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Morocco and black olives

And swallow are of love
the silky horizons
hit by a wing
of pink flamingo.

And the weeds are with deep
roots,
drawn water
of secret wells.

Careless was the wind,
carried off in hollows
tenderly
all kind of visions of
color.

Now the time is of the sand,
crossed the life-giving river.
And blows only wind from
Sahara.

Where is Winter?

Where is Winter?

I feel no chill. The trees are still
    as leafy as September.
The last cold spell that I can tell of —
    well, I can’t remember.

Ticks and skeeters (stealthy feeders!)
    meet their gluttonous needs,
caterpillars crawl and trillers
    clitter in the weeds,

while warblers sing as if bright spring
    had not advanced to autumn.
Where are the walls of white, the squalls
    that shiver a beaver’s bottom?

A Clown, A Coquette and A Cleric

A fool, a buffoon, a comedian or a clown
They all act stupid but are really smart,
They are an odd breed of their own
Just for laughs they win your heart.
 
A lady, a lass, a vamp or a tramp
They all act naive but are pretty smart,
With a tease or a taunt they lay a trap
Just with a smile they steal your heart.
 
A priest, a rabbi, a swami or a holy man
They all act pious but are a bunch of upstarts,
With a discourse or a sermon they summon
your souls and bleed dry your trusting hearts!

Interior Monologue with Mirror


The cartographer who dwells behind my eyes,
who maps the continents of desire and imagination
for the navigator who charts the course of dreams
and nightmares for the pilot who traverses
the landscapes of time and illusion where
fabulous cities come and grow and go,
inhabited by creatures human and not so,
whose tales resemble those living and dead
as forecast by mages and twice-told by poets
on foolscap and parchment in volumes still read,
that relate and regale the sentence called life

LONG LIVE THE QUEEN 

long live the queen
her robe so long indeed 
it took a long time to make

your highness my queen
how high her seat only 
the high minded can fit

her majesty my queen
my cap fell off my head in prostration 
oh i didn't mean to be funny

please my queen
my knees wear out my trousers 
i only beg for my right

how beautiful the queen is
could it be mockery?

one race 

The firmament above, beneath we exist,
This diversity in divine artistry
Same eyes divers sizes
Different skin same sin
Different color same honor
Same human same humor
Why try to sort out maize from corn? They are all same
Cus just one shot, your race wont spare you

Pain...No More!

Pain...No More by H.Nichols In the dense forests of Appalachia, life was rough , lived two young boys courageous and tough. Corn fed critters ages thirteen and seven, victims of beatings, our vengance was heaven. Chris and Johnny love to play, in the hills of West Virginia, they will remain. Pappy was huge, with eyes of black, drunk and ill tempered, we hid out back. Graveyard cough, he snored out loud, he slept with an ax, and his head in the clouds. In a fit of rage Pappy was dreamin', his ax swung fast, the boys went screamin'. across the creaky boards of our run down shack, Johnny fell

A Tornado Chaser

A Tornado Chaser

I chase tornados all around the Plains
like a knight-errant looking every day
for fresh adventures. Just can’t stay away.
She’d say that a devoted spouse abstains
from risky trips. I’d tell her I take pains
not to crash my jeep, yet her dismay
hung like a storm cloud when I went to play
and photograph Earth’s mightiest winds and rains.

It’s true folks sometimes lift and whirl like leaves;
yet funnel-hunting’s fun. A thousand suns
are not as grand as watching barley sheaves
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