More Poems
by Ken Allan Dronsfield

 

Desert Spirit  Rev 2

 

With the moon rise

on a winter's night,

a chilled wind flows

through my hair.

In the desert cold,

near the Joshua Tree,

the sands still warm,

from the sunny rays,

when scorpions danced

during a lazy hazy day.

As nightmares recall

the age of the Phoenix

reflecting mirrors glare,

of a pious deity shared

near the Joshua Tree,

when sands were warm,

from the sunny rays,

in that desert of old,

haunted fables relayed

by a Spirit of yesterday.

 

 

 

Twilight's Drift

 

Reason for waking

lofty faded dream

soft steps in grass

eyes rising skyward

Brisk breeze blows

wind swirls on water

geese march in air

reality softly fades

Flame tip to candle

upon twilight's drift

gentle moon's whisper

whisked off the table

Tired head anointed

by fluffy down pillows

cotton candy waltz's

sun ablaze in yellows

welcome the darkness.

 

 

 

First Kiss of Spring

 

Sing me a sonnet of

Spring's First Sweet Kiss.

 

Let me gaze into the marvel of

splendid colors that do surround.

 

The warming Sun brushing my cheek;

of winter's cold chill I remember still.

 

Inhaled blessing of Mother Nature's gifts

and pleasing sounds of spring now abound.

 

The morning birds singing loud and proud,

a murder of crows raving in the mists.

 

The little buds of wild flowers cover

the earth and buzzing of the bees all round.

 

Sing me a last gentle winter serenade;

of things my memory shall reminisce.

 

The bedroom curtains move so gently,

whispering lines of a Summertime wish.

 

Yes, sing me the sonnet of the First

Sweet Kiss of Spring.

 

 

 

A Ghostly Cold

 

"Hark!" they cry,

"come here and soon".

Under a darkening sky

and palest moon.

We spy a ship,

adrift in the bay;

her sails wrapped tight,

empty helm I'd say.

 

 

She slows to a stop

and the anchor falls.

The Tower sounds an alarm,

come one come all.

The Colonel hollers out,

"Make yourself known!",

but all we hear are creaks,

moans, and groans.

 

 

Longboats, soldiers,

muskets, and such.

A comical sight to see;

and found a bit too much.

It's quiet and empty

on her dampened deck.

So clean and pristine,

she's hardly a wreck.

 

 

We row back to shore

and toss out the hook,

Unsettled and wet,

we turn round and look.

She's gone! all scream;

that legend of old.

T'was the Dutchman, I'm

sure, a true Ghostly Cold.

 

 

 

Time Not Sleeping Rev 4

 

Time not sleeping

but forever creeping;

in shadowed dreams

lies a crispy twisting;

Breathing to live while

the blood is steeping,

the Sun exhales its last,

alighting a Lunar mist.

As the heart beats a clock,

the tick and the talk,

love burns with a heat,

but cools with the cheat.

Never wishing to lose

over darkened black hues,

O'er a misty nights weeping

shadows of violet and blue.

Into the teary haze,

affixing my wanton gaze,

on a moon so bright

in this cool twilight.

Love kind and true,

gone now and ablaze,

as time's not sleeping,

just creeping out of sight.

How starved your ego

must have been,

to devour my heart

with a treacherous grin.

For time's not sleeping,

but forever creeping,

Reaching out, forlorn of love,

my conscious mind spins.

 

 

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