seeing something admirable, reward yourself with a few hours of pleasure. Buy the real book .. read … enjoy. ~ Garrett Seinen

The My Kingdom collection is now available in paperback and Kindle editions. ~


Or if you prefer novels, I write those too. I recommend starting with Genesis, the first part of my five-part Idolatry saga. ~


Part I of Idolatry

In the twilight of the Roman Empire, a sculptor struggles to keep an 800-year dream alive while honoring the love of his life and raising his adopted son. Part I of the epic five-part Idolatry saga, the story of a wealthy young heir and a devout Christian girl who find themselves at the heart of a 2400-year struggle for the soul of Western Civilization.


“Beautifully written, on the order of Ken Follett’s Pillars of the Earth, with the historical insight of James Michener, it brings to life a time of great thought, great art, and its clash with religious fanaticism. Cordair writes with a poet’s sense of scene and nuance and gives us a great deal of insight into the mind of a sculptor; I found this an exciting and easy read.” ~ Alan Nitikman

Enjoy Genesis in paperback, Kindle, or Audiobook today. ~


Quent Cordair Fine Art, located in beautiful Napa, California, was established by artist Quent Cordair in 1996. As a premier provider of contemporary Romantic Realism in painting, sculpture, and drawing, QCFA has grown to serve an international clientele of private and corporate collectors. Explore our select offerings today at ~


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