A Dark Shadowed Myth
Yes, I shall admit, I love you,
as dark creatures of the night are loved;
concealed between darker shadows
and the haunted lantern of the heart.
Albeit the Sun now an evanescent memory.
Our faith and hopes are born after twilight;
whilst we creep through thoughts of despair.
Raising hands high to dispel even a star shine.
Walk your downward silent path keeping
your faithless desires locked within for
I shall always be but a whisper away,
once the flickering flame is extinguished.
I’ll then secretly ride the steamy ribbons
of impassioned desires within your essence.
Pursuing the rapture as I chain inner demons;
Spreading shadowed myths with a fiery flair.
Colors of My Mind
Contempt in a shaded gray
virtuous omnipotent pinks
rally through the green ivy
vines of a feted conscience.
Vanilla violet paths follow
the blood red rivers while
blue black chambers ignite
white flying herds of nerds.
Chartreuse nerves on fire,
graciously curtsy as a queen
tangerine smiles all the while
kicking a fantasized yellow ball.
I’m a bright silver starlight orb
bouncing through the galaxy
purple frock mocked by Odin;
righteous blame and blue again.
Chagrin on a mountain of shame,
the Colors of my Mind proclaim,
flickering candle on golden sand,
violet silence upon wings of gold.
Morning of Fading Bones
Cold windswept beaches
feelings of an icy sentiment
forgive my hapless misdeeds
hide behind my raised brow.
Starlight of reflecting twinkles
diamond chips in cool sands;
set of waves roll shore bound
ocean spray refreshes the soul.
The white clouds billowing fully
while town people now waltzing
carols of colored lights erupting
a flagrant truth on lost holidays.
The lonely seek pious isolation
free of separated generations.
I pray for today’s young children
as my dusty old bones fade away.
Hospice of the Mind
Picking at scabs upon a rattled mind,
dig your grave using needle and spoon.
light seems brighter in a darker shadow
craving more love; concealing your ego.
Walk in cadence; the difference avowed
by crab apple trees in blood red meadows
tombstones reflect in your yellowed eyes
now remove the locks from a dybbuk box
severing the head from the granite prince
the destiny waits in the land of lost socks
the prey devoured with obsidian blades
whilst leaving just one to write his sonnet.
Where Tall Trees Dance; A Sonnet
Afternoon’s here in the valley of wood
where the tall trees dance; as long walks covet
ambiance of romance and gentle calm.
silence, serene, the only sound being
light snow falling; like twinkling glimmers of
diamonds tapping branches on the way down.
snow covered and my candle is alight
on the window sill near the warming fire.
The reddish orange glow and falling snow
elicit memory of marshmallows,
steamy mugs of delicious hot cocoa.
our boots, hats and scarves hang by the back door.
time to remember those grand youthful days
and the simple ways here; where tall trees dance.
Ken Allan Dronsfield is a disabled veteran and poet from New Hampshire, now residing on the southern plains of Oklahoma. He loves thunderstorms and time with his cats Willa, Hemi and Turbo. Ken has been published in the US and abroad. His poetry has been nominated for two Pushcart Prize Awards and the Best of the Net for 2016.