Sleep of Sin

Wrestling all night long with the angels of sleep
No demons of darkness, only silkiness of somber
An old somnambulist rests
Milking the night of every last ounce of REM

The last bit of lace of a fine stout left on the side of the glass
The last bit of morning dew drying on blades of grass
Waking here and there, falling back to sleep again
Slipping into dreams and out of them again
To stay in bed all day doing this:
Such a silly, silly sinful sin?

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


Black swan tail feathers pushed up like the soft petals of a black rose
A day’s lazy walk through
Hyde Park Green Park and St James

Like the black epaulets of the Royal guards
Blue-green waters of a St James pond
Reflecting dreams in red white and inlaid gold

Self said
Soft spoke
Soul whispers of today and yesterday
Of the morrow wrapped in a dream floating
Down Diana’s font.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, July, 2017, London