Poetry: Ken Allan Dronsfield

Ken Allan Dronsfield

Untied Laces

I sketched your face in
the midst of a bleached sky
touching the cool wet sands
barefoot and loaded tonight.
A great inhale lights the pipe
wait for the rising harvest moon
ballerinas twirl on the sea wall
faces expressionless; eyes cold.
I feel my raspy breath drift away
in foggy wispy ocean tendrils
guided by ghosts of privateers,
their rapiers hang off leather belts.
Swale grass on sand dunes quiver
untied laces fly about in the winds.
First, you're here; then gone away;
you’re bright; then dull and dying.
The fading gray light disappearing,
as tears are lost in the falling rain,
wretched days full of fears are here
as I'm sinking into the charcoal sketch
a note left in crayon sits upon the dash
justification is simply a lost wasted life
emergence from the closet to pillories;
untied laces, now melting into the sea.
Sonnet 18, Lucidity of Life

I shall bid the gray darkness farewell
greeting the dawn with a resounding joy.
feel the warmth of the Sun upon my face;
hear the awakening birds sing their songs.
make a pact...and embrace silence this day.
view a world with muted tranquility
the heart covets all that whispers to me.
Like a great oak, I welcome all seasons,
accept the daily suffering with grace.
The good days, like sunshine, will help you bloom.
Days of storms, make you strong and resilient.
I rise and inhale the breaking red dawn;
dew on the grass sings lovely songs to me;
the beauty in one's heart shall guide the way.


Pinkish Eventide

As the sky turns from a light gray to pink
streetlamps now hang albeit a fallow pale
Bluebirds gather upon the wires and poles
the morning sun makes feathers feel warm
coot and cormorant soar down the beach
white terns hastily skim along wave crests
large fishing boats race to leave the harbor
the wakes slap against the granite seawalls
couples now stroll barefoot on wet sands
clouds tinted with red-orange glow float by
sound of cars build as the town awakens
sipping hot coffee, breakfast is now calling.


Biography

Ken Allan Dronsfield is a disabled veteran, prize winning poet and fabulist from New Hampshire, now residing on the plains of Oklahoma. Ken is a proud member of the Poetry Society of New Hampshire. He has three poetry collections, "The Cellaring", 80 poems of light horror, paranormal, weird and wonderful work. His second book, "A Taint of Pity", contains 52 Life Poems Written with a Cracked Inflection. Ken's third poetry collection, "Zephyr's Whisper", 64 Poems and Parables of a Seasonal Pretense, and includes his poem, 'With Charcoal Black, Version III', selected as the First Prize Winner in Realistic Poetry Internationals 2018 Nature Poem Contest. Ken won First Prize for his Haiku on the Southern Collective Experience Haiku Contest. He's been nominated three times for the Pushcart Prize and six times for the Best of the Net, 2016-2018. Ken loves writing, hiking, thunderstorms, and spending time with his cats Willa and Yumpy.

Setu, October 2019

Poetry: Ken Allan Dronsfield

Release

Without a thought or a word,
she let go of the fear and the judgments;
she let be the opinions of others swarming around her head.
She let go of the indecision within.
She let go of all "of the ‘right’ reasons".
Completely, without hesitation or worry, she let it go.
She didn’t ask anyone for advice. She didn’t read a book on how to let go.
She didn’t search the scriptures. She just let go.
She let go of all of the memories that held her back;
of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward;
of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right.
She made no promises to let go. She didn’t write about it.
Like leaves falling from a tree, she just let go.
There was no effort. There was no struggle.
It wasn’t good, and it wasn’t bad.
It was what it was, and it is just that.
In the space of letting go, she let it be.
A small smile came over her face. A light breeze enveloped her.
And the Sun and the Moon shall forever shine…
Because she just let go and let it be.


Winter's Recommence

Safe in the exhale of
a black-capped chickadee.
Chilled beyond reason;
winter shadows creeping.
Consequences paled in
a shimmering twilight palette.
Displaying a solemn presence;
within a covert soulless shiver.
Blisters upon the heart
from a moon's burning desire.
Skip into a mountain meadow
with a lasting frail contentment.
Laughing at the line 'to
the strength of ties that bind'.
A desperation's dance to the
last forgotten romance.
Awaken a dismal decaying
of a carceral chilly grasp.
Waiting for a springtime kiss as
apple blossoms quiver in the wind.


