Solstice on the Avenue

Walking down Park Avenue on the
Second day of winter
Florida Summer’s humidity
For a moment succumbing to the Songs of Winter Solstice
Answering the verdant grass’s breezy invitation
To pause, to sit
To hear the sounds around me

Sounds of city fountains flowing
And children’s voices playing
Filled with the anticipation of Advent’s End
Train’s whistle signaling a departure
Bells signaling a new arrival
Of an almost lost mode of moving humans Low roar of diesel pushing out the sounds around me
As a yellow Labrador on a stroll his collar softly shakes

Walking on I hear the conversations around al fresco meals
Wine glasses clinking toasts of health and happiness
Knives and forks on plates making the musical happy sounds of friendships gathered
“Care for a sample taste to go, Sir?”
As lively carols play on the sidewalk through a speaker system
Accompanied by a man on a flute

And then the evening Solstice sun begins to cast
Her shadows across the spacious city green
The red bricks by Indians once laid releasing the absorbed whispers of the day
With little effect on the sounds around me
Closing out another shortest day
And reminding me how good it is to pause
To push refresh on all
The sounds around me.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, December 24, 2016
Merry Christmas ya’ll and to all a good night!

A Chance Meeting on 6th & Broad

Like the trunk of an old oak
Felled for lumber his knees
His tongue held captive
Enslaved muscles of utterance unable to move to utter the words
So desperately
His arms hung idly
Paralyzed at his sides
His loins unfeeling
Barren like the womb of Abram’s sweet

[Yet, in one felt moment all this
Giving way to

A wave,
A glorious heart sweeping wave of newness
Fresher than the dew of early morning
Lighter than the new moon’s cotton candy luminescence
In the starless night (of early morning)
Weightless as the scent of jasmine wafting the predawn air
As quiet as the whispers of winter entering Fall on the shoulders of summer
Soft as the downy coat of lamb’s wool against an infant’s cheek
Greener than the Rocky Mountain aspens against the tobacco-yellow landscape
And a truer blue than the sky was that day they met
on the corner of
Sixth and Broad
And walked hand in hand to Central.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, December, 2016 with thoughts caught across the continent between Denver and New York City.



Of Concrete and Memories

The silence of serenity

Found in a few moments after work

On the round, old concrete table

Cracked down its mid-section

Covered in the stains of mildew

Evidence of generations of Florida summers

Wobbly, so wonky on its single pedestal

Like a drunken dancer dancing

Solo too late, too long on cracked and yellowed beams of oaken floor

So simple in her engineering and componentry:

Water, aggregate, and Portland cement

Binding, bound, boundless in time’s memory

Inset tiles of faded corn-maize yellow

Brooding black coal, Sky bruised blue,

Verdant green of Spring, Claret red of Rose


faded now


far off memories]

This little concrete table

So perfect in all its imperfections

This mythic altar of expression

Once again

Welcoming the silence of serenity.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, December, 2016. Started in the beginnings of fall, finished in the whispers of winter.

And the table you are writing on shall be your subject.

HOWL at the MOON

Canto no. 3
3rd time a charm
A spell cast for eternity
Canis major
Across space and time
Young unrequited love
Like their bodies that night
Such a perfect fit

Sirius Souls
Now spinning in
Connected in space and time
Separated by
Like two stars in different orbits
In separate

Around and around and
Elliptical spinning
Doomed to spend
In separate

Joined only by the
Timeless black hole
Infinitude of

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, November, 2016 while howling at the monsterous super moon.

Flat Irons

Sweeping verdant aspens
Verdurous Greenness
Giving way to lower plains surrounding
Connecticut shade wrapper yellow
Footprints of wandering souls
Flat irons carved by the gods
For our mirthful enjoyment
Ghostly Grey
Boulders placed by giants like baby’s blocks for
At mountain vista’s gateway


Souls dancing across the dryness
Cool winds blowing in
Away the dusty memories of
Giving way
To pure mountain sunshine
Across the plain.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, November, 2016 reflecting on a day trip on the roadways and byways of Denver & Boulder on the way to Estes Park and Rocky Mountain National Park.


Stroke of Broca’s

Words of thoughts
Thoughts of words
R. O? K. E.).
Like spilt scrabble pieces on

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, December 3, 2016

I woke up this morning with these ideas swimming in my head with memories of my father. The two year anniversary of his passing was a month ago this week. Over the last few years of his life he suffered multiple strokes that took away his words and swallowed him. Thank you for reading.