The Umbra of Twilight
A twilight, hard as it tries to disparage,
shall always remain dazzling in my mind.
The Sun, down, down, into the dark of night
carried off by the gloaming, gently it goes;
glaring, blazing, and impressive to the eye.
Never forget the astral stellar winks skyward,
from the ever-present celestial constellations.
The dark is cloudy; the dark is opaque, much
like the closing curtain during the end of a play.
The zany mists of morning, but a lazy sonnet,
as rising smoke from a snuffed out candle.
A sunrise light is gnomish; smaller, shorter, but
full of the light of day. Incandescently yours.
Tarry along now, the night a glorious memory,
a lonely one-act play that awakens your day.
A teapot whistles, the toaster pops, time for
a muffin with blackberry jam and green tea.
shall always remain dazzling in my mind.
The Sun, down, down, into the dark of night
carried off by the gloaming, gently it goes;
glaring, blazing, and impressive to the eye.
Never forget the astral stellar winks skyward,
from the ever-present celestial constellations.
The dark is cloudy; the dark is opaque, much
like the closing curtain during the end of a play.
The zany mists of morning, but a lazy sonnet,
as rising smoke from a snuffed out candle.
A sunrise light is gnomish; smaller, shorter, but
full of the light of day. Incandescently yours.
Tarry along now, the night a glorious memory,
a lonely one-act play that awakens your day.
A teapot whistles, the toaster pops, time for
a muffin with blackberry jam and green tea.
Memento Mori
Latin: "remember (that) you will die" is the medieval Latin Christian theory and practice of reflection on mortality, especially as a means of considering the vanity of earthly life and the transient nature of all earthly goods and pursuits.
Safe in the exhale of
a black-capped chickadee.
Chilled beyond reason;
winter shadows creeping.
Consequences paled in
a shimmering twilight palette.
Displaying a solemn presence;
within a covert soulless shiver.
Blisters upon the heart
from a moon's burning desire.
Skip into a mountain meadow
with a lasting frail contentment.
Laughing at the line 'to
the strength of ties that bind'.
A desperation's triumph to the
expected memento mori.
Awaken the dismal knowledge,
remember, you too must die.
Wait for a springtime kiss as
crocus' quiver in the cold wind.
a black-capped chickadee.
Chilled beyond reason;
winter shadows creeping.
Consequences paled in
a shimmering twilight palette.
Displaying a solemn presence;
within a covert soulless shiver.
Blisters upon the heart
from a moon's burning desire.
Skip into a mountain meadow
with a lasting frail contentment.
Laughing at the line 'to
the strength of ties that bind'.
A desperation's triumph to the
expected memento mori.
Awaken the dismal knowledge,
remember, you too must die.
Wait for a springtime kiss as
crocus' quiver in the cold wind.
Chimes, Fairies and the Alaska Sun
Wind chimes sing to a raucous breeze.
The dew fairies ride on leaves falling;
some are giggling as they glide down.
Shore grasses bend in the harsh gusts.
Alder's shimmer in the gold sunrise as
ducks on the pond rise to stretch wings.
Russet fields glimmer after a light frost and
chipmunks squeal while running on stones
empty picnic tables now lonely in the parks.
Deer search for acorns and beechnuts and
rising high behind us, the huge green hills,
pellucid in expanse under a morning sun.
The grass a hue of green that would make
a leprechaun captivated with lustful envy.
Our salmon catch is good and the hold full
The ocean rises and falls with the swell and
mounds of seaweed drift towards the shore.
We finish our tea, hoist the main sails, and
hope we can catch a following wind to Sitka.
In the moon light, we sing a shanty home.
The dew fairies ride on leaves falling;
some are giggling as they glide down.
Shore grasses bend in the harsh gusts.
Alder's shimmer in the gold sunrise as
ducks on the pond rise to stretch wings.
Russet fields glimmer after a light frost and
chipmunks squeal while running on stones
empty picnic tables now lonely in the parks.
Deer search for acorns and beechnuts and
rising high behind us, the huge green hills,
pellucid in expanse under a morning sun.
The grass a hue of green that would make
a leprechaun captivated with lustful envy.
Our salmon catch is good and the hold full
The ocean rises and falls with the swell and
mounds of seaweed drift towards the shore.
We finish our tea, hoist the main sails, and
hope we can catch a following wind to Sitka.
In the moon light, we sing a shanty home.
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Ken Allan Dronsfield is a disabled veteran, prize winning poet and fabulist from New Hampshire, now residing on the plains of Oklahoma. His work can be found in The Burningword Journal, WestWard Quarterly, The Blue Mountain Review, Literary Orphans, Harbinger Asylum, EMBOSS Magazine and more A proud member of the Poetry Society of New Hampshire, he currently 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 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.
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