Ken Allan Dronsfield

Featured Contributor Spring/Summer 2021
Poetry

Ken Allan Dronsfield is a disabled veteran and poet from New Hampshire, now residing in Oklahoma. He has five poetry collections to date. Some of his publishing credits are; Piker’s Press, Sequoyah Cherokee River Journal, The Stray Branch, Literary Orphans, Burningword, Dissident Voice and The Blue Mountain Review, along with many more. Ken loves writing, thunderstorms, and spending time with his rescue cats Willa and Yumpy.  

Voices of the Birds

 I feel lonely in these woods.
 A groom without his bride.
 I hear the voices of the birds
 chatter, chatter in the darkness,
 as the night gives the sun its way.
 My life is that of a wanderer;
 a shepard without any sheep.
 I'm frightened by thoughts of ghosts
 as they walk in the shadows of death.
 I sing no song other than your love.
 My world is empty without you.
 Come, rescue me from the beasts;
 take away the frightening dreams.
 For all I need is your love;
 inevitably I'll taste freedom
 and be scared no more.
 We will travel life together
 singing on the lonely paths,
 and voices of the birds echoing
 in my head will be gone. 

Kafkaesque

I listen to the fucking rain falling drinking my coffee, 
 
seeing and speaking to no one!

I haven't seen anybody in weeks.

My life is the TV, computer and window.

No one walks by in the daylight, only in the dark of night; 

I hear their footsteps, running, always running.

Music sounds wicked strange today,

it's the thunder rumbling in the background.

I ran out of milk this morning;

Where's that damn mask? 

I can't find my mask!!

The store says I can't come in without it. 

SHIT!!

Why does the cat keep staring at the wall?

Is there a secret world hiding in there?

Or have I been in this apartment for so long, 

I've gone freakin' nuts?!

Oh shit, I hear a flute playing in the room upstairs.

I don't have a flute, and there's no one else here.

Oh great, so now I have ghosts in my house?

Well, that explains my weird cat staring all day,

or maybe he's dead, "Tigger, look at me",

"TIGGER"!!!

Dammit, he won't move; now what the hell?

Oh look, 

the picture over the mantle is crooked again,

fuckin' ghost. 

To see more of Ken’s work from this issue pick up your copy here.