O’ Sweet Muse

O’ Sweet Muse,

Sweet soul whisperer,

Whisper your sweet words to me;

I promise that today I’ll listen soulfully sweet.

___

“Pierian winds blow over me,

Blow through me your delightful inspiration,

So much irresistibly sweeter than the powderiest olykoek,

Visit my soul for a while, please stay,” I pray.

___

To make sweet songs

That make all the daily crap feel tickety-boo–

My British ancestry making words like that okay,

More than fun and okay with me.

___

O’ sweet muse,

Pardon me as I escape beneath my urbanized baptismal font,

Escaping the vapours of this June humidity felt through body and soul,

Finding sweet relief in this downtown Y’s natatorium.

___

Sinking to the bottom of the deep end,

Exhaling all the hot air still trapped inside my lungs,

Finding breathless solace beneath the water’s weight,

Washing away the anxiety and guilt of not being.

___

Guilty of not being something more than a mugwump,

A mugwump wandering on the Island of Indecision

Allowing life to pass while waiting for some spiritual sweet,

Some sort of doughty awakening of blissfulness of flow of work.

___

Of labour, love of labour,

“Love’s Labour’s Lost” as the great Poet once wrote,

A metanoia bringing sweet soulfulness

To living each day one poetic moment at a time.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, 06/05/2016

This is another poem in a series of poems I’ve been writing that incorporate 7 consecutive http://www.dictionary.com words of the day.  See if you can find them! Thank you for reading! 🙂

Zoogenic Tendencies

So what if these poems never meet the standards

To bear a colophon,

Colophonic complaisance was never his intention.

Whether writing odes to his Dulcinea

Or energized by the jimjams that were his

Maternal genetic blessing.

___

In writing he found the cure for shaking away the gormlessness

Of his work-a-day world,

Often awakening from hypnagogic restlessness

That refused to yield to deeper sleep

To write these words,

Slowly stripping away the hard-caked fard covering up his Soul.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, 05/29/2016

This weekend, I felt like it was time to pick up the 7 word www.dictionary.com word-of-the-day poetry challenge I initiated a few months back and hadn’t approached for a while.  This week’s words from www.dictionary.com were colophon, complaisant, dulcinea, jimjams, gormless, hypnagogic, zoogenic, and hard.  (Yeah, after writing this poem, I discovered an eighth word had snuck into the mix).  Looking at these seemingly unrelated words and their definitions in my notebook proved to be too much of an unyielding temptation so I started writing these verses down before my wife and I went out on Friday night and came up with this little poem. Thank you for reading!  🙂

Cryophilic Little Devil

Devilishly delighting in the denial of even

A nugatory spoonful of desiderata

To hungry hearts longing for just

A taste of warmth of dreamy visions.

 

He was a cold hearted cryophilic species

Much preferring the islands of his own deceits

To an isthmus of connectedness

Even with those he claimed to love.

 

Ever focused on the dirty deeds of his

Daily existence–“for the nonce, for the nonce”,

Powerfully denying any brighter future outside

Of surety of death.

 

Even as golden mountain’s fresh alpenglow

After summer’s quenching rains

Offered an aeromancy of possibility

Of sweeter days to come.

 

Spring to Summer, Fall to Winter

Seasons of unchanging surety of sameness,

His daily nonexistence flowed forever

Through the marrow of his essence.

 

Even while shifting lunar cycles made their play all round,

Each tide shifting willing spirit’s sands of dissimilarity,

New to First to Full to Quarter

Waxing to Waning, Gone and back again.

Handcrafted poetry by John Hines, 02/05/2016

This is the fifth in a series of poems using 7 consecutive http://www.dictionary.com words of the week (https://coachhinesblogs.com/2016/02/01/zenith-missing).  This week’s words were isthmus, cryophilic, nonce, aeromancy, alpenglow, desiderata, and nugatory.

I wrapped up the reading of my 10th book of 2016 this week-Charles Dickens’s A Tale of Two Cities.  I think some of the emotions I experienced in the final half of the book snuck in here and met up with some earlier life experience.  Maybe this devil is depression?  Maybe depression’s work on a person is like the devilish figures of Dickens making their way through the streets and prisons of the guillotine-era?  Thank you for reading :).

