Desert Spirits Dance by Ken Allan Dronsfield

Some ride the plains when

the full moon is high.

A ghostly form upon their horse as

they go floating by.

When dark clouds gather and

rumbles of thunder are heard.

Lightning strikes the Superstition's

amongst screams of the thunderbird.

Spirit mules follow a path to the mines

lost on the trails in another time.

The face of old miners peer from rocks

and sultry shadows.

They hide their gold from claim jumpers

buried in a haunted hollow.

Tumbleweed races across plain and playa

rolling over bones of the lost or pariah.

Dancing in the light under stars and sky,

the reaper walks within a flock of magpies.

Riding o'er the plains when the moon is high.

Rise to inhale the break of dawn; jump at

the sting of a horse fly.

Ken Allan Dronsfield is a published poet. He has three poetry collections to date; 'The Cellaring', 'A Taint of Pity', and 'Zephyr's Whisper'. Ken does not have an MFA or Creative Writing Degree but, he once road a dirt bike on woodland trails from southern New Hampshire into Canada.

Slowly Passing / Arbor of Wisteria and Clematis by Ken Allan Dronsfield

Slowly Passing

Of shallow labored breaths

a lone kiss in the of predawn,

rattle and hum whispers within,

wish only sleep during cold times.

Yellowish orbs dart all about trees,

kisses spread from the tip of sprigs

spiraling down into the old garden

I try to reach out and touch them.

My ride takes us through the gates

grass glistens in the carriage-lights

touch of frost left upon a naked leaf

skies of yesterday; dreams of today.

Albino raven's roost in the old cedar

pious penance delivered by rosary.

Moldy smell of freshly shoveled earth

thoughts linger within lofty reflections;

the things that can never be unseen

a taste of solace within old memories.

Prayers answered with a lilac scent

I feel small in this time of my passing

Resurrection Lilies sprouting nearby

fragrant Red Roses whisper to me.

Arbor of Wisteria and Clematis

I reflect upon the lavender Wisteria;

the lilacs and lonely gardenias.

I uncover the grand butterfly bush

Quoth the Nepeta, 'keep to the path'.

Those shrubby pussy willows bloom,

a burning felt deep within the Clematis.

What could be more purely aglow?

Pumpkins sit by bundled corn husks.

Only this and a Thimble-berry pie.

There perched a crow upon the arbor

craving the bi-colored, brag bonnet.

A harlequin colored sky now aflame

The rooster never asked for the time.

Orange bells fall from the trumpet vine,

first touch of frost kisses a naked leaf.

leaves soar and spin in the north winds

shake the arbor of wisteria and clematis.

   

Ken Allan Dronsfield is an award winning poet and fabulist from New Hampshire, now living in Oklahoma. He has three poetry collections, "The Cellaring", 80 poems of light horror, paranormal, weird and wonderful work. His second book, "A Taint of Pity", contains 52 Life Poems Written with a Cracked Inflection. Ken's third poetry collection, "Zephyr's Whisper", 64 Poems and Parables of a Seasonal Pretense is now available from Amazon or Barnes and Noble.  Ken loves writing, hiking, thunderstorms, and spending time with his cats Willa and Yumpy. 

Season of Flame / Beckoning Sea by Ken Allan Dronsfield

Season of Flame

The Albatross soars high;

above billowing smoke from the fires.

The tendrils of sunlight;

break through lower clouds

reaching for the crests of waves.

Great fires decimate these lands and

dispel all truths leaving an acid-like

taste in your mouth.

As water hits the flames;

dark smoke changes to white.

The mountain lion, black bear,

deer and others run from burning

thickets to clearings, trying to out-

run the choking smoke.

To unravel this stifling torment;

the end must begin somewhere.

The Albatross soars higher;

over ever rising smoke at sunset.  

Beckoning Sea

My hand reaches out to block

the suns rays; soaring high is a lone

white gull, a warm breath on cheeks

reflected in blue sky; parted lips.

The sea overflows the white sands

serene of shadow; soft of noise

wings of green teal swiftly wave;

heartbeats quicken.

I see a blue autumn sky

love, hopes and

hazy dreams

sometimes, I see you there.

Off-shore is where you'll find me

even if you're only 

a fantasy.

Ocean winds beckon taking

me so far away from you;

an autumn sea rages.

