Soft Silky
Breeze
Light winds move colourful leaves.
Branches sway in a slow harmony
roots spread in an opus in the moonlight.
Frosted leaves lie lifeless in heaps;
victims of the autumnal dearth.
We commune with fairies upon a branch;
never argue with them while the moon is high.
Twinkling stars hide in shadowed clouds while
we sing a hymn to the winter queen;
snowflakes kiss my warm cheek.
It’s hot and savoury, like passions on lovers lane.
Her breath seems real and tastes sweet in darkness.
The rising full moon is bright, like a slice of fresh lemon.
An epiphany creates uneasiness within the heart.
Self-righteous invaders bestow a special place for prey!
Peace returns to my cool, bewildered Ukrainian forest.
I sit quietly with a rifle, in a soft silky breeze.
Meadows in the Sky
During the lazy days of late summer
Distant mountains covered in a warm haze
Great flocks of birds are building high
Creating vast meadows in the sky.
Cows seek shade under an old tree
Horses roll in dirt to keep fly’s away
Lemonade stands sprout up along our street
Perhaps a little sour; with a hint of the sweet.
Lovely butterflies in fields and yards
Fluttering about chasing dreams
hummingbirds buzzing all about a rose
early autumn smiles at meadows in the sky.
Dipping the Falcon’s Wing
A hazy crimson light races the falcons wing
as swallows spiral all about the rainbow sky,
on the Jersey shore where the zeppelins rise
as far as a teary eye can see, within eternity.
As I slowly close my dry, weary, reddish eyes
Those old memories of whence I was not alone
Pour forth in an enchanting new kaleidoscope
With vast imagination and electrified emotions
wish to depart and plunge into a limpid sea
become lost upon the arid shores of vastness
a lover without love; beauty with a heartbeat
lost but never alone; victim of guilty pleasure.
in dungeons of dark, shadowed desperation
many ghostly spirits; forever failing to live
flow between the veil a mist rises at sunset
upon the breeze, dipping the Falcon’s wing.
Shaken Not Stirred
In my evening transcending;
a lonely heart not adjusting
as the rabbits play at chasing
shadows in flat mottled grass.
Warbling of self-righteousness,
Myna Birds scream in morning
echoing within a mirrored eye,
the abominable crispy breath.
Flame to the wick ignited but
my candle begs for only darkness
entombed within a subtle empathy
grasp for butterflies much too high.
Glowing white orbs traversing souls,
a percolated cup of sadness is avowed,
my mutation reeks of an odd intensity
while on a journey shaken not stirred.
Obsequy
– Burial Rites
I felt
the pallor of your face in the midst of
a
bleached sky;
waves
break over the long granite jetty
on cool wet sands;
I light the pipe,
one more time.
I'm
walking on air barefoot as the waves rush in.
Awaiting
the rise of the autumn moon
ballerinas
twirl above the sea wall
with
angst I slowly drift towards my briny grave.
As wispy ocean tendrils weep
Will I be with ghosts of pirates?
A blasé excuse;
the sea awaits.
Ken Allan Dronsfield is a disabled veteran and prize winning poet from New Hampshire, now residing in Oklahoma. He has six poetry collections to date; 'The Cellaring', 'A Taint of Pity', 'Zephyr's Whisper', ‘The Cellaring, Second Edition’, ‘Sonnets and Scribbles’ and his latest collaborative book, 'Inamorata at Twilight. Ken's been nominated four times for the Pushcart Prize and seven times for Best of the Net. He was First Prize Winner for the 2018 and 2019, Realistic Poetry International Nature Poetry Contests. He has recently begun producing Creative Content on his YouTube channel and has had wonderful success sharing his poetry with the social media community. Ken loves writing, thunderstorms, coin collecting and spending time with his rescue cats Willa and Yumpy.
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