Poems by Alan L Boles |American romantic poet

Alan L. Boles is a contemporary poet whose writing reflects both personal sensitivity and a deep engagement with human experience. His poetry often blends vivid imagery with emotional honesty, creating verses that resonate with readers on multiple levels. Boles has a distinctive style that is straightforward yet lyrical, drawing from everyday life to highlight universal themes such as love, longing, memory, and the passage of time. Rather than relying on overly complex structures, his poems tend to be accessible, which makes them appealing to a wide audience.

One of the remarkable qualities of Boles’s work is the way he captures small moments and turns them into meaningful reflections. Whether he is writing about relationships, nature, or the inner struggles of the human heart, there is always a quiet depth that invites the reader to pause and think. His poetry also often carries a tone of introspection, as if he is conversing not only with the audience but also with himself.

Ultimately, Alan L. Boles’s poetry is about connection—between people, between the past and present, and between thought and feeling. Through his words, he reminds us that poetry is not only an art form but also a mirror in which we can see fragments of our own lives.

“ Understands their beauty “

With cup in hand I stood in the  shadows where I will often
find her standing at the window
Lost in the view of her garden where she will watch as the
butterflies sip from the tears of the Angels left upon the petals
as they glisten in the morning light while enjoying all those
tasty little morsels
As her avian choir performs a cappella between pecks throughout
her garden
As the days have turned into years I have seen the changes
what was thin and petite is now full and ravishing
Her true beauty arrived much later in her thirties throughout
her forties and well beyond
It was not lost, it was gained with each passing day like he beauty
of a tree is not the thinness of its youth it is the fullness of its limbs
even in the nakedness of Winter one sees the strength by which
it withstands the deluge of a Summer rain
From the budding of Spring through the grace of Autumn
You can tell them they are beautiful
You can tell them they are loved
It is what they see when they look upon in their garden
that one sees and understands their beauty
02-24-2018

“ kept secrets “

Old homes are filled with memories and secrets.
In the middle of the night she would step around 
the floor boards that squeaked.
And yet when she awakens in the morning, 
knowing I am down the hall in my office.
She will use the floor boards to inform,
me that she is ready for our morning coffee together. 
As I, mossy off to the kitchen to get us both a cup.
Two boards in the hall also squeak, I will step on one
on my way to the kitchen and the another on the way                                                                   to the bedroom.
She will be standing in front of the one window 
scantily dressed or wearing nothing.
She will have counted my steps and knows the moment 
I will step through the doorway.
She will rise upon the ball of her feet and squeeze 
her lower cheeks sometimes with a little shake or wiggle.
While she performs her own blend of aerobics mixed 
with yoga and a splash of pilates. 
I have of course nominated her for a countless number 
of Oscars and Tony awards.
But then again our bed posts and frames have 
written and performed many a cappella's over the years.
Memories of our love story kept secret by this old house.


With cup in hand I stood in the shadows where I will often 
find her standing at the window
Lost in the view of her garden where she will watch as the 
butterflies sip from the tears of the Angels left upon the petals 
as they glisten in the morning light while enjoying all those 
tasty little morsels 
As her avian choir performs a cappella between pecks throughout 
her garden
As the days have turned into years I have seen the changes
what was thin and petite is now full and ravishing
Her true beauty arrived much later in her thirties throughout 
her forties and well beyond
It was not lost, it was gained with each passing day like he beauty 
of a tree is not the thinness of its youth it is the fullness of its limbs 
even in the nakedness of Winter one sees the strength by which 
it withstands the deluge of a Summer rain 
From the budding of Spring through the grace of Autumn
You can tell them they are beautiful
You can tell them they are loved
It is what they see when they look upon in their garden
that one sees and understands their beauty

" the beauty of their dance "

I watched as the prudish ones
danced in the morning chill
in the ever ebbing winds of Autumn
Their gowns forever green always dark
never changing a remnant of the once
great void their edges forever smooth
Ever so slowly the naked posers
reveal themselves a limb here a limb there
How marvelous they appear still posed
like one of Degas Ballerinas
In their grandiose color they allow
all of us to breathe
I so enjoy the way they dance
in the early morning breeze a
gentle waving as if to say hello
As the day meanders on the
ever changing tempo flows into a
more exotic movement always climaxing in
the fiery rant of a more fabulous performance
before collapsing into silence
All of this as I sit marveling
at the shapes and shades of their
limbs serenaded by an avian a carpella
as I sip on my tea and just breathe
my mind adrift in the beauty of their dance

