Tuesday, September 5, 2017

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.

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