Poetry Collection – by KEN ALLAN DRONSFIELD

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Diabolical Nature


That little spider moved quickly

into my small cabin on the lake.

Through a slight crack by the door

I stared, undaunted, eerie but inquisitive

as it slowly began weaving a lovely web.

I thought of all the cans of bug spray

and repellents waiting in the back room

but I was rather intrigued at her brash

nature and egotistical style displayed.

I questioned whether I should let her

stay, after all; less mosquitoes, flies,

and those infernal crickets, cricketing

all damn night never to be found.

She finished the web by nine o clock

soon the sound of a cricket echoed

then stopped and I checked my spider.

She let the cricket go, so I stomped her,

a size ten at eleven and went to bed.

The diabolical in nature will not win!

I awoke at two with a mosquito bite

itching on my forehead and that damn

cricket under my bed cricketing away,

scratching and tossing shoes all about,

am sure it’s now a great time for Plan B.


Officially Verklempt


the damn tire is flat

my air has been stolen

or perhaps the seal gone

complications in my life

places to go in town

things to do all round

I could change the thing,

but only flat on the bottom.

a Master’s in Engineering so

I’m thinking I can fix this crap

just then my wife turns to say,

“don’t worry, AAA is on the way!”

I wait for this mechanical man

to come and repair my incident,

so here I sit, listening to this shit

and now I’m officially verklempt.


Golden Locks Upon a Morning Breeze


incessant jovial mumbling aghast

golden locks upon a morning breeze

convertible top down in harsh sunlight

Siamese cat rides proud upon the dash

casting hazy shadows from stem to stern

quieted ride upon the marshmallow tires

pizza bites sizzle on the red hot headers

as my brain awakens in a drunken stupor

crossing the plains, without fear or disdain

seeking or freaking like a two headed clam

memories absolved of all pleasure or piety

golden locks flow upon a morning breeze.


Blissfully Waiting for Lithium’s Last Kiss


Heartlessly waiting and regretfully abating

questioning the motif of an abstract work

wishing to feel the tweak or feted treats

as the prick in the arm burns so slightly.

Stand in a street now feeling less bleak

the Count reaches ten, the Muppet’s dance

the pain is long gone, Miss Piggy looks hot!

June thaw they say, what time is it anyway?

The officer stands looking me in the eyes

he checks my name on his computer list

asks why I’m on the roof, trying to fly, say I

just blissfully waiting for Lithium’s last kiss.




Ken Allan Dronsfield is a published poet who has recently been nominated for The Best of the Net and 2 Pushcart Awards for Poetry in 2016. His poetry has been published world-wide in various publications throughout North America, Europe, Asia, Australia and Africa. Ken loves thunderstorms, walking in the woods at night, and spending time with his cat Willa. Ken’s new 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 the poetry anthology titled, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze available at A second anthology, Dandelion in a Vase of Roses will be released soon.


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