KEN ALLAN DRONSFIELD - POEMS

Ken Allan Dronsfield is a published poet who has recently been nominated for The Best of the Net and 2 Pushcart Awards for Poetry in 2016. His poetry has been published world-wide in various publications throughout North America, Europe, Asia, Australia and Africa. Ken loves thunderstorms, walking in the woods at night, and spending time with his cat Willa. Ken's new book, "The Cellaring", a collection of 80 haunted, paranormal, horror, weird and wonderful poems, has been released and is available through Amazon.com. He is the co-editor of the poetry anthology titled, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze available at Amazon.com. A second anthology, Dandelion in a Vase of Roses will be released soon.

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                      Where the Pink Flowers Grow


Please take me home,
where the pink flowers grow.
Brush my cheek
and inspire mortal desires.
Cast the dark away, 
allow the light to glow,
meld my spirit back
to life’s internal fire.
Here I now lie,
deep in this hallowed ground,
listening for the sounds
of the shovels’ infernal digging.
The soul awaits its journey, 
but the sun is warm and forgiving.
Yes, please carry me home,
where the pink flowers grow.
(Initial Publication, Bewildering Stories, Issue 656)




                             Filet of Soul, Rev 2



Rising from the grasp of a tenacious Black Hole;
escaping on the crest of a comet’s bristling tail
An atom’s enigma in this planetary dust bowl;
a distorted ray of matter; oblivious to detail.
Bouncing on the Moon with erratic steps;
racing a light beam to the Sun’s inner core.
Traversing a nebula where many have wept;
Kissing a falling star as wishes often bore.
A spirited haste to rejoin the human race…
choking on the stardust in a flavored sky;
ready for trials after a harmonizing disgrace.
Free of a serpent in a final flaming goodbye.



                                       A Dark Light


Yet another vestige of love lost
whetted cheeks and swollen eyes
life's cruel moments wreak havoc
within the softness of one's heart.
Blasphemous tides slap ruby lips
take a soul with an innocuous glee
in a moment you're smiling wide
blood stained teeth devour again.
A heart stops beating with malice
the breath gone in a rattle and hum
final whispers and the brain quivers
dormant pulse and a bluish pallor.
The tempest roars imperviously loud
a body can be lost, never to be found
great ships disintegrate upon granite
lives are left, penned on parchment.
The Reaper watches jubilant on rocks
as a grand lighthouse loses once more
clothing and splintered wood float on
as rubble and rabble left on the shore.
In a stormy gale, glows a freakish orb
stung by the tail of an iced scorpion
harbinger doomed in a soulless sky
tears in the torrent beget a dark light.
(Initial Publication, Black Poppy Review)
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