ANTHOLOGY OF PEACE POETRY
TERMS AND CONDITIONS
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.
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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