I sketched your face in
the midst of a bleached sky;
touching the cool wet sands
barefoot and loaded tonight.
A great inhale lights the pipe
wait for the rising harvest moon;
ballerinas twirl on the sea wall
faces expressionless; eyes cold.
I feel my raspy breath drift away
in foggy wispy ocean tendrils;
guided by ghosts of privateers
their rapiers hang off leather belts.
Swale grass on sand dunes quiver
untied laces fly about in the winds;
First, you’re here; then gone away;
you’re bright; then dull and dying.
The fading gray light disappearing,
as tears are lost in the falling rain;
wretched days full of fears are here
as I’m sinking into the charcoal sketch.
A note left in crayon sits upon the dash;
justification is simply a lost wasted life.
Emergence from the closet to pillories;
untied laces, now melting into the sea.
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Ken Allan Dronsfield is a 65 year old disabled veteran, prize winning poet and author from New Hampshire, now residing in Oklahoma. A proud member of the Poetry Society of New Hampshire, he has three poetry collections to date; 'The Cellaring', 'A Taint of Pity', and, 'Zephyr's Whisper'. Ken does not have an MFA or Creative Writing classes BUT, he once road his dirt bike on woodland trails from southern New Hampshire into Canada. 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 family and cats Willa and Yumpy.