Dimanche (Des médias sociaux)

As I searched for some fine quote
A word of wisdom
A someone’s doing
Or a pretty picture painting hanging in the Louvre
A tronie’s earring hanging in the Hague
It was all right there in my hand

The way the morning light was streaming through the trees
Settling on the quiet ripples of the pool
Casting shadows across a life
Framed in a French door
Tiny birds all atwitter on the power lines
Bees abuzz between the thorns of winter blooms
Chameleons guarding the motes of our little castle
In the city

Et moi, settling into the first lines of a poem
Keyboard driven by right thumb presses
Against the letters in my hand
Until they formed a peristalith of hoary memory typed across the sinking sand.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, January, 2018

 

Lost in Paris: A Flaneur’s Tale

Now his soul floats along the Rue des Vie
Laterigrade
Like a crustaceous little crab
Who’s lost his way
Down the Champs-Élysées
Without an Arc de Triomphe
In his future
Or a new love to behold

For her memory towers over him like the Eiffel
Inflated beyond measure
To unapproachable heights
Making les Jardin du Luxembourg feel like a willowwacks
Staring at blank faces as if they were empty letters without words postmarked from some sort of
Neverland

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, January, 2017, Paris FR

img_1019

Nameless

‪Her igneous eyes pierced his soul with a gaping ‬
‪Longing for the fire once felt between her legs‬
For they were once long ago rapt
In the heat of each others company
Such that everything their senses touched together
Caught flame
and turned to
Ashes of memory

Now his soul floats along the Rue des Vie
Laterigrade
Like a crustaceous little crab
Who’s lost his way
Down the Champs-Élysées
Without an Arc de Triomphe
In his future
Or a new love to behold

For her memory towers over him like the Eiffel
Inflated beyond measure
To unapproachable heights
Making les Jardin du Luxembourg feel like a willowwacks
Staring at blank faces as if they were empty letters without words postmarked from some sort of
Neverland

His words and thoughts now jumbled
Once an artist of the spoken word
His creations reduced to the crambos
Of illiteracy
Her memory a myrmidon
His soul bent to its knees
In crushing obedience to the
Power it struck
A gong in the moonless night

Until (and when) (and then)

He posted a declaration of his love
Like some sort of bohemian flackery
On the Pont des Arts
The predawn snow and ice of the wooden bridge crepitating under his feet
As he raised the hammer
To beat the nail
Into the tiny parchment
And closed the coffin on her memory.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, January, 2017, Paris, FR

img_1043

Parisian Virginity

A morning march down
Rue de Rivoli
Marching to
Drumbeat rhythms of pigeon wings
Arrondissement No. 1

A Morning reveille of
Trumpets announcing
Wintery foggy browns of
Le jardin des Tuileries

O’ Paris

Sun peaking through
Creme brûlée clouds
Surrounding all at once

Watching her steps on slippery wood
Cross stitch patched with pieces of ice
Pathway uncertain
Across the Seine

Velvet sunset
Backdrops brushed by solemn gods
Gothic buttresses painted with
Soft strokes of light

Resting by the Seine
In a cafe of typical fashion
Rapt in the energy of the City

Until

Pain, fear, despair, motionless grief
Begin making their bold
Escape
Like the smoke from train stacks
In paintings at the Louvre

And then,

For the first time,

Finally

Tasting Paris
Smelling Paris
Hearing Paris
Feeling Paris
Seeing Paris

O’ Paris
Yes! Yes! Yes!

Parisian virginity
Washed into the bloody
Brown waters of
The Seine

Baptismal blessings of
A Great Awakening
Lighting candles and crossing
Herself in the holy sanctuary of
Le Basilique de
Sacre Coure de Montmartre

Scents of papal incense infusing smoky
Hellish memories
As the gargoyles fall off her soul
like fish scales
One by one by one

Birth of New Year morning
Whispering prayers to
Mary, Mother of God
No more mourning over loss

Her lungs pinched
Her breath drenched
Her Lusts quenched
The Noose now tightly cinched

(Around a former life)

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, December 31, 2016, Paris, France

img_1089