Ken Allan Dronsfield is a poet who was nominated for The Best of the Net and 2 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, Bewildering Stories, Scarlet Leaf Review. EMBOSS Magazine and many more. Ken 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 available from Amazon.com.
|Ken Allan Dronsfield|
Humanity RisingSleep with stars orbiting your mind
bees nap while dreaming of flowers.
Old rooster sits upon the barn roof
a clear view of the fields of fantasy.
Back porch light attracts VW Bugs
moon but a sliver of icy humble pie.
Illusion of literality with fruitfulness
rise from the feather bed for coffee.
Field mouse dines on feta cheese
the alarm clock's spring has sprung
morning glows in a very special way
a burnt orange, with purple and reds.
Rooster now crows and all are awake
the old farm whispers upon the breeze.
Stories are told of lives come and gone
sitting on the porch, breakfast is ready.
Eggs, sliced ham and fried potatoes
coveting an idiom of humanity rising.
The BoatmanA shame to pass like two
ships on a foggy night.
Echoes of the clanging bell
and harbor channel buoy.
Small waves slap the hull
as the small mast groans.
To sail at twilight, pray to
not capsize before we dream.
Call it faith or simple prayer,
the devout sleep in peace.
Waves roar as they punish the
rocks carving new white sands.
Seaweed sways to a tidal waltz
played from Neptune's harp.
Visions of rum or a frosty pint
oars dig deeper; bow rises high
Tied to the dock, unload the catch,
the Boatman's finally home to rest.
Stand and DeliverStanding upon this high precipice
the final judgement has now come.
I will be known as a poetic dreamer;
plebeian writer of visionary advertency,
not a master of liars or mass schemers.
egotistical, they sit perched on thrones
absent of desire or perceptive purpose.
Devour the naive in realms of shadows
their souls live in depths of a fiery circus.
I stand and deliver, remiss of humanity,
finding tranquility and wanton bliss here.
why so many pack this clamorous abyss;
whilst a few heighten a zealot's passion.
I now soar in a ghostly exhilarated dive
a one-way flight, beyond the hazy veil;
sunset is marvelous down at the harbor
closer to the ground I inhale the clouds,
rising from the mist chasing the raptor.