Poetry from Ken Dronsfield

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.

Biography:

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.