These moments slowly melting like the Sun

Into the emerald green Irish sea,

Left longing, counting the days ‘til your return

So soon after your departing,

Making wishes while slowly twisting my

Claddagh ring.


Waking up from siesta’s sweet slumber

To find your spot empty,

Learning to navigate once again the ebbs and flows

Of the hallways of solitude,

No map or GPS needed,

Leaning on the solace offered by a Soul

That matured in the solicitations of solitude’s embrace.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, 07/03/2016

This poem is about missing someone.  It is also about learning to be alone and comfortable with the mysteries made aware in “solitude’s embrace”.

Another One of Those Days

There are days when the only acceptable noise

Once wrapped in the soothing chocolate brown walls of my study

Is the whir of the ceiling fan mixed with the purr of sweet Kitty.


Anything else cuts through the silence my soul is seeking

Like fingernails across a chalkboard,

And today is one of those days.


Trying to sift through the anger, frustration

I’ve been feeling lately most days as I walk out to my truck through the parking lot

To drive home after work.


Second week in May, four weeks ‘til summer,

Up today since 3:44 like every day,

A predawn 5 mile run in the books before driving to work.


And now, all I crave is silence and solitude

To hear the voice of the author I’m currently reading

Speaking to that deeper place of soul.


‘Cause you see, those words are medicinal

And I know I only have about two hours, maybe three of lucidity

Before the tiredness pulls the back of my eyes into my occipital lobe.


But, for right now that fan whirring, that Kitty purring

Are the only sounds my soul desires,

All others cursed like anathema.


These are the sounds of solitude, the sounds of silence

Wrapped in the textures of these chocolate brown walls,

That girl breathing gently beside me on the futon.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, 05/10/2016






Solicitous Solitary Saturday

12:30 on a Saturday afternoon and feeling

As if the lack of solitude might crush him,

Like 4 walls of an illusory shrinking carnival fun house elevator vault closing in on him.


Sounds of footsteps above and around in the not-so-empty Colonial-style, 2-level house

Foreboding yet further interruptions of thoughts read,

Of thoughts thought and better left unsaid.

Awakening the morning with the sun and a 3-mile walk around the lake,

Noticing the kitty noticing him in the window between the panes of glass

And pulled down Venetian shades.

Wondering why the sleepy little wanna-be city

Was so slow to awaken,

On this solicitous Saturday morn.

Walls of lack of solitude closing in,

Longing for the interruptions-

Such excuses for not picking up the pen:

To write, to write, to write.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, 04/09/2016