Saturday, January 30, 2016

Three Poems by Ken L. Jones

The seven seas that are my garden
Take on the ripeness of colors
That are continually new to me
Withering in their luminescence
That I take one sip of
Like it is some exquisite Chinese tea
As I seek exile in the desolate
Imperious sedimentary layers
That babble beneath my slippered feet
In a language I've never quite before heard
While crows and humming birds
Wander through my eyesight
As the morning dew dries into a silent prayer.

But When the Time Machine is Stolen

The morning blurs into smoldering crawl bys
The clouds merge with bird notes
Spitting out a clockless withering between the trees
It squints, it moans as noon adjusts its hat
And little red rooster doom flutters across
The dew chilled breathless one hundred years old buildings
And converges as it eats the rocks away
Too tired to fly anymore
In my obscuring melancholy
Tethered in the smell of the nuances of absence
Where night barks like an empty street

No More

Corroded tin cans of shifting gloom
Beguiling through iron green river bottoms
Of barely suppressed anxiety
Past sepia and abundant crumbling jungles
Of an Amazonian suburbia ever shrinking
Like the Gobi Desert that is my dreams
Where the windows of the wilderness
Get transformed into the perfumes of full bellies
As I take to the self replicating stars
And like an alien invasion altered by shipwrecks
I wash upon an island that has lost none of its power.

For the past thirty-five years Ken L. Jones has been a professionally published author who has done everything from writing Donald Duck Comic books to creating things for Freddy Krueger to say in some of his movies.  In the last six years he has concentrated on his lifelong ambition of becoming a published poet and he has published widely in all genres of that discipline in books, online, in chapbooks and in several solo collections of poetry.  

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