Stalagmites stalactites
Tactile memories burned off cut out frozen in time with the music-

Barnacles growing on pylon
Piled on thoughts
Of survival
Of living
A captured moment between space and time

Looking out over another sunrise
Rapt in the flocculent
Purple haze of the Orange Blossom’s
Trail of tears

The fires of Helios challenged to burn off the fog
Of another brumal night of

That tan man over there
In the shadows of the stay-weekly motel
Breathing in breathing out
Deep belly breaths
A swami
Arms raised to a sky in midwinter mourning

Whispering prayers
Whispering whispering hushed breaths
Whispering for a youthful hopefulness
Long since crushed and squeezed into the juice of a daily-breader

Now lit in orange and green
Across a hallway in O-Town’s
Last chance for

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, Winter in Florida, 2018

When A Poet Dies

When a Poet dies,
A flower weeps
A butterfly cries
A newborn sleeps

A star escapes
Interplanetary bliss
The Poet whispers
Wish on this

Heavens open to receive
As Earth ever so hesitatingly
Lets go in release

When a Poet dies
The Lady cries
The Lord belies

The lies told
now fold
Into the soil,
Ash to ash
Dust to dust

Until another Poet
To carry on
The legacy

Of truth-seeking
Soul searching
Stories revealing

Rest in peace
Rest in peace
Ancient bas-relief

Staring into
Your face
Lit by a candelabra
So mythically placed
Upon the dusty mantle of

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, November 12, 2016

Upon reflection on the death of Leonard Cohen in answer to the question : “What happens when a Poet dies?”