Ken Allan Dronsfield was nominated for The Best of the Net and two Pushcart Awards for Poetry in 2016. His poetry has been published world-wide in various publications throughout North and South America, Europe, Asia, Australia and Africa. His work has appeared in The Burningword Journal, Belle Reve Journal, Setu Magazine, The Literary Hatchet Magazine, The Stray Branch, Now/Then Manchester Magazine, and many more. He loves thunderstorms, walking in the woods at night, and spending time with his cat Willa. Ken's new book, "The Cellaring", a collection of haunting, paranormal, weird and wonderful poems, has been released and is available through Amazon.com. He is the co-editor of two poetry anthologies, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze and Dandelion in a Vase of Roses, both available from Amazon.com.
Last nights dishes wait in the sink
hot water and soap to arrive soon
cat sits nervously pondering when
his dinner will finally fill the bowl.
Summer's sun has left for Florida
chain saws echo across the valley
pumpkin looks pitiful on the porch
wish I was more skilled at carving.
Standing in the back yard alone
watching the leaves gliding down
like paper airplanes here and there
some helicopter spin to the ground.
A sense of sadness is now borne.
colder days are well on the way.
Au revoir to Summer, Bonjour Fall.
whilst I've only written a bit all day.
Sleep With Dead Grass
Chill in my tired bones
steamy breath follows
crispy red apples drop
oak firewood stacked,
walk the dying fields
sleep with dead grass.
Colored leaves release
spinning down to ground
unpacked winter clothes
fill dresser and closets,
walk the dying fields
asleep in dead grass.
Autumn's song plays
a freshness of spirit
feel a harvest solstice
life's circle goes round,
I walk a dying field,
I sleep in dead grass.
A Lyrical Swell
Starlight stirs my coffee
the moon a soft croissant
lilac or lace win my flavor
new tidal ebb in accession
impassioned lyrical swells.
suns haze of dusty rhythm
biscuits await on a doily
my black tea steeps alone.
© Ken Allan Dronsfield
hot water and soap to arrive soon
cat sits nervously pondering when
his dinner will finally fill the bowl.
Summer's sun has left for Florida
chain saws echo across the valley
pumpkin looks pitiful on the porch
wish I was more skilled at carving.
Standing in the back yard alone
watching the leaves gliding down
like paper airplanes here and there
some helicopter spin to the ground.
A sense of sadness is now borne.
colder days are well on the way.
Au revoir to Summer, Bonjour Fall.
whilst I've only written a bit all day.
Sleep With Dead Grass
Chill in my tired bones
steamy breath follows
crispy red apples drop
oak firewood stacked,
walk the dying fields
sleep with dead grass.
Colored leaves release
spinning down to ground
unpacked winter clothes
fill dresser and closets,
walk the dying fields
asleep in dead grass.
Autumn's song plays
a freshness of spirit
feel a harvest solstice
life's circle goes round,
I walk a dying field,
I sleep in dead grass.
A Lyrical Swell
Starlight stirs my coffee
the moon a soft croissant
lilac or lace win my flavor
new tidal ebb in accession
impassioned lyrical swells.
suns haze of dusty rhythm
biscuits await on a doily
my black tea steeps alone.
© Ken Allan Dronsfield