Thursday, September 6, 2018

Those Hazy Spirits. By Ken Allan Dronsfield



Bar stools creak and groan like my bones
a shot of Jack awaits, number 8, I think?
A lush night owl hidden in faceless crowds
spirits help to forget, but who really cares
many thoughts of love creep in and out
desires seem cold, wanton lusty dreamer
a sudden breeze clears all my thoughts
the scent of perfume and wine drifts by
essence of female genes waft in the air
like the smells of honey buns on Sunday's.
In a wink, she's gone, like an express bus
I'll get her name and number one day;
until then, another shot if you please.




Ken Allan Dronsfield is a disabled veteran, prize winning poet and fabulist from New Hampshire, now residing on the plains of Oklahoma.  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. Ken loves writing, hiking, thunderstorms, and spending time with his cats Willa and Yumpy.   

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