Visions of Autumn ((Trapped))

Shade of a palm tree’s sun-shadowed reflections trapped in a frame on white-washed particle board opposite a French door,

Brown shrouded priestly vestments lipping over a sinewy, sun-leathered wrist guarding wrinkled fingers wrapped around a chalice,
No, a coffee mug:

Snowy cold memorials of seasons
Lost
On a mountain village garden path

A brown leaf rests atop a tiny river-stone:
Surviving remnant of
Autumnal verity from yesteryear

A weasel’s fur stuck in road-side thistle stands out amongst the crowd

Butterflies swoon, yellow blossoms lift Golden halos drop
Smoke smells whisper
Waiting, waiting, waiting for

Blueberries plump
Juicy
Ready to be culled

As frozen memories take a beating
while reading colossal Plath on a Sunday mourning’s after noon.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, November, 2017

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Rocky Mtn Dreamin’

Sunset’s amber rays cut through
Red Rock of Winter
Golden grains of grass
On roadsides
Wave

As we exit the day
As the day exits
Enters night
Of dreaming
a dream (undreamed) come true:
This day.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, November, 2016

Written on the roads and byways to and from Denver, CO through Boulder with stops in Estes Park and Rocky Mountains National Park.

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Songs of Summer Solstice

As aeromancy of alpenglows from

Smoky Mountains’ sweet splendor

offered the antithesis of empty promises,

A cryophilic heart was finally awakened

by the splendor found in summer solstice.

 

Songs of summer solstice flowed

through the current of his veins,

Magically doing their work,

Opening up electric symphonies

Of unchained possibility.

 

No longer willing to accept

or give nugatory compensation

In payment for soul’s offerings,

Crying out: “All in”,

Living life to its fullest.

 

This meant accepting that love

could no longer be given on loan

In hope of future payments

like some form of usury.

 

A sudden flash of insight,

Crying out

in acutely accelerated awareness:

“All in, for the nonce!”

 

All in and off the island

of isolated vanquishment,

A soul like an isthmus forever connected to its source,

Never again to be separated

by moving masses of tectonic plates.

 

The desiderata of soul that leads to new found bliss

In mountain music

Played on an electric violin

On the streets of Asheville

and now danced to in a little club in Gainesville.

 

No payment worthy of

the spirit that played

Through music on those nights

Offering a ticket to ride to

new places of unchained possibility.

Handcrafted poetry by John Hines, 02/11/2016

This poem was written in a spirit of gratitude for the music created and shared by a two-man band-To All My Dear Friends (www.toallmydearfriends.com).  I first heard them on the streets of Asheville this past summer and was fortunate enough to discover their live music again this past weekend in Gainesville with my wife, our oldest son and his fiancée.  Their music literally stopped me in my tracks physically, emotionally and soulfully when I first heard them play in a little street-side, acoustically mesmerizing alcove.  The music now plays in my truck more days than not on the way to and from work; and has become my life’s soundtrack over the past 6 months.  I am sure its soulful touch will carry me until we are back in the Carolina mountains again in the spring.

Note: I used the same seven www.dictionary.com words of the day in another poem of a totally different feel last week: http://coachhinesblogs.com/2016/02/06/cryophilic-little-devil.  Thank you for reading!  I hope you enjoyed :).

 

Summer Songs

Lazy day,

Thoughts a sway,

Swinging through the trees.

 

Hummingbirds and bumble bees

Fly their flights,

Luring me away.

 

Summer sun,

Oh, wonder one

Lurking through the trees.

 

Thoughts of you,

Onslaughts of true

Bring me to my knees.

 

Cicada concert singing,

Bells of truth a-ringing,

Gospel piano bringing.

 

Strained thoughts,

Of good news sadly wrought,

And Judgment Day’s

Drenched memories unsought.

Handcrafted poetry written by John Hines, 8/2/2015 

I wrote this short poem on a sweet summer day spent reading Chuck Palahniuk’s Damned in a little red cabin amongst the trees on a Western North Carolina mountain.