October 4, 2016

Three Poems by Ken Allan Dronsfield: "The Leaves Wink," "Athenaeum of Dreams," and "Penny's Last Quarter"

Ken Allan Dronsfield is a published poet and author originally from New Hampshire, now residing in Oklahoma. He loves thunderstorms, walking in the woods at night, and spending time with his cats Merlin and Willa. He is the co-editor of the new poetry anthology titled, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze available at Amazon.com. His published work can be found in reviews, journals, magazines and anthologies throughout the web and in print venues including: The Burningword Journal, Indiana Voice Journal, The Literary Hatchet Magazine, Belle Reve Journal, Peeking Cat Magazine, Dead Snakes,Bewildering Stories, Aquill Relle, Members Anthology, Book 6, Literature Today, Volume 5, Poetic Melodies Anthology, Creative Talents Unleashed; and many others. His poetry has been nominated for Best of the Net for 2016.

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“Forgotten.” Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University, Rome, Georgia. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and more than a dozen other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River magazine and more than sixty other publications.

The Leaves Wink

Whispered stillness at dawn
summer candle burning low
a quieted hush upon a breeze
orange coy rise in the fountain.
Leaves wink in the sun’s haze
toaster pops my english muffin
coffee pot chugs along slowly
cars roll by as the day begins.
Sirens echo in the distant hills
dogs howl and children smile
faceless people rush to a bus
lazy summer awaiting autumn.
Pumpkin patch on it's final days
crispy mornings and hot cocoa
Autumn's time will soon be here;
leaves wink because they know.

Athenaeum of Dreams

I am simply too sad to be awake,
drowning in tears of salt and blood.
It's hard to take even one more breath,
much too young to wallow in sadness.
Deviant smiles devoid of simple clownery,
carnival's of joyous splendor are seething.
Colored clothes burn greedily in the fire pit.
blackish smocks calm my spirited gothism.
Pastures await those of incessant grazing,
perhaps it's not sad, but truly madness.
Spellbound by the dark egotistical mind,
precious are the tempests always whirling.
Cadence of the heart rarely skips a beat,
our world slows to those of ethereal esteem.
Embryonic jealousy can finally take a seat,
awaken my friend, is this not but a dream?

Penny's Last Quarter

Creating a rhyme with
the loss of my last dime;
what cost be peace in a
world without empathy.
Preach to a deaf choir,
amorous heated desires.
Penny gives her last quarter
just to hasten Jesus home.
Eucharist served chilled
just before the bugles call.
You give what you don't have
to those who truly have it all.
Memory of icy burnt offerings;
stoic gazes from shaded eyes;
open the Book to pages ablaze;
feel a tear from darkened skies.
Ply demons with poisoned candy
angel's breath into a black vapor.
Penny's at the altar rocking away,
humming and choking on the wafer.

~Ken Allan Dronsfield

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