The great white sheets fill

we're swiftly heeled to starboard

calling us to lands faraway.

Ken Allan Dronsfield is a disabled veteran, poet and fabulist from New Hampshire. He now resides in Oklahoma. Ken loves writing, thunderstorms, walking in the woods at night and spending time with his cats Willa and Yumpy.

Stupefried by Ken Allan Dronsfield

Sitting by the old juniper bush

nursing an iced tall whiskey sour.

Waiting for the seasonal changes;

the hourglass ready to be turned.

The North star burns so very bright

while the summer candle smolders.

Here in my slice of tranquil heaven;

a cool autumn night by the junipers.

Laugh as a kitten plays with leaves

Forgetting today's dragooned folly

licking wounds with a hollow tear

degenerates breathe the same air.

Driving to the left, wrong or right,

the seasons grasp on the soulless

whilst I dream of another eclipse;

stupefried and high by the juniper.

Ken Allan Dronsfield is a disabled veteran and poet from New Hampshire, now residing on the southern plains of Oklahoma. He has one poetry collection, "The Cellaring" and is Co-Editor for 2 anthologies, "Dreamers of Yellow Haze" and "Dandelion in a Vase of Roses". His work has appeared in The Burningword Journal, Scarlet Leaf Review,  Black Poppy Review, The Blue Heron, The song is..., EMBOSS Magazine and more. Ken has three Pushcart Prize nominations and two for Best of the Net 2016-2017.

Sleep With Dead Grass by Ken Allan Dronsfield

Chill in my tired bones
steamy breath follows
crispy red apples drop
oak firewood stacked,

walk the dying fields
sleep with dead grass.

Colored leaves release
spinning down to ground
unpacked winter clothes
fill dresser and closets,

walk the dying fields
asleep in dead grass.

Autumn's song plays
a freshness of spirit
feel a harvest solstice
life's circle goes round,

I walk a dying field,
sleeping in dead grass.

Ken Allan Dronsfield is a published poet who was 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 and South America, Europe, Asia, Australia and Africa. Ken loves thunderstorms, walking in the woods at night, and spending time with his cats Willa, Hemi and Turbo. Ken's new book, "The Cellaring", a collection of haunting, paranormal, weird and wonderful poems, has been released and is available through Amazon.com. He is the co-editor of two poetry anthologies, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze and Dandelion in a Vase of Roses available from Amazon.com.

Whispers of the Raven by Ken Allan Dronsfield

Tension breaks as the last snowflake melts

we welcome those warmer days and nights

cows calmly graze in sweet green pastures

flocks of birds return to forests and waters.

Robins bounce across the fresh front lawns

lovely dandelions sprout freely giving wishes

bicycle chains are oiled and readied for rides

and we walk the shore searching for treasures.

Windows opened to freshen rooms of winter

spring rains bring cascades of wild flowers

great eagles soar above surveying the lands

Ravens whisper greetings to blooming lilacs.

 

Ken Allan Dronsfield is a poet from New Hampshire, now residing in Oklahoma. He loves thunderstorms! His published work can be found in reviews, journals, magazines and anthologies throughout the web and in print venues. His poetry has been nominated for two Pushcart Prize Awards and the Best of the Net for 2016.

The Ebb and Flow by Ken Allan Dronsfield

From atop the great redwood trees

dragonflies fantasize of summertime;

of warmer mornings, balmy winds

dodging flycatcher's and bullfrogs.

The grasses are green along a pond

baby goslings enjoy the new sunrise;

barn owls love a midnight stellar show

wolves howl and worship the full moon.

Beating hearts prevail in creeks or marshes

deep rivers and great bays ebb and flow

large animals enjoy the salty sweet grass

beautiful wild flowers grace rolling hills.

As the sun now rises in the eastern skies,

from within that great awakening forest

a lone cicada sings his mating sonnet

within the ebb and flow of life's circle.

Ken Allan Dronsfield is a published poet from Oklahoma. He loves thunderstorms! His published work can be found in reviews, journals, magazines and anthologies throughout the web and in print venues. His poetry has been nominated for two Pushcart Prize Awards and the Best of the Net for 2016.

Thorns and Petals by Ken Allan Dronsfield

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.

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,  playing guitar and time with his cats Merlin and Willa.