Featured Poet SS 2019
Ken Allan Dronsfield is a disabled veteran, prize winning poet and fabulist from New Hampshire who resides on the plains of Oklahoma. He is widely published in magazines, journals, reviews and anthologies throughout the US and abroad. 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 International’s recent Nature Poem Contest. 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 International’s recent Nature Poem Contest.
TWITTER: https://twitter.com/KenKadfield
WEBSITE: https://arevenantpoet.wordpress.com/
Flickering Twilight
A twilight, hard as it tries to disparage,
shall always be dazzling.
Later, down, down, into the night of the gloaming,
gently it goes – glaring, blazing, and impressive.
Never forget the astral stellar winks skyward,
the dark is cloudy; the dark is opaque, unlike
the rising smoke from a snuffed out candle.
The zany mists of morning, but a lazy sonnet as
a sunrise light is gnomish; smaller, shorter, but
full of the light of day. Incandescently yours.
Tarry along, the night is but an inglorious memory.
Awaken your day, jam, bread with black tea.
Protagonist
In a kingdom full of force
I was violent and you an effect
unheeded warnings about neglect
I sought refuge from the source.
Pay attention to the delusion as
not all doors remain closed!
Doors are exceptionally restricted,
unprejudiced, however seething.
Because I elude to the unhinged,
I know a storm is coming and
I kindly bow and praise the flames.
I shiver in the excitement of death
pay attention to the breaths rattle,
do the thoughts make you quiver?
A revelation of piety now begins,
that unholy praise and contempt.
I feel it, see it and taste the tears,
as the goosebumps rise, nervously
excitement drifts high to the strata
I kiss the butterfly for I’m unhinged.
To view more of ken’s work from this issue pick up a copy.