Reading Hemingway

A key unlocking
A parade of possibilities,
Unread books to be read
Well read books to be reread
Top shelf
Writers to know
Painters to peruse
Places to visit and possess

Poems to be penned
Short stories to be started
Novellas to effuse
Like the smoke of his
Nag champa
His morning ritual
Waking his deepest

Is how reading Hem’s
Moveable Feast
Moved him
Away from potentialities
To creation
To finding the key
To unlocking

To moving with ease
As the main character
In his widest dreams
Somnambulist no mas! No mas!

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, November, 2016.
I’ve been reading, no, feasting on Hemingway’s “A Moveable Feast”
this week; and am now submerging myself into his “The Complete Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway: The Finca Vigia Edition”. We shall soon be tracing Hem’s steps in Paris.

One of Those Days

One of those days Dad,
One of those days where
I reached in my pocket for my phone
To call you Dad
Just to chat and see what’s on your mind
Maybe share some things
On mine
Just to tell you how well I grilled the chicken
Share some love for each other
And for life or
Just talk about the weather
Between the pauses of silence
A knowing, the knowing
One of those days Dad
Of knowing
How much I missed you Dad
How much I miss you now, Dad
One of those days,
One of those days.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, A Sunday in August, 2016

Homeless Benediction

Thoughts sharp like the talons of the rare red-shouldered hawk
Having dropped the remains of lunch,
Bones and the little bit left of flesh of the small rodent crunched
On the hot pavement below
Like a frying pan receiving the crushed, brown shells of an egg
Mixed with white and yolk,
A messy mix,
Grey clouds opened like the curtains of a one act play
To the thunderous applause of cicada,
Rain drops absorbing the stored up energy of the day
and turning into the steam that will carry away her prayers and
her fading hopes
for a different tomorrow.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, August 23, 2016, Orlando, FL

New Website

Thank you for following me on my new website,

where I’m posting my handcrafted poetry. :).


John Hines

New Site

Greetings All,

Please visit my new blog site at

Sincerely & Gratefully,

John Hines

Whitman’s Whisperings

The cars on the expressway a mile away

The squirrels rustling in the leaves nearby

The water moving in the pool beneath my feet

The airplane making its way across the sky

The gentle breeze whispering through the trees

The birds sing singing—I hear them all.


The wind chimes chiming

Human voices walking down the street

The breeze again, the cleansing breeze again

Sitting here feeling while reading Whitman that

That breeze is blowing over me

Blowing through me.


Blowing away the cares and worries of the day

Soul cleansing, Hearing awakened, Emotions summoned

Cicada twittering its song of taps

As the sun begins to set behind me

Throwing the shadow of my pen

On the paper journal I’m writing this in.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, 04/19/2016

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 words of the day ( and  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 :).