Zoriah photo
By
Ken Allan Dronsfield
Taint of Pity
dark dreams of tomorrow live within your today.
cascading in colorless opaque luminescence
tree of deformity within wispy flowing grasses
whilst ravens on the wing disappear in a haze
lucent clouded skies of blended silent obscurity
pious scripture camouflaged by a taint of pity
ravenous demons tempt the innocent with lies
as crosses burn brightly in the darkest mind.
the decrepit fantasies reign within hypocrisy
as a flavored sky burns with a grayish pallor.
from my open window I see a world in chaos
I see masses of people unwilling to even live
gentle creatures disappear from brown forests
animals walk on two legs stealing halcyon souls
germs spreading hate, in-cognizant of any love
lazy beg for work as garbage crops are cultivated
the lonesome appear lost from open front windows
whilst even the long since dead are screaming.
Times of Joy
Gentle be the love of thy mother’s mother.
soft voice speaking of memories with clarity.
of kindly crafting knitted mittens each Fall
treasured by all, then in her Winter of days.
of holiday’s past and family gatherings
Easter bonnets and September sonnets
while roasting chestnuts on a big bonfire
stories of times on the boardwalk in July.
Riding for ice cream in her old yellow Buick
grand cream interior and fat whitewall tires
glorious days now a memory in the haze
times of joy with my dear mother’s mother.
I think this is among the most significant info for me. And i am glad reading your article. But should remark on few general things, The website style is perfect, the articles is really nice : D. Good job, cheers
Oh Dear, Before He Came - Poem by Is It Poetry Oh, to me, before he came, The mountain peaks, were bare of snow. And through my one and only window, I could see. And to my great delight, My eye's could clearly see. He and Me, Both out of breath. Climbing to that mountain top, To see what lay behind. And slowly as we both climbed down, We left the snow behind. Is It Poetry
Relations and nostalgic going back often disturb modern poets and so stay quizzical about the dimensions of traumatic experiences...some lovely and a few a bit agonizing and yet the poets celebrate. The lyrics delight Mr Ken Allan Dronsfield. Thanks for creating moments of unique pleasure within. pck prem