Best Boles Poems
A mong the ash, the beech, the birch they fall,
U nder the boles of white, beige and gray,
T hickening piles, a golden cabal;
U nvarnished leaves all in disarray.
M audlin, they lack the rouge kissed spark of red
N earby, oaks brown, await the children's tread.
* an acrostic done as an English Sestet
9-29-14
Bracken breached hawthorn hedgerows
hide teeny folk with tiny toes.
Sheer gossamer wings; shy butterflies
Dew-drops lit by dawning skies.
Sandy hair, blue raven locks
Auburn streaks on chestnut stalks
Valley lilies invert to hats
Wee portabella mushroom caps.
Acorn shoes with resin soles
Lace gartered legs and leafy shawls
Dresses spun from brushed lime silk,
petal pinks, or white as milk.
Impish grins stoke laughing smiles.
whimsy’s sound sets music’s tiles
Curious eyes, small budded nose
cream tinted skin, pink cheeks aglow.
They live near boles of ancient trees
Drink nectar from a hollowed seed
They climb the stems of hollyhocks
They twitter but will rarely talk.
So when you take a morning stroll
pause beside to a sun-lit knoll
The calls you hear mightn’t be birds
and cricket strums won’t mimic words.
This sacred soil that once resounded with the musket's rattle,
Imbued with mingled blood of Blue and Gray spilt in brutal battle,
Now stands serene with only whisperings of the restless ghosts,
Of gallant men who sacrificed their all among the frenzied hosts.
Are those the sighs of vagabond souls heard with each subtle breeze,
As zephyrs rustle the dancing leaves of stalwart, guardian trees?
Is that the winter's wind that shrieks about Round Top Hill,
Or the screams of dying troopers, their fatal destiny to fulfill?
Are those the moans of men left to die, their laurels won,
Or the boles of ancient pines groaning 'neath the searing sun?
The wind wafts tall grasses that on The Wheatfield grow;
Could this be waves of spectral infantry, advancing row by row?
Lightning flashes and thunder echoes across the rolling sectors,
Reminiscent of once roaring cannon, now long-silent specters.
The battle was o'er with the repulse of daring General Pickett;
Thousands of souls lay dead on bloody field and tangled thicket.
Lincoln's powerful address yet echoes o'er that hallowed clay,
To honor heroes, no matter the color of cloth they wore that day.
Do their fretful spirits yet roam, wondering if they died in vain?
Rest in peace dear souls - because of you this nation rose again!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 4 the Fraser/Devonshire "Dazzle Us With History" Contest - Jan 2011
The forest's morning sunlight tip-toes through the trees
casting puzzle pieces round, oh so, carelessly;
hiding all the corner bits scattered by the breeze.
The slighter boles of ash whisper endlessly
as their upright slash of gray teases 'tween the green
while their larger cousins stand, oh so, stoically.
And, the sky far over head blues the in between
back lighting, spruce and pine, as far as the eye can see.
Man intrudes like a child, man and his machines.
Knocking down the squirrel's nest, disturbing the bee
leaving waste along the path, muddying the stream
misplaced is his disregard in that we all agree.
Oh so brashly, mankind walks through nature's domain
a misfit son, a terror, crippling while he reigns.
Aconites gazing into the sun
'neath catkins dangling,finely spun
Awakened mammals desert their holes
rummaging midst the hazel boles
Long twilight days in winter's shade
tomorrow..brings snowdrops in the glade
Eternal granite, crystalline scree, agates, boulders, rise
to hills, towering tors,* mutinous mountains, endlessly growing
rising, lifted, then toppled by the fiery rebirth of draconic lava**
Like the cracked shell of an avian egg***/ **** both molten yolk
and watery albumen mark the passage of time, the swings
of the multiverse, they pacify Charon’s passage on the Styx
Seen and unseen the arched openings spiral, poled in ten
dimensions by exigent mathematical quandaries, branching
boles boldly rooting in islands of primordial I, chained
screeching***** shadows infer larger beings who manhandle
the infinite construct of finite man
*Alliteration Repetition of consonant sounds [
** Hyperbole A figure of speech involving exaggeration.
*** Assonance The repetition of similar vowel sounds [A vian, A gg]
**** Simile A figure of speech involving a comparison between unlike
things using like, as, or as though.
*****Onomatopoeia a word that imitates the sound it represents
Snowfall so heavy in 'eighty-two
reproduced a Christmas card view.
A biting wind swirled in one foot drifts
over hanging in bridges..makeshift.
The fields flooded into skating rinks
into which each footstep sinks,
cracking under body weight so
not the best place to skate.
Thawing February brings twitching noses
in tussocks of awakened primroses.
Rummaging on hazel boles,hibernating mammals
poke from the holes.
