Ken Allan Dronsfield
Alone in the garden
red and yellow flowers
filling the senses with
fiery thoughts of you.
Walking down a lane,
heart bruise inflamed
brain deloused again
vodka, a cool icy blue.
Back into the garden
of an unrequited lust;
the memories ignite
a dark desired rush.
Lost within the park
cross of pitied shame;
talking of the stalking
by the fork once again.
Drug induced thoughts
righteous or false acclaim;
whispers of yellow haze
in the Asylum once again.
Burning Man Diary
blasphemy courted with anecdotal perversity
limitless chatter echoes through the canyon
all now weeping at the sight of blind hypocrisy
catching the orbs dancing with a butterfly net
seeking a peace but tripping through garbage
sands stained with the blood from star shards
music calms the beast, deep the jungle roars
pinnacle of life, enchanted in an icy cold desert.
tutelage from shamans moving to a spirit drum
casting vows of pious devotional decadence
earthy spirited flute touches the heart and soul
the burning man tosses ink onto the parchment.
eggs are on the boil
stove hot and ready
cat in my old chair
toaster takes awhile
sausage and taters
frying as I dodge
spatters of grease
coffee pot beeping
cat trades for food
ready my blue plate
sun peeks over trees
I smile on Sundays.
Rusty Wet Leaves
boots of black, whetted by rain
forgotten memory left far behind
woodpecker tapping upon birch
moss covered granite whispers
deer disappear into fern & pine
partridge drum in the deep hollow
woodland faeries smiling softly
path covered in rusty wet leaves
gentle breezes calm and serene
a bear moves in lumbering grace
car horns heard off in the distance
peaceful surrender, enchantingly.
Adrift upon an old oak leaf
floating down a slow creek
small coy and ducks meet
waving goodbye to summer.
Faeries giggling at twilight
gnomes and goblins a fright
Autumn solstice frosty white
as witches gleefully cackle.
Cauldron boils briskly steaming
pumpkins dance, wryly grinning
sit upon an oak leaf dreaming
this time now brings a change.
Sonnet of a Heart
Like wandering radiance
of an evanescent Moon,
some of her was always
hidden away from view.
Awash within the fire
of a red sunset in June,
the touch of her hand
keeps my heart renewed.
My essence she rescued,
and none too soon as the
wounds are finally healing;
the bleeding now ceased.
Raising my ravaged soul
from the abyss of doom.
She's my Angel afire;
my spirit now at peace.
Walk in shimmering sand,
like many candles aglow;
Tranquil and blessed
on this warm special eve.
The ocean waves
dancing so quietly now,
With her in my life,
the reality is like dreaming.
By the glow of the Moon,
such a fine work of art,
we sit holding hands,
gazing upon the night.
The star's twinkle in time,
to the sonnet of our hearts.
In the wandering radiance
of love's renewed light.
impatiently waiting for twilight's final gasp
late autumn's heated night slowly emerges
breezes of lightness bend grasses so soft
ducks needing rest land upon the bay.
lighting a Camel and watch the smoke rise
in a star filled sky of a darkish purple haze
sit on the porch as the small waves crest
while an airliner high in the sky heads east.
citronella is lit as a last mosquito swarms
a full moon reaches towards a nervous sky
drifting in thought like a misty fog passing
in a blink of an eye, candle wicks dance.
life brings to boil memories of lost time
years spent without in a world full of with
cascades of dreams or fantasies live on
derelict of mind, hated even unto myself.
Look there, a gold leaf drifts in the breeze
floating down through the now bare trees
finally alights upon a bleached white skull
that has laid there since last Halloween.
coffee pot makes its melodious growl
the old cats tail thumps keeping time
blueberries sit in a purple stained bowl
I wonder why you haven't gotten the mail.
thoughts, like the leaf, drift in your mind
time passes quicker than it did as a child
your little dog barks chasing some leaves
coffee in tow, another apple log to the fire.
blissful blues waft from the parlor stereo
the cat looks up as the horn section plays
you return from your walk down the drive
the pancakes sound wonderful you know?
Light on the desk flickers in the fall wind
I write another verse to the poem of us
tossing the ink, but it doesn't sound right
breakfast awaits, I dérive to the kitchen.