Ken Allan Dronsfield is a poet originally from New Hampshire, now living in Oklahoma. He was nominated for The Best of the Net and 2 Pushcart Awards in Poetry for 2016. His poetry has been published world-wide in North and South America, Europe, Asia, Australia and Africa. Ken loves 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, weird and wonderful poems, is available through Amazon.com. He is the Co-Editor and Cover Artist for two poetry anthologies, "Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze" and "Dandelion in a Vase of Roses" available from Amazon.com.
Walking along the long path in the forest
of hardwood and pine, a lone leaf glided
down, like a paper plane moving left and
right in the coolish breezes it finally landed
upon the path turned several cartwheels
and came to rest in a pile of fodder of like
brethren and then from the hills, the winds,
sounding like a cheering crowd at a ball game
and to my left on the stone wall five squirrels
stood with acorns, holding them up. I squinted
and saw little numbers written on each. It appeared
that my leaf had scored well on his flight and
landing. Suddenly snow flakes began to fall,
their cold stinging my face as I looked skyward
yes, much like confetti, snow was falling, the
winds howled and just then, I was jolted awake
from my short nap, sitting in my favorite chair
on the back porch. I took a sip of my tepid tea,
and watched in awe, as a single oak leaf floated
down from a high tree across the yard, drifted and
landed in the garden. I sprinted out the door and
fetched my prize and just then, holding it high
to the sky, large snowflakes began to fall and I
laughed like a schoolboy, walked into the house
and placed my leaf upon the fireplace mantle.
Although it's been years since that first leaf touched
my heart, each October, I look forward to the "Games"
and running to catch and display my winning leaf.
A Comely Dare
In the waning hours
just before the dawn,
where the Sirens sing
their shrill serenades.
We grasp the rigging
spying jagged crags;
old tales whispered of
the Rock of Mermaids.
Where women of beauty
slap their longish tails,
comb seaweed like hair,
and sing sonnets to entice.
An echoing lullaby and a
flirtatious comely dare.
Call those lonely sailors
and mariners to pay a price.
Dead there upon the rocks
they will certainly be found,
shrieking revenant pleas as
Mermaids giggle and wave.
Sailing on into calmer seas,
balmy winds carry us away.
Just 'Round the Corner
A dog barks at the unseen
the stench of diesel from buses
the blues waft from open windows
giggling children play on sidewalks
two policemen walking their beat
yellow cabs bring military men
deliver heartbreaks to families
flags displayed upon the street
tears fall, just 'round the corner.
Of Mountains and Meadows
A solitary voice whispers
in the dark of a meadow.
Small swift orbs of light
appear floating everywhere.
The moon begins to crest
atop mountains in the east
wildflowers stand proud as
bright fireflies dart all about.
Snapdragon or buttercups
brush my hollow cheeks.
swallow your feted elation,
as meadows bathe in light
behold a rising faery of the
morning upon pinkish clouds
awash in dancing shadows
through, grass, pine, and oak.
Reflecting the Mediterranean,
her mountains and meadows.