Arbor of Wisteria and Clematis

I reflect upon the lavender Wisteria;
the lilacs and lonely gardenias.
I uncover the grand butterfly bush
Quoth the Nepeta, 'keep to the path'.
Those shrubby pussy willows bloom,
a burning felt deep within the Clematis.
What could be more purely aglow?
Pumpkins sit by bundled corn husks.
Only this and a Thimble-berry pie.
There perched a crow upon the arbor
craving the bi-colored, brag bonnet.
A harlequin colored sky now aflame
The rooster never asked for the time.
Orange bells fall from the trumpet vine,
first touch of frost kisses a naked leaf.
leaves soar and spin in the north winds
shaking the arbor of wisteria and clematis.
(First Published, Poppy Road Review)


Time Slowly Passing

Of shallow labored breaths
a lone kiss in the of predawn,
rattle and hum whispers within,
wishing only sleep during cold times.
Yellowish orbs dart all about trees,
kisses spread from the tip of sprigs
spiraling down into the old garden
I try to reach out and touch them.
My ride takes us through the gates
grass glistens in the carriage-lights
touch of frost left upon a naked leaf
skies of yesterday; dreams of today.
Albino raven's roost in the old cedar
pious penance delivered by rosary.
Moldy smell of freshly shoveled earth
thoughts linger within lofty reflections;
the things that can never be unseen
a taste of solace within old memories.
Prayers answered with a lilac scent
I feel small in this time of my passing
Resurrection Lilies sprouting nearby
fragrant Red Roses whisper to me.
Rest in peace, rest in peace, rest…

Setu, November 2018

My World and Words

Shaken Not Stirred by Ken Allan Dronsfield

Ken Allan Dronsfield

Words, words, words! Without them we are taken back in time to sitting around a fire in front of the cave grunting through gnawing on a bone. My journey began at around thirteen years old when I started playing the guitar and decided to write my own lyrics to music. I wrote for some years, but then life took the front seat and my poetry and lyric career sat in the car seat for some years.

Through my military career, I played the guitar but found the lack of time for writing was frustrating. After children, bad jobs, a divorce I decided to drive commercial trucks all over the US and Canada. It was an experience to remember. Seeing this country, the people, places and things, fed my imagination and after retiring well over ten years ago, I decided to write poetry once again.

Some of my inspirational poets and writers have been Shakespeare, William Butler Yeats, Edgar Allan Poe, Robert Frost and in recent times, Leonard Cohen and, of course, "the Bukowski". I write poetry in a "minimalist" style....in other words, I keep it short. I rarely complete a poem of more than 24 lines, most are kept to 12 to 20 lines. For some reason, it is ingrained in my mind to get the message out in as few words as possible.

Most of my work touches on Nature... but I also enjoy writing inspirational quotes, some light horror, visionary and pieces I'll just call "out there". One of my visionary pieces would be:

Shaken Not Stirred

In an evening transcending;
a lonely heart not adjusting
as the rabbits play at chasing
shadows in flat mottled grass.

Warbling of self-righteousness,
fragile screaming in mourning
echoing within a mirrored eye,
the abominable crispy breath.

Flame to the wick ignited but
the candle dreams of darkness
entombed within subtle empathy
grasping Faeries adrift so high.

Pastel orbs traversing souls,
a percolated sadness avowed,
my mutation reeks of intensity
of a journey shaken not stirred.

I have, most recently, begun going through some of my poems and reformatting them into Formal Sonnet's, Pantoum, and Villanelle poetry forms. Most of my work would be considered traditional in style, some rhyming, but mostly of a free multi-line verse. My poetry has been translated into French, Spanish, Albanian and Farsi. I will admit, Nature is where my heart truly resides as in this poem that I originally wrote for spring and rewrote for the autumn solstice.

With Charcoal Black

i
Today I'll travel to the swamp and wood
to do a little autumn sketching for my
painting projects during the cold winter.
As I pack my thermos and bag, I see
snail trails leaving the autumn garden.

ii
Cooler breezes beget browner grasses;
lichen and moss cover the old stone wall,
I swear a little chipmunk ran by just now.
Crows are busy in their murder covens.
The songbirds leave daily for warm skies.

iii
Smells of the forest still musty and damp
colored leaves fall, a winter’s quilt woven
Ice sheets now form in the ponds as geese
happily swim throughout coolish waters.
Frogs and turtles hibernate until spring.

iv
A puff on the pipe, and a sip from the flask,
take out my sketch pad from the canvas bag.
Deer moving through the hemlock swamp.
It's time to capture, using a charcoal black,
the precious moments on this autumn day.

