John Himes Poetry

An adolescent incessantly drilling
flash cards of arcane letters,
stroke orders, the combinations
and pronunciations of Kanji,

spent hours, evenings, 7nenkan
fervently applied to an eastern
obscurity. For intrigue, for interest
in something so unhomelike, farfar
away–tooi, fushigi– demo
itsudemo omoshiroi to omoida:
The yearning for vast impossibilities.

Perhaps a lonely picture? This lone
boy with his flash cards, persistently
wishing to tap into some understanding,
felt like a precipice and the sensation
of swaying in one’s stomach on its edge.
Or  perhaps, to some purpose yet,
some… yakusoku, perhaps.

Wanderer across the winedark sea,
master of land ways and sea ways,
how far did you gaze across
those expansive depths? Though thrashed
by storms, woes unbound, and shaded
even by the shadows of death,
in your mind’s eye remained affixed
native soil; you longingly wept
for Ithaca and Penelope as time
struggled to crawl forward, day by day.

Though most remarkable of all,
was your senseless certainty, just as assured
as you were that Dawn would spread
her fingertips of rose, your confidence
in your eventual reunion. By virtue
of the absurd, this man was tenderly
watched over by a pair of clear grey eyes.

(Essential)

The first sip of wine
opens up the senses,
prepares the way.

…

Many slow moments
later, soft and sweet…
ah, satisfaction.

I’ll bring you to Paris
and kiss you on the sidewalk
by the riverside.

How often have I lain beneath rain on a strange roof,
thinking of home. -William Faulkner

Tomorrow I set out
on a train to Paris.

At last the road leads me,
alone, to a city of lights,
a mere myth to my mind now:
something romantique.

I haven’t so much as heard
from a raindrop
for two months,

and here I am: it’s late,
it’s raining in the faraway
here-and-now, and I guess
I’ll just see you around then.

With an open heart and eyes, I try
to step across this crazy world:
my soul yearning to drink
from this great fountain
of human life,

trying to graze among and amid
other hearts: a momentary
touch, a single chat, a day
or even a week spent together,
learning and yearning together.
I step

Across the vastness
with eyes and heart too open,
afraid of the piercing light
and the darkness all the same,
yet yearning and stepping
with such ferocious yearning,
towards those sweetest waters.

Metal screeching
in the underground,
a hot breeze and darkness,
muggy suffocating darkness,

and an abject loneliness:
London is a lonely town.

For a people so defined
by gray, dreary, and rainy
days, whose cozy pubs
and warm, hearty food
nourishes against
this apathetic drabness,

the sun, the blissful sunshine
beckons them into every inch
of green space. The gardens
and parks are full of people
talking, reading, sitting,
anything to take in every ounce
of blissful sunshine

on a rare sunny London day.

on the wall at night,
just wanted to come closer,
wanted to hear some voices
and maybe be a little warmer.

Little lizard: something
to love when you’re not
around, something that can’t
stay warm just by itself.