Ken Allan Dronsfield - Three Poems

Shaken Not Stirred

In an evening transcending;

a lonely heart not adjusting

as the rabbits play at chasing

shadows in flat mottled grass.

Warbling of self-righteousness,

fragile screaming in mourning

echoing within a mirrored eye,

the abominable crispy breath.

Flame to the wick ignited but

the candle dreams of darkness

entombed within subtle empathy

grasping Faeries adrift so high.

Pastel orbs traversing souls,

a percolated sadness avowed,

my mutation reeks of intensity

of a journey shaken not stirred.

Sunrise Poesy

Soon the sunrise ignites 

my wispy, dark corner

of an awakening Earth,

a warm blanket spread

as the King of Light rises,

the unseen now revealed.

Soon surging water will

fill inland marshes and

salty tidal creeks as blue

crabs roam; shorebirds

scatter all about the sand

while seeking small meals.

Soon, chased from beaches

in a raucous rushing surf

by greedy pursuing waves.

Neptune’s coveted trinkets

from the deep will safely be 

kept from view this day.

Soon I’ll awaken to songbirds

just outside my sunlit window.

The teapot sings her sonnet

announcing this new day of

'Sine qua non*', my praise be

but an alluring whisper here.

*'Sine qua non', Latin meaning,
"Something considered essential."

I Died Today

I think I died today.

Staring at the bare walls;

a knife, a fork, a bottle and

red candle lay before me.

The sounds of blaring horns,

screeching brakes and shouting;

echo from a sweltering street

through a shaded open window.

The smells and hell of the city

permeate the entire room and

the fan in the corner just quit;

but...... I think I died today.

I laid there, on the old mattress,

sweat running down my face.

I dozed off for a bit, and awoke

in lovely fields of green grass,

with white crosses all about.

I watched friends of old

tossing roses of red into

the hole of eternal darkness,

landing upon a shiny casket.

I think I'm there, tucked inside

wearing my dark gray suit,

white shirt and my hated tie...

Oh yes, I think I died today,

can someone tell me why?

​Ken Allan Dronsfield is a disabled veteran and poet from New Hampshire now residing on the southern plains of Oklahoma. He loves thunderstorms and time with his cats​ ​Willa​, Hemi and Turbo​.  His poetry has been nominated for two Pushcart Prize Awards and​ ​a ​Best of the Net for 2016.