Ken Allan Dronsfield's Child Collages, Albino Ravens, Meteors, Sung Simoons, and Corn Growing Taller Than Words

Tasting of Fire


I've thrown myself into it;
thrown myself in.
And the fire has been lovely.
It's flames jump, and tickle,
leaping toward impossibility,
beautiful stars above.
So if today,
my body is dragged down,
the courage which hurled me
into the heart of the flame
has smoldered into mere embers.
The knowledge is there,
even today, when an albino raven
comes to sit upon my shoulder,
my vision doubling all objects
indiscriminately.
Those which I choose to see and
those which I do not,
the images imprinted on my eyelids
over lapping one another,
awkwardly, as a child's collage.
Yet I see beyond the darkness,
beyond the terror, beyond the spark.
Oh life of mine, incredible
harvest, the taste of fire, of
hope which we feed with ourselves.
I've thrown myself into it,
I’m warmed from within,
a soul afire, peace smolders.



Requiem of White Ash



An albino raven meditates

during an alabaster moonrise.

Darkness reaches from shadows

to grasp the soulless.

Hideous cries from the upper branches

of the tall Stone Mountain pines.

Ghosts from another time reincarnate

as swirling mists over fields of cotton.

Magpies joust upon the old sagging roof

of a forgotten plantation cabin.

Hooded one’s chant to their lesser being

who fulfills their twisted dreams.

They praise the Sun and Moon each night

as spirited white flames flicker.

Cherry blossoms scattered in the grip of

a heartless tempest blow.

Meteors strike the golden mountain;

a stark truth is finally told.

Life was hard in the Georgia of yesterday,

pantries stored nothing but memories.

The water from the pump was a hazy red,

smelling like decrepit sulfur.

Witches cast spells; send superstitions to hell,

as white ash rises under the full moon.

Wispy tendrils of foggy spirits rise into a red sky,

as he of the white flame greets the dead.





Tempest of Cold



By the graves I felt the storm

shall Death bring his batters?

Eagerly I looked for cover;

loud thunderstorm drumming

of the tempest that is blowing.

'It's that beat,' I muttered swinging;

That vicious, vicious pounding,

and the floodwaters never inhaling

I sing the splendid sudden simoom;

screech louder than the tearing sails;

crave the becalmed, blowy bellows!

I ignore the smashing, severe sleet;

take thy lashing from out my heart.

I threw its ghost against the walls

I await the defeated, dreich drum,

here stands an unflustered peach.





Witches and Stone



That which gives often...

often receives nothing in return.

Do not be deceived by writing in stone.

Corn often grows taller than words;

words often grow taller than deeds.

In what field strides a dark Witch,

through stalks as thick as bovine legs.

We take a cache and fill silos

forty moons per the fields.

Geese feed in flocks as a night

haze dissolves with the sunrise.

Wrung one’s neck for our bellies

now we give it spit and hot coals.

At dusk, we watch a coven of witches

feed the flames below their cauldron.

They gather petrified stubble and stone

to craft tonics and spells whilst the

crows and ravens pick clean all

discarded husk and bones.

Within a breath, the sun disappears;

darker times fill life’s circle.



Ken Allan Dronsfield is a disabled veteran, prize winning poet and fabulist from New Hampshire, now residing 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. Ken won First Prize for his Haiku on Southern Collective Experience. He's been nominated three times for both the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net for 2016-2018. Ken loves writing, hiking, thunderstorms, and spending time with his cats Willa and Yumpy.