Five poems by Ken Allan Dronsfield

Ken Allan Dronsfield
Ken Allan Dronsfield

Waltz with a Morning Glory

Mysteries inhaled in an alcoholic fog,
magpies crowd upon the rotting dead.
Redwoods reaching for a sky of light of
balanced upon the edge of new dread.
Bow your head in a solemn reverence
as pious thoughts bleed unto the soul.
Finding your way in a Cave of Hades,
or live life through a crystal fish bowl.
Shaking your head at an ignited spark;
9 volt battery to the tip of your tongue;
while shaking a faithless nerve to tears;
touch once again and taste the eclipse.
Leaning on a fence near a lighted pole,
a long sip of whisky brings calm home.
Scream in fantasy, or an alcohol dream.
Think I’ll just waltz with a Morning Glory.


Adrift in an exhale of
a black-capped chickadee.

Chilled beyond reason;
shadow of Fall creeping.

Consequences pale in
a renewed twilight palette.

Display the absence of presence;
within that soulless calm.

Blisters upon the heart
by a moon’s burning desire.

Skip into a mountain meadow
with a lasting frail contentment.

Laugh at the line to
the strength of “ties that bind”.

A desperate waltz during
that autumn’s romance.

Wake a dismal decay
of a carceral winter’s grip!

Waiting for a springtime kiss
As passion blooms; life’s breath après.

A Taint of Pity

dark dreams of tomorrow live within today.
cascading in colorless opaque luminescence
tree of deformity upon wispy flowing grasses
whilst vultures on the wing disappear in a haze
lucent clouded skies of blended silent obscurity
pious scripture camouflaged by a taint of pity
ravenous demons tempt the innocent with lies
as crosses burn brightly in the darkest mind.
the decrepit fantasies reign within hypocrisy
as a flavored sky burns with a grayish pallor.
from my open window I see a world in chaos
I see masses of people unwilling to even live
gentle creatures disappear from brown forests
animals walk on two legs stealing halcyon souls
germs spreading hate, in-cognizant of any love
lazy beg for work as garbage crops are cultivated
lonesome appear lost from open front windows
whilst the long since dead stand screaming.

Rusty Wet Leaves

boots of black, whetted by rain
forgotten memories left behind
woodpecker tapping upon birch
wakes me from an autumn nap
moss covered granite whispers
I know it’s time to head for home
deer disappear into ferns & pine
partridge drumming in harmony
whilst forest faeries smile softly
path covered in rusty wet leaves
a gentle breeze; calm and serene
distant calls of huge flocks of geese
echo throughout the distant valley;
a peaceful surrender, enchantingly.


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
cool autumnal night by the junipers.
Laugh as a kitten plays with leaves
Forgetting today’s dragooned folly
licking wounds with shadow tears
degenerate’s breathe the same air.
Driving to the left, is wrong or right,
the seasons grasp on the soulless
whilst I dream of another eclipse;
hazily drinking by the juniper bush.

Ken Allan Dronsfield

Ken Allan Dronsfield is a disabled veteran and poet from New Hampshire and now resides on the southern plains of Oklahoma. He loves thunderstorms and time with his cats Willa, Turbo and Hemi. His poetry has been nominated for two Pushcart Prize Awards and the Best of the Net.

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