The Shrill

Posted by - December 20, 2016 - Issue No. 16.3

by KEN ALLAN DRONSFIELD

In the dead of night,
upon a haunted rise.
Blackbirds serenade
in long shrieking shrills.
A cloaked figure rises,
black and boldly hums
his sonnet to the lonely,
feeding icy crispy mists.
A pouting moon dances,
clouds blow feted kisses,
Coyotes chant to the stars
a sharpness like the blade.
Vibrations move all about
in the muddy ruddy hollow,
sun chases away lost spirits,
disappearing within the light.
Serenading sonnets of joy,
by the creek dance the faeries.
And the Blackbirds shall return
with a Shrill just after twilight.

 


ABOUT THE POET: Ken Allan Dronsfield loves thunderstorms, walking in the woods at night, and spending time with his cats Merlin and Willa. His published work can be found in reviews, journals, magazines and anthologies throughout the web and in print venues. Ken’s new book is “The Cellaring“, a collection of the haunted/horror/paranormal, weird and wonderful. His poetry has been nominated for Best of the Net for 2016.

Photo © 2010 Krystian Olszanski