Leafless hedgerows where buds now form
a carpet of white corm,
Badgers forage for food near their sett
renewing their bracken scented couchette.
Sparrow and robin pair off in twos
as lengthening days come into view.
aconite open in rays of sun
below yellow catkins with tails fine spun.
Osier shoots in green corn camomile
as early Spring mornings begin to smile.
The heat hung on the spiders webs
tinsel from tree limbs
taunt between gargantuan boles
the golden hour lay garland on silken floss
with its intrepid arachnid host.
Dream weaver, fate Mother, Earth balancer
She dances.
A minuet brown bit suspending itself
between heaven and earth.
Across immense spans of grassy knolls
where the Cahokia sleep in the mounds of Kings.
She dances.
Dream weaver, fate Mother, Earth balancer
Centering the spinning Earth, the Cosmos…
harmonizing harp home of the Mother
caller of the four corners
She dances.
At noon we sat down under a large old oak tree on a wild hillside with masses of rocks,
The day was very warm and I took off my knapsack and rested by the foot of an old tree,
Below was a spread of orchards, next to meadows, and the glades sat with watery mead's,
Above, a beech forest that stretched, many miles the greenery touching the white clouds,
White clouds in a beautiful blue sky, shapes constantly changing shape, in a light cool wind.
Looking around there was much to see, there were lapwings and golden plovers in the trees,
Down below in a meadow a carter was leading a pair of horses off to plough a grassy field,
Then a fox crept from a hedge into a ploughed field and dropped right down into a furrow,
On a flooded mead a Great Crested Grebe dived under the water looking for some fresh fish,
And the water looked like sheets of polished glass and the sun reflected great rods of beams.
The track we walked soon vanished and then lofty pillars of beach-boles with thick canopies,
The earth was brown, withered leaves scattered amoung small pieces of rock green with wet moss,
Here and there were shallow bogs with the 'touch-me-not' plant with bright yellow flowers,
A plant whose name gives significant caution, as where it grows, there is treacherous footing,
Legend says mountain climbers make their peace with God if they meet some in a rocky crag.
Half an hour's progress and we were going in the right direction the scene was impressive,
As we wandered through woods with no out let visible the shade was heavy, deep and silent,
Then through a gap in far off trees was an opening and buttercups formed a carpet of gold,
On a bough was a Goldcrest the smallest British bird, he hopped from twig to twig for insects,
Their tiny nests made from mosses and spiders webs, slung underneath the branch of a tree.
There's a chill in the mornin' air as autumn in Vermont unfolds.
Splendor is revealed as trees assume their cloaks of reds and golds!
Fodder shocks gleam in the risin' sun and 'punkins' sport a tinge of rime.
Crimson and yellow apples are ready for pickin' havin' reached their prime!
In yon vale peekin' above the mornin' mists shines the steeple of a church,
Towerin' above the riot of color of its guardian trees and a grove of birch!
Skeins of snow geese wingin' southward grace the pristine sky.
The serenity of the autumn morn is shattered by their plaintive cry!
'Tis syrup renderin' time as maple trees surrender their free-flowin' sap.
Their hardy boles again withstand the trauma of an annual 'spinal' tap!
Apples are 'pressed into service' to make cider for sippin' by a cozy blaze,
As folks gather on winter eves to reminisce about the good ol' days!
Crusts of ice begin to form on streams flowin' 'neath covered bridges.
A dustin' of snow is tinted by the dawnin' sun on the yonder ridges!
Along country lanes the sun casts its mellow glow in the late afternoon.
On moonlit nights majestic stags are silhouetted against the harvest moon!
Families bundle up against the chill to enjoy hayrides and wiener roasts,
And toast marshmallows over a roarin' fire and tell of lurkin' ghosts!
An Indian summer is welcomed - the comin' winter gales it will delay.
Autumn in Vermont is more spectacular than even Mr. Rockwell could portray!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Oh, little chirpy squeaking squirrel
I see you always dressed in grey apparel
Swift as an arrow you can run
Watching you scamper the tree is fun
Is it when you are joyous and hale,
That you are seen flicking your bushy tail?
Along the ground and over the bough you scurry,
Darting up and down in great hurry.
Why do you arch your back and sniff the air,
When you see someone coming near?
Men seem to annoy and leave you in fear,
That you take to heels in top gear.
You live in the holes of boles
But rarely rest in those hollows
When the weather is warm and bright,
You forage food with all your might.
To beat the wintry days, you have many tactics
And it is a pleasure to watch your antics
You strive to fill your granary with nuts and grain
To this end, you are ready to take any strain
For you, living is the sole occupation
From labour, you never take any vacation
Seeing the manner you move and run
It seems you have so much energy to burn
How I love you little chirpy squirrel
Come to me, I shall feed you with nut’s kernel
Oh chattering friend, you remove from my dull day
All that can leave me in possible dismay
For brave girls there is no sanctuary,
stormy waters spur us like waves,
echoes of silence decks our diary;
got guts, we have no path in graves.
