The Poetry of John P. Hindle

These pictures of history
cast shadows
on my world,
traditions fall,
in every step of progression,
but the bitter taste
left still
in apprehension,
misfortune in the poor,
the seeds of wealth,
scattered in contradiction,
plaques the masses,
while the monk meditates
in knowledge,
as rich as the next man,
in a paradox
of spiritual degree,
the manufacture
of this civilisation
is seen,
while nature speaks
and angels sing,
the listening ear beneficial
in the darkness.

The sky’s reaction tempered in its delay,
nature’s elements mirror the voice of heavens,
the moon reflects from water’s edge,
in the hands of our human race
pendulums tick at the gates of global community,
with power the currency and
influence means of writing the script,
for fear of tomorrow
of our children and strength
the truth only recompense in vision,
no manifesto trusted in your name,
the flame only flickers with concern
often the opposite is true
and ruthless when it comes,
drums can’t break the monotony between us,
but whistles blow in the kingdoms courts.

Gentle footsteps behind the wind,
fall slowly behind darkness,
by the sea,
nothing else exits.

Souls echo and reach deep,
our hearts are one,
lights ever project,
in each breath.

We the world as one,
projecting into the spectrum,
the coloured sea,
weaving again majestically.

Consumed with our unforgettable love,
you set me free,
against the tide,
without restriction.

A new season,
a new light,
an old friend welcomes me back,
shinning moon creeps in behind heavy blinds,
candles burn brightly on the edge of Town,
the distance of City’s street illuminates,
cascades of love mirror the heart,
next to the poem of Eastern Prayer,
the world spins slowly on its axis,
lantern’s leak light on the face of time,
staring into solitude,
reflecting from green birds chest,
before stone hearths
warmth radiates from smouldering embers.

(in response to ‘The Snail’ by Henri Matisse)

The canvas lifts the snail,
cut and composed in a world of nature,
vibrant colours planned in a loose spiral,
in a pattern of universal movement,
conducting rhythm and pace
with earth and energy,
plant structures, sea shells and pine cones,
carved to leave the inside free,
sculptured to reveal a form,
bright colours lead an orchestra in harmony.

(in response to ‘ Starry Night ’   Vincent Van Gogh)

Charged by cosmic light,
nature’s stirring emotion casts its spell
through a pensive breath,
thunder rolls and plays with gravity,
buildings shake with anxiety
like a flickering flame,
but as black as mind’s shadow,
abounding whispers in the space between us,
clouds engulf the sky like waves crashing down,
electricity ignites planets,
wind rushes, twists and screams,
lifting and pushing the drift,
another jet stream,
turning and moving like a wheel,
raising the tornado and pushing the world away.