poetry in english

Two tracks converge at a junction
To run side by side in harmony
Camaraderie never to be broken:
Their destinations lay far apart
And they diverge
With tear-filled eyes, helpless hearts
They walk their separate paths-
As they travel, they see from a distance
Their separated tracks; held in their minds
Imprint of togetherness they find.
Their worlds of light and shade
Hold their hands, hearts ever attuned
To past, they live, to cry and laugh
To dream of another path
In some other existence
Where destinations converge

More at http://www.andromeda-glimpses.blogspot.com/.

The sound of thunder,
the mighty thunder,
may be fearsome to our ears,
but it cannot compete
with the rumble of
the snorer.
The sound of horses,
racing through the night,
may be a warning
of unexpected things to come,
but it cannot compete
with the alarming roar of
the snorer.
Earthquakes, crashing cars
and gunfire alike,
may make us jump in fright,
but nothing in this world,
not one thing in it,
can compete with the
opened mouth of
the snorer.

There are no words,
no more words to be said,
for the singing bird
had flown off the tree.
I sat at the window, looking,
looking through the glass,
watching the dried leaves
rustle with the evening breeze.
Through an opened mouth,
an opened mouth through which
no sound nor breath escaped,
I sang a tune of sorrow.
Inanimate and soundless,
A clock stood, still and timeless
indifferent to the desires,
the seductions of tomorrow.
I felt the air around me,
stifling and cold it was,
wrapping around me,
awakening me with it’s kiss
I awoke at the window, looking,
looking through my eyes,
watching the singing bird
gradually ascending, disappearing.
There are no more words,
no more words to be said,
for the singing bird
had flown off the tree.

Oh, forest portal,
guide me through
from here to there,
bright lights shining,
sound and images
during dreams alike.
We descended here
where stars are awash
with pixie dust tails
and crimson sprinkles
of diamond-dusted lips.
Riding upon the back
of a peppermint phoenix
rising through winter skies
whilst watching afar
from the crocus’ eye.
—–
Ken Allan Dronsfield is a Published Poet/Author/Digital Artist originally from Hampton New Hampshire, now residing in Oklahoma. He has been writing for many years and enjoys hiking, playing guitar and spending time with his cats Merlin and Willa. His published work can be found at numerous print venues including: