KEN ALLAN DRONSFIELD

KEN
Allan Dronsfield

A Magnolia's Chill

Nicotine stained walls pleading
for a fresh splash of white wash.
Gutter full of decayed leaves and
the porch smells of earthen mold.
An old knife rests on the cutting board
loaves of fresh bread, long since gone.
The cabin at the Magnolia Plantation
sings of Chloe, the slave murdered.
Basement stairs squeak and moan
with each step while swaying to and fro.
A voice heard whispering in a low groan,
my heart beats faster, more dangerously.
Audacious shrills and rapturous chills
residing upon a noxious molded grin
in a pig iron and saffron form while
suspended between white oak rafters.
Hasten to the outside door and running
past the root cellar and beyond the tracks.
Hear the footsteps gaining and stalking;
a haunting night in the old slave shack.










RAW SILK AND RAPTURE

Lazy mists envelop this land;
scarlet sky with a serene azure;
working fields of cotton or yam;
adrift within a sun dog's rapture.
Awkward stare at waltzing ravens
escape aromas; decayed river silt;
prayers come and rise to Heaven
her old wheel spins white raw silk.
A cool breeze blows over the bay,
whisper of meteors from near Orion.
Life in this shack rolls on each day;
strumming the guitar excites the Lion.










TURQUOISE SOUL

I want to travel home

to my beautiful island

where turquoise waters

speak to my hurt soul.

Listen and you will hear

the jungles whispering

songs from so long ago

as ghostly drums echo

and dance from hills and

valley's to rocky cliffs on

the far Northern shores.

The white sand beaches

wrap around the island,

birds and small animals

scatter and run all about.

They search tidal pools

for tidbits or small meals

as beautiful egrets lift off

into warm humid breezes

seeking the nesting trees.

I'm ready to travel home

to the beauty of my island

where the turquoise waters

welcome my lost, hurt soul.

A lifetime on the mainland,

equality harshly forgotten.

Wishing to climb a mountain,

and find that land of respect.

But I now return to my island,

where turtles smile serenely.

A land where we all bleed red,

to live with a promise of equality.

Ken Allan Dronsfield
Seminole Oklahoma USA






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