We are the womb of tomorrow,
the tomb of treats and terror;
sailing against the tides of sorrow,
not to be eroded by tidal errors.
Pain is part of the party, we dance
still when the music goes mad;
oppression makes strong our stance,
better we get when things go bad.
Rope the rapist... tame the terrorists,
vengeance to us is not a choice,
save our soul from stormy sadists,
hear budding roses ring in one voice.
We charm and change the world
with our beauty, brain and brawn;
don't rule and ruin our world,
let each dusk birth new dawn.
Our fruits are stolen and boles broken
parasites sap nectar before dawn;
but deep within we stand, unshaken,
golden grapes litters the lawn.
The pheasants on the hills were lying in the warm heather within view,
Insects were on the wing or to be found on young foliage in the grass,
The wood-argus's, the peacock and other butterflies enjoyed an evening,
May-flies were about and stone flies stood in boles of trees head down.
Bracken clocks swarmed on the fern and young oak leaves by warm winds,
There was an unknown dragon-fly darting from place to place in a tree,
Air was delicious after two days as rain had soaked into peat and turf,
There was a light breeze just strong enough to blow hair into your face.
The pine woods pouring pine perfume heated by a warm sun in a blue sky,
The forest turf and its many leaves breathing a unique, pleasant smell,
Young oak leaves now very tender sheltering some buds for small acorns,
Hawthorn blossom blew everywhere over land like a snow storm in summer.
The brooms were glorious, it was a day that took me back to my boyhood,
Good old days with youthful friends who's faces will never be forgotten,
After many years on this earth with all its pomp's and vanities reborn,
Give me intelligent and loving people who have affection and integrity.
Just Beyond
Boles of Cotton-Fields
Rosethorn ... Where A Few Folks
Stick Together - For Good, For Real
Rosethorn: Famous For Its First Family's
Annual Ball & Bar-B-Que Grills ...
But Where Most, Barely Make A Living
... Paying Over-Dues and Bills
Rosethorn ... Over The Viaduct-Tracks
As Trains' Warning-Whistles Shrill
& Distant Echoes of The Drummers of
Rosethorn High School Marching Drills
And Hear The Poignant, Clear Call
of Owls & Crickets & Whipporwills
Just Outside of Rosethorn's Many
Worn-Down, Yet Open Window-Sills ...
O' Throw A Kiss On The Wind
Wherever You Find - You Are ...
and I Will Catch It Quickly ...
Beneath The Biggest & Brightest Star
Rosethorn ... Where Your Hidden Waterfall
& Memories - Froth & Spill
Where There's Hunting Frozen-Footprints
Thru The Woods In Winter's Chill
Rosethorn ... Your Abandoned Drive-Inn Screen
Cast Fallen Shadows On Movie-Reels
- Is Now A Vacant & De-Valued Lot ...
Where Teens Had Parked For Thrills
Rosethorn ... Just Below Those Sloping
Far-Away, Hometown Hills
Just Past The Steel Yard's Welding
and Sawdust Lumbermill ...
Amid Rosethorn's Namesake Flowers
And Transported Blue Jonquils
and Ropes ... That Hanged A Man ...
That They Said Raped Women & Serial-Killed
Rosethorn ... Where The News Station
Is The Local Cafe & Bar
and Overated, Glowing Personals
and Reviews In Its 'Telegraph-Star'
Rosethorn ... Once Rised On Blossom-Way
A Place Where Dreams Could Rebuild
But Now, Its Just A Stem-Cell-Site
The Young - Cool Their Jets ... Until ...
Rosethorn ... Is The Last Resort
But First Route To Remember How It Feels
To Travel Thru A Space In Time ...
As A Prickly-Pose, Stands Still ...
O' Look Up To The Night Sky
Wherever You Find - You Are
and I Will Be Watching & Wishing
On That Same Big & Bright Star ...
As You Keep Rosethorn In Your Heart's Horizon
... and Rear-View Mirror of Your Car ...
and Dried Between The Pages of Your Mind
... Wherever You Find - You Are ...
Quilled & Copyrighted ©: 5/6/2014
by: MoonBee Canady
twitching noses
in tussocks
of awakened primroses
rummaging on hazel boles
hibernating mammals
poke from the holes
leafless hedgerows
where buds now form
a carpet of white corm
Badgers forage
for food near their sett
renewing
their bracken scented couchette
Sparrow and robin
pair off in twos
as lengthening days
come into view.
aconite open in rays of sun
below yellow catkins
with tails fine spun.
Osier shoots
in green corn camomile
as Spring mornings
begin to smile.