April’s Charm

I know it won’t be long before the relentless humidity stretches from July to eternity
Smothering me in my outdoor oasis,

But, today, in late April at the end of another day of work, the weather’s fine,
the humidity’s at a humble thirty-six percent,

The wind is whispering through the oaks, rain trees and freshly trimmed camphor meditatively,
while i read Billy Collins, and allow my soul to rest a bit from its wrestling with work.

The sun is glistening off the top of the fresh-swept pool,
The pump is faithfully humming along
doing its part collaboratively

With the cross peninsular breezes,
moving the water on the surface of the modest kidney shaped concrete pond,

As just a few leaves sit by themselves on the pool’s bottom,
Me, taken in by little swirls of reflected sunlight, tiny bouncing circles of zen,

A priest of light facing West on a snow white Adirondack,
Reading and writing and breathing out,

Pausing again, and
then breathing in,
The scents of the patterns of a biodome
On a simple April afternoon.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, April, 2017.

The Way She Looks at Me

Today, she looks into me with her mysterious eyes inlaid like green marbles in her royal velvet grey as if she’s known me for forever and eternity,

At other times she looks at me as if I’m a stranger from a strange land, a nomadic invader from the desert encroaching her space, Stepping off my camel into the kitchen, Spilling orange sand from my boots wherever I step,

The same way i look into the mirror on a Monday morning facing another week,
Or melt into the ocher floor that is terrazzo folding myself into the glass mixed with concrete,
And, somehow feel so much better there, more free in that space.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, April, 2017

Easter Eve

Disjointed thoughts and words rolled into one strolled through my head as i awoke from dreamy afternoon half-sleep of Easter weekend

Of salty briny breath of Brigid blowing through my hair
Of sea mist moisture on my skin, taste of oysters
Memories of days walking on the seawall in Sandy Cove along Dublin Bay

Of shoreside breezes in freedom’s wake
Soul set free
The feels like temperature (how do they know?) perfect for
Sinking under the weight of an ancient myth
On angel’s wings
on Easter Eve

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, April, 2017


Scheveningen Beach

The cobalt steel blue waves washed over the anthracitic sand spilling foamy temptations across Scheveningen Beach  like white seed across my belly

Stepping over seaweed parts of plastic sand toys empty mollusk shelters broken barnacles and
bivalve remnants of razor clams posing as shells of memory

The ferris wheel spinning slowly like a windmill in one of Van Ruisdael’s landscapes powered only by the salty air
While i kept my eyes pushed wide open straining to see the possibilities that lie beyond the reaches of the pier and my own snow blind solemnity.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, March, 2017 on reflection of a trip to The Netherlands and visits to Amsterdam, The Hague, Scheveningen Beach, and Haarlem.