Ken Allan Dronsfield is a Published Poet and Author originally from New Hampshire, now residing in Oklahoma. He enjoys thunderstorms, walking in the woods at night and spending time with his cats Merlin and Willa. Ken is the Co-Editor of the new Poetry Anthology titled, "Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze" available at Amazon.com. His published work can be found in Journals, Magazines and Blogs throughout the Web including: Indiana Voice Journal, Belle Reve Journal, Scarlet Leaf Review, Peeking Cat Magazine, Dead Snakes, Bewildering Stories and many others. Where's My Sun I haven't seen the sun for at least seven days. Lost above the clouds through a darkening, ominous wretched haze. It used to shine so bright in the sky so very high. Even the seas are gray whispering still, 'why has the Sun bid us goodbye?' The weatherman says she will return, when one day slowly passes. But still she's gone, so I sit here on the beach, crying with the masses. Balladeer's Serenade A pristine morning of a day awakened with soft, gentle warm winds, butterflies dance in pairs. The beautiful songbird, a balladeer serenading all with an early morning greeting to the rising sun. A lonely feather floats down guided by the gentle breezes to rest upon the ground here at my dew whetted bare feet. Wispy marshmallow puffy clouded shadows linger with me during my spirited walk; the freshest morning ever. Memories of that feather; a finality of forgotten things fade away like melted snow, coolness chases each breath. Thorns and Petals And in the final act we were all just human intoxicated with the idea that love, only love would heal our starved hearts, mend our brokenness and bind our wanton lust with rose thorns and red petals. Melting in the Dark Mercy granted in the key of C, coffee cafe on a June Saturday careless in fantasies or icy dreams field full of Frisbee's floating freely geese on the pond chasing sailboats tripping in the park; melting in the dark Quagmire still runs searching for Lois dance a jiggety step as Peter frolics; seek forgiveness; tomorrow's Sunday busting a bubble from a pink Bazooka; pleasuring rhyme upon a cartoon insert begging for mercy in MacArthur's Park. Death Doesn't Knock I lost my friend this morning, death did not come knocking plying lies that hide the truth. Death simply walked in the door without pride or prejudice, and took what it came for and left. We all sat there stunned, lost as it were in that maze of heartache and disbelief, hurt and empathy. All served with a side dish of jealously and envy that he will never worry again about getting the oil changed, paying another electric bill, or the filing of taxes. But, regrettably he shall miss family birthdays, Christmas, and anniversary celebrations with his dear wife. Or will he? Perhaps he will be a shooting star, a butterfly in the garden, or red cardinal at the feeder each winter morning. But all in all, we are simply left here to carry on; never to forget his smile or memory.
2 Comments
Adam Levon Brown
6/15/2016 01:43:59 pm
Loved the flow of these poems. My favorite is, "Death Doesn't Knock." Halfway through the poem you leave the reader in a sort of somber siesta, but pick them back up towards the end with hope.
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Ken Allan Dronsfield
6/27/2016 10:28:52 pm
My sincere thanks for your awesome comment Adam....truly appreciated!
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