ALLONS-Y

It’s a random sunny Tuesday afternoon after school and
I’m back on the ground on our first day in Seattle skipping across sidewalk cracks in the rain bouncing like a pair of lips across your cheeks in the morning

We’re landing with foot splashes in puddles and just missing others experiencing a combination of cold and wet we haven’t felt before

Yeah,
We’re a fresh dose of happy rolled into clouds of grey like M&M’s in fresh cookie dough
As we just catch our ferry across the Puget and we’re on our way:
Allons-y, let’s go!

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, February, 2018

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ON THE TRAIL TO SOMEWHERE

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

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
Longing

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
Sunshine

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

Je Veux, Chapitre Deux

I want no more Sundays
Haunted by leafless boughs on hidden nameless lakes
Sweeping across solidified vistas of mould
Failing to break through the everglade fog

Feet stuck deep in the mud of the stick marsh
Up to my ankles up to my knees
Groin level
Searching for an apt metaphor
For mud between the toes
For grey sculptures set in a crepuscular ray

Cloudless hellish-skies let loose
Reigning through eternal bells de bleu
Ringing and singing their silly songs
Of Sunday

Let me dance through trees like the squirrels
Let me soar through the air like the hawk
Let me live nine lives like my cat
Let me squawk all day long like the caged bird who lives next door

If I want to, if I want
No more Sundays haunted by leafless boughs on hidden nameless lakes
Set me off set me loose let me follow
the loggerheads out
to the green Sargasso Sea
Set adrift on the Gulf Stream flows of eternity.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, January 2018

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

 

IT

Hit me like a wall of vacant water
Frozen tsunami of grey clouds brushing impasto over a sunrise
Shrieking against cordial brumal sands
Of time

Plunged on a shrinking crepuscular canvas of
Clocks melting over the bough
Of an orange tree
Leafless
A la Dali
A jamais vu?

I’ve been here before
I grew up here
In this gaping gripping gasping whole of absence
Deeper than the hole he was buried in
Now his home amongst the mossy oaks
And anamnesis of civil war.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines,
9 January 2018

 

 

Full Moon Frenzy

Chasing the orange-timbres of a full moon
Setting over the City skyline
Down the expressway on the way to work
Glimpse of lunacy caught like a faded memory
Retrieved for a fleeting moment:
A déjà vu ? A trompe l’oeil ?
GASP

As the acetylcholine stutters across the synapses
Guardrail barricades avoided
Steering left around the curve
Under construction
For now and
Always

The dark black clouds hanging over the eastern sky hiding the sunrise
Like an old worn tattered black trench coat wrapped around the skinny shoulders of a homeless man

Ripped paper bag wrapped around an empty bottle
Sitting in a puddle of piss on the sidewalk Under the bridge
Alone
Hopeless as another day on the Trail begins

A modern day trail of tears to
Nowhere
In the boundaries of the City
Beautiful
Division Street.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, November 4, 2017, Orlando, FL

ALONG THE THAMES

 

Along the Thames along the Thames
The push of the World moving along
Barges pulling cargoes
Captains of Industry taking a break from lifting pounds to lunch
Pigeons puzzling over scraps of scones on the sidewalk
Poets taking pause to observe to breathe
To smell the fishy salty briny browns:
To feel the feels of the pulse of the City
Floating heartbeats aboard the Tate to Tate

Painting word pictures on a phone
After viewing Rothko in a room of Rothko’s
Nine
Crimson blacks and brownish browns
Marooned
Subtleties of meanings wrapped in colour

Four seasons spread across the walls of a room inside the Boiler House Level 2 East with two and a half inch slat unfinished scandalized oaken floors that creak with each step whether sandals boots or soft soled walking shoes

As a young girl makes a game of triggering the alarm her father ignores
And a baby cries and a woman sleeps or meditates on the contoured teak bench
Arms crossed, crisscrossed arms
Within a view of Monet’s lilies
Floats floats floats
Along the Thames along the Thames

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

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