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New Poems
by Ken Allan Dronsfield



Winter's Blush Rev 2


Grayish bark
branch of snow,
red birds huddle.
Sun peeks from
a late winter sky,
sunflower seed
husks rain on
down from the
busy feeder now
perched upon the
gnarly whitened
branches of snow.
Warm sunlight rays
send melted drops
flashing and glinting
like cut diamonds
shimmering all
about in the yard
of a late winter's
blushing sky.



a line, (a short blue one)


Soup Du Jour Rev 3


In the grainy, dark hues
of a late spring twilight
the stillish peace reigns,
hear the falling of a star.


As I walk the lonely lane,
full of repose and serenity
Perhaps rebellions can be
a very good thing indeed.


As gold shooting stars glide
across the breadth of sky.
I raise a glass to the creator,
whose mind put it all together.


Albeit but an insignificant speck
of atoms shooting within a portal
and into the wild universal cafe,
primordial soup is served daily.



a line, (a short blue one)


Gum Shoe


Walking the city streets,
a lost story, looking to
answer queries for cash.
Is she here, or there, or
perhaps at the local bar
with her new beau in tow.
Is he at the No Tell Motel
where rooms rent by the
hour, with soiled linens but
precious time spent in lust.
Cheapen your thrill, but pack
the church, beg forgiveness
for non pious entertainment.
The gum shoe walks, stalks
dark corners of the dusty
ally's and watering holes,
perhaps out there tonight
on the hunt, watching you!



a line, (a short blue one)


Insomnia Haunts My Attic


Longish days of tiring eyre
trudge upon the worn paths.
Seek the peace of feted rest;
of a dead sleep so desired.


Sunset of orange lazily falls;
twilight faeries of dew appear
on a toadstool, fluttering wings;
my comfy bed beckoningly calls.


Hours gone by, sun sleeps sound.
Close my eyes, but they soon open
to a cats meow, a creaking board,
even my heartbeat won't calm down.


Cruising the halls in wretched panic;
wandering finds me climbing upstairs,
by the window I sit, watching stars,
as woeful insomnia haunts my attic.



a line, (a short blue one)


Committed Rev 2


I laughed in their faces
as I committed to flight
within the dimmed night
of a vast swirling haze
sprinkled with delights.
Awaken a spirited grin
from a darkling gaze;
a chalice of warm gin
and unicorns danced.
We all recited a ditty,
"Race your dragonfly;
Grasp a shooting star;
Whisper to the Moon;
Dance with the Fairy."
Your Devil warms up
on the Summer's grill.
I forgot the bugle call
whilst dipping my quill
as I committed to flight;
a soulless zombied bite,
in the eve of a raucous,
contemptuous icy night.



a line, (a blue one)


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