Here is an example of a Sonnet, 14 lines, 10 syllables per line.

Earth Cries... Heaven Smiles

The white rose petals are gently falling

floating slowly down to the bare cold ground

purple lilac's open; inhale the sun

lovely essence of both waft all about.

Red ladybugs are dancing leaf to leaf

the dragonflies sit alert on a post

red robins dodging colored leaves on lawns

my old cat naps in warm sunlit windows.

Grandfathers snooze; reflect life in old chairs

our Savior kisses a cool wrinkled cheek

the children run while playing in the yard

welcome back home to the autumn solstice

whereas the earth now cries; the heaven smiles

our summer now ends, but our fall begins.

Since beginning my quest to seek official publishing of my work less than two years ago, I have been blessed to having 800 poems published as well as several flash fiction pieces. My work was nominated for "the Best of the Net and I have two nominations for "the Pushcart Award" for 2016. I've written one book, "The Cellaring" a collection of 80 poems touching on the haunted, horror, paranormal, weird and wonderfully odd. It is available through my publisher, Creative Talents Unleashed or through Amazon.com. The book is also registered with the Library of Congress. I've worked as a Co-Editor for two Poetry Anthologies, "Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze" and "Dandelion in a Vase of Roses" both also available through Amazon. I'm working on two new books and am currently seeking publishers.

I write because I feel the need. I will not, nor to I seek riches or world-wide acclaim. I do it as a legacy for my children and grand-children. I feel wealth or property is simply material things, my poetry 'lives' and always will, long after I'm gone.

Setu, September 2017

Poetry: Ken Allan Dronsfield

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 Rising

Sleep 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 Boatman

A 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 Deliver

Standing 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.

Setu, July 2017

Poetry: Ken Allan Dronsfield

Ken Allan Dronsfield

Into the Rye Swale

Warm humid nights
clouds marking time
spirits adrift in shadows
summer dreams hushed
sporadic lightning bugs
mimic the twinkling stars
deer feed at the treeline
pond frogs sing baritone
crickets echo white noise
a bottle of wine breathing
dogs bark by the old farm
faeries patiently whisper
of haunting misty dances
bats flutter in the moonlight
rye swale bows to the wind
owls chat from barn to wood
life goes on in these meadows
hand in mine, her kisses await
gentle hugs, perfume essence
wafts to a wanton tranquility.

Sigh of Tranquility

As a brook winds its way
from the high mountains
through a dark forest like
a long coiled serpent.
Little falls and rapids
sing sonnets of water's
love of raucous festive
rides enroute to the sea.
From the little bridges or
logs across the creeks,
we watch with delight
as the dew Faeries skim
along the calm ponds or
gentle eddies at sunset.
Sprinkling droplets with
magic dust covering all
the flowers, grass and
leaves in trees with a
welcome drink at night.
My heart is always there;
wrapped in an icy breath
exhaled into twilight's air
Walking the pathway home
we sigh, tranquility is here.

Turquoise Tsunamis

Ruby and diamond glints in the sand
palm fronds dance in tenacious winds
waves crest higher reaching skyward
carrying red starfish into the rough surf
seagulls hover like kites over the shore
peeking through the eye wall, sunshine
blue green waters reflect the dark sky
bubble like foam rises from the sands
floating through the air up into the dunes
swale grass swaying around white egrets.
Sand crabs scurry for the deeper water.
Fog horn sounds at the edge of the reef
seaweed heaves and falls with the swell
cormorants stand stoic on harbor rocks
as green teal fly by in a frenzied rush.
Turquoise tsunamis swallows the beach.

Table of Contents, February 2017

Ken Allan Dronsfield

Ken Allan Dronsfield is a published poet who has recently been 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 America, Europe, Asia, Australia and Africa. 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 the poetry anthology titled, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze available at Amazon.com. A second anthology, Dandelion in a Vase of Roses will be released soon.

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