Sonnet 17,
Quiet Time
Wing
beats of ducks echo across the pond;
stirring
passions as summer fades away.
Warmth
of the sun once greeted my morning.
Now,
crispy mists are here to start my day.
Trees
blossom with colorful leaves of Fall,
we
watch them all slowly soar down to earth;
squirrels
scurry along the old stone wall;
stash
acorns for food during winter's mirth.
Looking
to the west I see wood smoke rise;
from
cabins that dot the hills and far shore.
Winds
carry geese flying south in the skies.
Birds
at the feeder eating seeds galore
Cherished
memories found within a rhyme.
Autumn
owns the clock, it's now Quiet Time.
Sonnet 99,
The Ebb and Flow
From
atop a great lonely redwood tree
dragonflies
fantasize of summertime;
of
early warmer mornings, balmy winds
dodging
gray flycatchers and green bullfrogs.
The
grass is greener right beside the pond
a
wolf pack howls, worshiping the full moon
the
barn owls love a midnight stellar show
baby
goslings enjoy the fresh sunrise.
the
deep rivers and great bays ebb and flow
deer
and elk enjoy the salty-sweet grass
wildflowers
sprinkled upon rolling hills.
from
within that great forest wakening
a
cicada sings his mating sonnet
within
the ebb and flow of life's circle.
Sonnet 11,
Songs of the Garden
Chime
Steal
away during the full moon rising
the
starlight kisses upon weary eyes,
relaxing,
feeling the spirit drifting
and
caressing the warming spring breezes.
Gentle
songs whispered from the garden chimes
playing
of sweet sonnets on a Sprites harp
softly
releasing a crimson arrow
hits
directly into my wanton heart.
Oceans
of grass gently swaying in fields
near
the granite stonewalls the Robin's bounce
enchanted
orbs rise from bare tree branches
as
squirrels and chippy's heartily chase
Your
true love always keeps my heart smiling,
whilst
the night stars flirt above garden chimes.
Zephyr’s Whisper
In the breath of a cascading waterfall...
I hear the voices of child spirits reciting sonnets,
fallen leaves that silently land upon brown grass
weaving a colorful quilt in the wood and meadow.
Trout cruise the pools along babbling brooks in
search of small meals of worms, grubs or flies.
I watch them feed, as a lone red leaf floats by
gathering speed then disappears downstream.
Chickadee's and Nuthatches flutter in the pines
as Blue Jay's squawk at me from higher branches.
Walking the path, I feel a sting below the ear,
the seasons last mosquito has found me out here.
In the breath of a falling tide... je marche. (I walk)
Snow white sails billowing in the warm trades,
rolling seas of a turquoise blue, reflect silken clouds,
terns and gulls from tropical islands hover above.
Flying fish leap and glide as dolphins follow.
In the breath of a falling tide... Je suis réveillé. (I
awaken)
A thermos of hot tea sits beside me in the dunes
tall marsh grasses flow with the onshore breezes.
I slowly sip my cup as flocks of geese fly over,
I smile, close my eyes and find myself adrift.
In the breath of a Zephyr's Whisper... Je rêve de. (I dream
on)
Chimes, Fairies
And The Alaska Sun
Wind chimes sing of stolen breezes
as dew fairies ride on falling leaves
some giggling as they glide on down.
Shore grasses bend in the harsh gusts
Alder's shimmer in the golden sunrise as
ducks on the pond rise to stretch wings.
Russet fields glimmer after a light frost as
chipmunks squeal while running on stones by
empty picnic tables now lonely in the park.
Deer search for acorns or beechnuts and
rising high behind us, the huge green hills,
pellucid in expanse in the morning sun.
The grass a hue of green that would make
captivate a leprechaun making him envious
and lustful as he dances upon an old log.
Our salmon catch is good and the hold full
as the ocean rises and falls with the swell
while mounds of seaweed drift upon the shore.
We finish our tea and hoist the main sails
hoping we can catch a following wind to Sitka
we sip a cup of rum and sing a shanty home.
The Plum Tree
How did the despair become
fluid for clear, dry eyes to shed?
Mother's passing has conjured
feelings of despair, loneliness,
and into the fathoms of the forlorn.
Why did the burden of stresses on
the heart allow and cause the beat
to finally stop now cold to the touch.
I've learned to survive within such pain,
to bear as a heaviness and darkness
conjoining as ripe nectar squeezed from
my mind creates an apathetic stratum.
In times of death or loss, we hum our
dirges and become oracles of peace
while pounding that holy black book
forever coalesced by millions of souls
whom freely gave lives for vindication.
Remorseful, I've learned to inhale deep
as I await my turn to be quickly plucked
from that great plum tree of life, ripened
I search for the epistemic loftiness within.
(Previously
published in The Metaworker, 12/2017)
Ken Allan Dronsfield
Ken Allan Dronsfield is a disabled veteran,
prize winning poet and fabulist from New Hampshire, now residing on the plains
of Oklahoma. He has been published in magazines, journals, reviews and
anthologies throughout the US and abroad. A member of the Poetry Society of New
Hampshire, he has three poetry collections to date; "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 Internationals 2018 Nature Poem Contest. He's been nominated three times for the
Pushcart Prize and six times for the Best of the Net, 2016-2018. Ken loves
writing, hiking, thunderstorms, and spending time with his cats Willa and
Yumpy.