As Dead Birds Circled by Ken Allan Dronsfield

On a coolish night in late December
an odd stiff breeze was blowing from the North
we sat by the damn with gin and juice while
singing sonnets of warmer days now past.
We sang loudly while the old man strummed then
laughs on the right just as screams echoed left
the levee broke and all drift in the floods.

Cleanse my soul in the fierce muddy waters.

Weeping willows joyously laughed that night.
Tender were the sounds of bare footsteps in
darkness upon the slick moss covered rocks.
Leaves shimmered in a purple twilight as
the levee broke, and tears cascaded down
the breezes died to a whispering chant
windowless walls of tall earth and rock moved
crumbling into the water’s great swallow.

Cleanse my soul in the fierce muddy waters.

A thousand eyes watched in a harsh horror
while great birds on the wing circled slowly
the damn broke and music faded away.
church bells rang out, wrapped in misty attire
blistered sacramental pious whimpers.
Quartz crystals resonate a timeless waltz
rust colored waters moved lifeless bodies
while dead birds on the wing circled slowly.

Cleanse our souls in the fierce muddy waters.

The weeping willows just laughed and rejoiced
as the great levee broke; we were still there
singing dirges; dead birds circled slowly;
baptism of souls join fierce muddy waters.


Ken Allan Dronsfield is a published poet from New Hampshire. He loves thunderstorms! His published work can be found in reviews, journals, magazines and anthologies throughout the web and in print venues. His poetry has been nominated for Best of the Net for 2016.

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