Can’t help voicin’ it,
Been James Joycen’ it,
Just sitting around this old home.
In my hands this blue-green book and brew,
Longing for the return of Who
Knows? Streams of consciousness float…Ulysses.
“You still James Joycen’ it?”
Mama shivered and said,
“It’s far past time you put your own voice in it.”
My own voice?
My voice? My voice?
What is this noise?
Your voice, my voice, her voice, his voice.
Words uttered, not written,
Thoughts still shuttered,
Like new windows in the rain.
Rain, train of thought,
Thoughts trained to think,
Thoughts untrained to think can think.
Thoughts can sink,
Thoughts have sunk,
Many a ship not sailed on the sea.
Power of thought,
Thoughts of power,
Bring showers of rain, a soft rain shower.
Shower of power, thunderous shower
Reign down on me so the rest of the world
Sees what I can see.
What I can see? What can I see?
Thoughts not thought
Equal thoughts unseen.
Rein these thoughts, Oh, they try,
Train these thoughts that lie
In wait for breath of orange October sky.
Orange bliss of sun melts into soulful sea
Sea’s white foam folds around soul’s feet,
Metes and bounds no more define the lines
For this prepossessing spiritual infinitude.
Handcrafted poetry by John Hines, 01/03/2015