“ our poetry shared “

friends some old
many new 

gentle souls
aged on to beauty

sharing moments
captured by quills

unlocking memories
 blissful sonnets

serenades of love
dancing through
our souls

vicariously revealed
in poetic license 

though dried and aged
the scent remains
locked into memories

our hearts open
our poetry shared

“ like ripples upon a pond “

a simple glimpse that corner of the eye 
it began enthralled with each breath
enarmor with each beat lost 
to the enchanting beauty captured 
in a mere portrait unable to quell 
a burning desire ignited into a passion
seconds linger as this sensuous image 
slowly smolders
her eyes kindle a flame deep within 
as silence engulfs the heartstrings
perform a melodic tempo conceived 
beat by beat adrift in the 
vast recesses of the mind
a line in the sand drawn by sanity 
lays ignored as sunlight flickers 
upon her hair
as she walks upon the seashore 
her fragrance lingers in her passing
her taste from that first imagined kiss 
her response to your lips 
as they caress her skin
with every sigh the obsession engulf
with each throb sounds of silence consume
time and space drift further and further apart 
lost to the insanity of love as thoughts 
end in twisted sheets
the sound of your name rips at the fabric 
of reality a moment torn asunder
the sounds of silence gone 
those moments fading
like ripples upon a pond
10-19-2014

" that must be felt " 

I wandered aimlessly through moonlight mists 
as I listened to the sounds of beauty 
carried in whispers upon the breaths of love.
My heart leading the way 
following a song that only it could hear. 
A tempo know only by two 
accompanied by lyrics written 
by our desires 
known 
by our passion.
From deep within the realm of dreams 
we lay together 
entwined within the moonlight mist.
Where I will always find you, 
as our souls speak to one another 
in the absence of words 
in the music of hearts 
written long ago 
in an archaic language that must be felt.

“ I have loved them all “

Through the years I have always always been
amazed by His creations.
The beauty of all the various forms of life.
And above all of His creations it is you and
you alone that I have found to be the most
marvelous of all.
I remember the early years when the color
of your hair rivaled the leaves of Autumn
come late in September and then my Dear,
there are the hills of October.
I remember the later years the blonde ones
and always you're Intoxicating Poison
and wanting to take you right then and there.
I remember the year you allowed the color to
fade into the salt and pepper another of
your beautiful periods of my life with you.
And now into our mature years together
I do believe this platinum look to be the
most desirable look I have seen,
And of the photos I have seen from that
toe headed little girl until now and
I have loved them all.

“ something of meaning “

It seemed as if we lived through eons before we learned to write...
We seemed to be driven to wander or search for someone missing...
An ache that would not go away as if it were an adiction...
A very old woman in my village shared this with me...
“ I have witnessed within you, what I felt many times. “
“ A yearning to fill a hole within your soul. “
“ You will never be happy, or content until you find her. “
“ The one you seek is not within our village. “
“ You must find her, if not in this life then the next. “
“ You must learn to leave each others messages  “
“ A precious stone, a shard of pottery, something of meaning “
“ Given by the one who passes first “
She was a very wise woman, something in her eyes I understood...
It is so much easier now, that we can share a poem “
Leaving a line or a word, describing a place or a feeling we shared “
We will feel a moment, one in which our knees will want to buckle... 
A feeling of great relief, our eureka moment...
It has become our obsession... 
First to find, and then to leave behind...
10-19-2022“ 

“ the poetry I believe in “

It was long ago when I lived in a different world...
At least as it seemed to me, a world of books... 
One in which I read books everyday, every night...
Not ten or twenty in numbers but hundreds...

I lived alone, one in which there was no noise...
Save one car with a boombox, eleven pm every night..
The road was a half mile away...
During blue moons and Saturdays I listened to the Oldies...

Some of my favorite thoughts came from authors...
I still remember the flow of their words...
As I learned to feel the emotion of their words... 
I began to understand that lyrics were poetry being felt... 

In time as all good things must come to an end...
The silent days and nights were dissolved into city lights...
I began to notice the changes in me...
I was not the person who slept little and read constantly...

I found myself in dreams, they were not my dreams...
I didn’t always understand the language or the music...

I didn’t see their faces, just their bodies, seldom dressed...
I remember sitting on the bed, when someone touched me...
I jumped up and turned on the light, no one was there...
I remember rising up to kiss someone, who was not there...

I found less and less time to read, even less to play my CDs...
With a cup in hand I would watch the Sun rise...
Smile as I watch a hummingbird dance between blooms...
Feel the sorrow as I heard the mourning dove calling its mate...

I could sit and watch the wind play with the autumn leaves... 
Spin them all around upward only to drop them and then leave...
See a single leaf hanging in mid air... 
Held by a single strand of spider webbing...

I could sense a smile forming on someone's face...
I could hear a woman's voice in the wind...
Listen as she hummed a tune...
Could hear the music she loved and enjoyed...

Out of the blue I would hear a lyric, over and over...
Follow its tempo and rhythm as it was sung...
Listen to the instruments being used as they... 
Matched the sounds of each word...

I was not that person any more...
The one who lived in books...
I had become a person who felt the words...
I knew what someone was feeling... 

Be it the far side of the Sun...
From their tears that flowed, be they happy or sad...
I could breathe in a fragrance that wasn’t there...
I could hear laughter as it formed...

I could share a thought, from the far side of the Sun...
I had a soulmate...
I knew what love was not...
I became the poetry I believed in...
06-10-2024