Kale Sinclair

Joined May 2021

301 stories

Bio

Author | Poet | Husband | Dog Dad | Nerd | Zen Practitioner

Find my published poetry, and short story books here!

https://a.co/d/0ezEBBdk

https://parksidebookshop.com/item/Br9rkAVtiGlGYHNAQwFEPw

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Stories (301)

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W A L K I N G
A bulging root is only an obstruction when attention is not being paid. Yet, such lack of awareness will allow you to experience the
By Kale Sinclairabout a month ago in Poets
T O G E T H E R
Pain hibernates within the roots of growth. For all things grow, yet not all fruits float. Peace retreats during the blooming of a single shadow flower.
By Kale Sinclairabout a month ago in Poets
D O G
A tired dog sleeps to reinvigorate the loss of energy. A tired dog dreams to experience life without a lack of energy. An energized dog runs to recharge their cycle of dreams.
By Kale Sinclairabout a month ago in Poets
E Y E S
The ability to ask questions is our conscious tether to the ethereal wisdom which requires no feather. Becoming luminous is a delicate process of transmogrification.
By Kale Sinclairabout a month ago in Poets
J A N U A R Y
Trudging through snow, I paused to bask in the warmth of sunlit bricks. Although cold to the touch, their radiance heated the
By Kale Sinclairabout a month ago in Poets
Matilda
Silence struggled to take hold over the constant clinking of silverware against ceramic plates. Ron had said a brief prayer, which came out as more of a mocking than a devotion. Rub-a-dub-dub, thanks for the grub. The silly phrase danced around within Emily’s brain as she savored bite after bite of the cheesy chicken and crispy Brussels sprouts. Even though she and Ron had played a little bit too much with the potatoes, they were still smooth, creamy, and delicious. The spinach was perfectly tender and well salted. Being Emily’s favorite vegetable, Ron made sure that her plate had an extra scoop.
By Kale Sinclair4 months ago in Fiction
The Feeding
A knock at the door. His brother’s cold dead body. Two well-fed cats snore.
By Kale Sinclair5 months ago in Poets
Murderous
As her dad lay cold, blood dripped onto yellow leaves. Just as she was told.
By Kale Sinclair5 months ago in Poets
Thermometer. Top Story - October 2025.
Three sharp pings alerted Emily that the oven had completed its preheating cycle. Donning two protective potholders, she inserted a large tray of muenster cheese-topped chicken breasts and an equally large tray of thoroughly seasoned Brussels sprouts. Two blood orange Le Creuset pots began to bubble on the stovetop, prompting the sous chef to slightly turn down the heat. With her left hand, Emily thoroughly folded the truffle-buttered mashed potatoes with a heart-shaped wooden spoon while her right hand unraveled the frozen slab of spinach with a three-pronged silver fork.
By Kale Sinclair5 months ago in Fiction
Violin
Wrinkled edges of petals twinkle and revel as vessels for rebel pebbles aspiring to reach levels of precious metals.
By Kale Sinclair6 months ago in Poets
I Don't Love You Anymore
Echoes slithered up the staircase. Formless serpents emerging from the crawlspace. Dissolving through cracks, gaps, and voids within the walls,
By Kale Sinclair7 months ago in Poets
South Beach. Top Story - July 2025.
Martha's Vineyard Cold waves crashed against even colder rocks while a cacophony of sea birds sang their morning songs against the salted wind. Kyle’s nostrils filled with the briny aroma of the Atlantic ocean, jostling him awake from his lucid dream. Short arms sprang into the air, popping and cracking with relieving pleasure. A deep yawn erupted from his mouth as he stretched out his right pointer finger to stop the oceanic wake-up alarm on his cracked cellphone.
By Kale Sinclair7 months ago in Fiction