 

 

Third Week of January

Finding himself walking his way down Pine behind much younger people and still hearing the silly laughter of a young date in an Escalade parking on the third level twenty feet away, he carried himself with a “Don’t ‘F’ with me” old guy chip on the shoulder attitude while feeling younger days lost.  Something about that spot in downtown put him into a defensive, yet reflective posture these past two weekends out of three.

Finally, alone with his customary double shot of espresso and cool, effervescent Pellegrino in the green translucent bottle with just the right bit of bubbly feel in the corner of his mouth in a new corner of the hotel coffee shop having paid his $5.13 rent for this corner space, reaching into the corner of his brain where he kept such things, he began to write the poem of the week reflecting on his notes and getting a handle on his thoughts.

Sitting across from his former end table spot taking over a table for four near the door of the place which today of all days was the sunniest and unlike Florida coldest seat in the house, the door opening more often than usual letting people enter to find warm atmosphere and drink revealing the unseasonably seasonal cold snap of wintry winds, he began to write, on this, the third week of January:

 

Whether reading the lacustrine writings of our friend Thoreau

Or of the travails of travels of Bukowski’s Chinaski

Across the plains of alcoholic presenteeism.

After nights given to drink

And mornings to drink’s failure

To erase the pain or elucidate

Aeonian truths yet to be found in the writings of these

They call the literary greats.

 

His ludic approach to these sessions of playful reading

Might never open the doors of Truth

To an enlightened state of Beingness.

But he was willing to roll the dice, to play the horses

To spend more solitary time of the kind he craved

Reading and writing as the stuffs of his reading left

Their sitzmarks on his thoughts

And sometimes left their imprints on what some might call soul.

 

“Awe, Kerflooey!”

An expression that seems so much like nonsense

As if struggling out of an aposiopesis of wordlessness.

In the third week of January

A kerflooey of mixed thoughts of joy suppressed

Blended with a cornucopia of sorrow’s mixed remains leaving

Him speechless and at times

Longing for ______.

Handcrafted poetry by John Hines, 01/26/2016

This is the third in what might become a series of poems written using the 7 most previous, consecutive www.dictionary.com words of the day (https://coachhinesblogs.com/2016/01/09/words-please-him and https://coachhinesblogs.com/2016/01/15/sirens-of-predawn).  This week’s words were: lacustrine, ludic, aeonian, kerflooey, aposipesis, presenteeism, and sitzmark.  I am looking forward to next week’s challenge!  Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed :).

Sirens of Predawn

Having once again been inveigled

By the sirens of the predawn hours

He was awake now listening

To the peripatetic wanderings of the ghosts

They said frequented this house.

 

The stair steps creaking, the walls seemingly speaking,

Or was it just his cat?

 

Quietude, solemnity, A sphinxlike soliloquy

Of solicitous voices of solitude called out

To his soul to create a reifying remix

Of the events of past lives lived

In words scripted on soft papyrus.

 

Is it an epic poem, a sweet short story, a thespian’s delight

Or powerful prose that is in the offing?

 

Having shaken off the hebetude of days

Worked in unvocationed labor

Hazy days soaked in Bacchanalian feats of wonder

His mind now sat in the Director’s Chair

Like a well practiced cineaste.

 

Unable to sleep because of the promise of another weekend

Affording time to create, to live, to breathe again?

 

Feeling his chest rise with hope and possibility-

Spending his spare time with favorite pen and book in hand

Working to listen closely to the voices of the likenesses of

Woolf, Bukowski, Eliot and Hemingway

With his cat pressed cozily against his side.

 

Was this new soul seeking, spirit searching restlessness of expressiveness

A bellwether of things to come?

Handcrafted poetry by John Hines, 01/15/2016

I teach AP Psychology, the equivalent of Introduction to Psychology in the U.S., to high school students.  At the beginning of each day’s lesson I introduce the http://www.dictionary.com word of the day (I love the app!) to my students using it in a sentence and sometimes including some improvisation.  Last week, I challenged myself to write a poem using the 7 previous words of the day (https://coachhinesblogs.com/2016/01/09/words-please-him).  I answered that challenge again this week.  One key to this is that I “live” with these words all week. In fact, I wrote a poem earlier in the week titled The Offing (https://coachhinesblogs.com/2016/01/10/the-offing). Thank you for reading!  Have a most awesome weekend doing your own creating!