Taste of Young Love

Taste of young love
First real kiss
Impossible to resist
They called it a sin

Weighed down by sin
Off to confess
Only to do it again
And again
And again…

Until finally it blew
The cap off
Confess again
To the same sin

So he left the Church
Of his youth
And found God
In the breath of the wind.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, September, 2016

Search & Rescue

Submitting to Search and Rescue
To One who makes a living carving barnacles out of old men’s skin,
Leaving scars like tattoos
As living, walking records of where
She’s been.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, September, 2016

I wrote this “shortie” earlier this week on the morning of a much postponed visit with the dermatologist.


I’ve only quickly read three little lines and three words of Whitman:
“Enough! Enough! Enough!”
On a Saturday morning
Scorching summer Sun Star already well up
Burning off the mists of foggy thought
REM rebound and a little bit of melatonin from a verdant bottle having done their work in the blackness of the night
Which brought a week of work to another end.

Weak from work clearing out
Words of Whitman leading the way,
“In the beginning was the Word
And the word was with God
And the word was God.”

Enough to set my soul souring with the possibilities of the day ahead
Without work
Without fuss
Without muss
Without a “To-Do List” leading the way
Like a day hiker oblivious to the dangers of thin air
High on life, high on something.

Simplicity of a writer’s solitude
Slipping through the cracks of thoughts and memory
Like the summer Sun star’s penetrating beams peeking in through the shutters
Soliciting the promise of a literary life,
Enough! Enough! Enough!

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, September 17, 2016

Sunday Morning Glory

The red like the blood of Jesus
In the sacred crimson cup
Washing my Sunday blues away
In an instantaneous moment of solitude as the Sunday sunrise welcomed another day
Shining on this male cardinal’s chest illuminating and reflecting its cleansing power in all its majesty as I watched and in that single smallest moment felt a transformation of mind take place
A small change between the synapses as the glorious, majestic red of his courtly robes ran through my soul.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, August, 2016

Queen Hermine

Relentless motor driven sounds of cicada drilling into the circumference of my cranium like court trumpeters ushering in the reign of Queen Hermine
Crickets chiming in with their own chimeras
A high pitched choir of adolescent eunuchs singing with the full capacity of their youthful lungs:
Life in its fullest
Life in its fullest
No regrets
Rain on the way
Rain on the way
Rain on the brain
On the way,
It’s raining!
Long live the short lived reign of
Queen Hermine!

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, September 1, 2016