Ken Allan Dronsfield poetry break on two drops of ink

Poetry Break by Ken Allan Dronsfield

“Poetry can be dangerous, especially beautiful poetry, because it gives the illusion of having had the experience without actually going through it.”
― Jalaluddin RumiThe Book of Love: Poems of Ecstasy and Longing

Editor’s note:

The mystique of poetry 

Poetry is such a subjective art. Some will read a poem and love it, others shrug their shoulders in bewilderment, wondering what’s the big deal. Two Drops of Ink has attracted some of the finest poets in the world. Some of them are widely known, prolific poets; others are regional. We have been blessed to publish some extremely talented poets.

I was quite fond of this particular set of poems. There are a number of things about Ken’s poems that stand out. Novice poets can learn something here. His simple writing style — few overt rhetorical devices, rhymes, or alliteration. Yet, these poems paint deep, emotional, beautiful pictures.  I hope you enjoy them as much as I did.

Splendor of September

I miss the smells of hibernating leaves
white picket fence slowly disintegrates
Popsicle stand is shuttered and closed
yellow flip flops left in the sand dunes.

family times
in autumn dreams

Many lonely gulls wander cool beaches
snowy egrets stand stoic by tidal pools
fresh apple displays at roadside stands
corn fields now barren, silos are filled.

lanterns alight
in autumn dreams

Cascade memories like watersheds
cleansing the long-neglected spirit
as time drifts on like a sweet sunset
smells of hot coffee complete a day.

September shines
in autumn dreams.

Chilled night air begs for hot cocoa
baked apple pie with vanilla ice cream
Christmas shopping on Saturday night,
the sweet splendor of my September.

The Ebb and Flow

From atop the great stone pine trees

dragonflies fantasize of summertime;

of warmer mornings, balmy winds,

dodging flycatchers and bullfrogs.

The grass still green beside the pond

wolves howl and worship a full moon

barn owls love a nightly stellar show

young geese enjoy a fresh new sunrise.

Beating hearts strong by creek or marsh

deep rivers and great bays ebb and flow

large animals enjoy the salty-sweet grass

beautiful wildflowers grace rolling hills.

As the sun now rises in the eastern sky,

from within that great awakening forest

a lone cicada sings his mating sonnet

within the ebb and flow is life’s circle.

Sunrise Poesy

Soon the sunrise ignites
my wispy, dark corner
of an awakening Earth,
a warm blanket spread
as the King of Light rises,
the unseen now revealed.
Soon surging water will
fill inland marshes and
salty tidal creeks as blue
crabs roam; shorebirds
scatter all about the sand
while seeking small meals.
Soon, chased from beaches
in a raucous rushing surf
by greedy pursuing waves.
Neptune’s coveted trinkets
from the deep will safely be
kept from view this day.
Soon I’ll awaken to songbirds
just outside my sunlit window.
The teapot sings her sonnet
announcing this new day of
‘Sine qua non’, my praise be
but an alluring whisper here.

~’Sine qua non’, Latin meaning,
“Something considered essential.”

Sleep with Dead Grass

Chilled deep in the bones
steamy breath disappears
crispy ripe red apples drop
firewood split and stacked,

dying in the cold fields
sleep with dead grass.

Colored leaves free falling
spinning down to ground
unpacking winter clothes
full dresser and closets.

I’m dying in these fields
asleep in the dead grass.

Autumn’s calm song echo’s
within a freshness of spirit
views of a harvest solstice
life’s circle comes around,

Wafting in the dying fields,
forever at rest in dead grass.

Shaken Not Stirred

In an evening transcending;

a lonely heart not adjusting

as the rabbits play at chasing

shadows in flat mottled grass.

Warbling of self-righteousness

fragile screaming in mourning

echoing within a mirrored eye

the abominable crispy breath.

Flame to the wick ignited but

the candle dreams of darkness

entombed within subtle empathy

grasping Faeries adrift so high.

Pastel orbs traversing souls

a percolated sadness avowed

my mutation reeks of intensity

of a journey shaken not stirred.

I Died Today

I think I died today.

Staring at the bare walls;

a knife, a fork, a bottle and

red candle lay before me.

The sounds of blaring horns,

screeching brakes and shouting;

echo from a sweltering street

through a shaded open window.

The smells and hell of the city

permeate the entire room and

the fan in the corner just quit;

but…… I think I died today.

I laid there, on the old mattress,

sweat running down my face.

I dozed off for a bit, and awoke

in lovely fields of green grass,

with white cross’s all about.

I watched friends of old

tossing roses of red into

the hole of eternal darkness,

landing upon a shiny casket.

I think I’m there, tucked inside

wearing my dark gray suit,

white shirt and my hated tie…

Oh yes, I think I died today,

can someone tell me why?

Author’s Bio:

Ken Allan Dronsfield poetry break on two drops of ink

Ken Allan Dronsfield

Ken Allan Dronsfield is a poet who was nominated for The Best of the Net and 2 Pushcart Awards for Poetry in 2016. He has been featured worldwide in various publications throughout North and South America, Europe, Asia, Australia, and Africa. His work has appeared in The Burningword Journal, Belle Reve Journal, SETU Magazine, The Literary Hatchet, The Stray Branch, Now/Then Manchester Magazine UK, Bewildering Stories, Scarlet Leaf Review, EMBOSS Magazine, and many more. Ken loves thunderstorms, walking in the woods at night, and spending time with his cats Willa, Hemi, and Turbo. His book, “The Cellaring”, a collection of haunting, paranormal, weird and wonderful poems, has been released and is available through He is the co-editor of two poetry anthologies, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze and Dandelion in a Vase of Roses available from

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  1. Hello Ken, I enjoyed the simplicity of your choice of words. Reading your poems enabled me to visualize your story. I appreciate this because poetry is hard for me to understand. Thanks. John.

    • Good Afternoon, John

      My thanks for your very touching words. I don’t believe a person should have to use a dictionary to read and understand poetry. Have a great day!

  2. Good Morning, Marilyn. I thank you so very much for your kind and humbling words. I try to weave words into my poems filling them with imagery and beauty. Thank you again!

  3. I love nature and your poetry is so obviously inspired by nature it sings to me. I recognize the seasons you describe so eloquently. They live in my heart until called out by words like yours, then they are moving pictures across my mind. Thank you.

    • Thank you Michelle! It’s comments such as these that keep me inspired, and the creative fires burning! Thank you again!

  4. Good morning, Ken. Thank you for these poems. What struck me was your ability to use such concise words to convey thoughts and emotions. I think that’s the beauty of poetry.

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