Best Bole Poems

The white-breasted nuthatch
upside down the ancient bole.
If it has no soul, neither do I.

Pencils criss-crossed on the desk,
sticks tangled on the ground.
Oblong lenticels, yellow stars.

We...

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SONNET FOR KELLY

The Spring has come a little late this year
Siberian winds and rain have chilled the soul
Though calendar proclaimed that April’s here
No tiny leaves...

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Remember the story 
of Billy Goats Gruff?
The troll under the bridge,
and all of that stuff?
If you liked that old story
it's all good and well,
but it...

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Stiff pleated fronds in concert rise
to wax under the April sun 
and trill their canticles begun
in verses jade that they comprise.

Chartreuse of thorny branches splay
a...

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*Image of Many Meanings by KWC.

Likeness ssenekiL: Part 1

(HOMONYMS: Homophones & Homographs)

He'll heal his heel.
They sow so they sew.
His aide aid with an ade.
You saw...

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The sun closes in on itself imploding.
Storm clouds clots like cream.
The sky tinged a rancid yellow of dream
raises tornadoes like totems scolding.

A wet haze weeps...

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Bare tree branches waving histerically at the ground
Wind is blowing Shadows, to be lost and never found
The wind she whistles, alluring, as the Sirens of...

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Nexus had not yet reached the other side
When we started to enter in a wood
On which no any sign of pathway lied. 

No green fronds,,...

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A lone cottonwood tree stands on the rolling Colorado plain.
A rippling stream flows nearby, its existence to sustain.
Its lofty branches reach for the pristine Colorado...

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the acorn in the oak
bark bone fingers crusted brown
waving sinew, shedding sky
tap root summon’d deeply down

sighs like summer sound in rain
building up then down the...

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When life seems empty
And there’s no place to go
Unlike most artists I became Salvador Dali
 My Life daily tasks as a poet
It’s allow my spirit...

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I can't blame the teenage girl for being forward,
then passive aggressive. It shouldn't make one angry;
she has her interests and that which bores her.

Or the...

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The wind blows clean
scouring in Sakkara, Necropolis of Memphis 
gem of Upper Egypt.
The purity of sand and sky 
maintained by late rising 
in the twentieth...

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music ...

'twas angelic harmony -
that dire, wet sucking sound
as he tunneled his
arms through the red mud
fingertips like fat worms, burrowing -
tickling, seeking the
cool surprise of...

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Tonight we sit ‘round ye ol’ Christmas tree,
But not the tree of yesterday or yester year you see.
Lights shine from the bole and tips so...

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