Thursday, February 5, 2015

A Poem by Ken L. Jones

A Bottle of Swans

Her long hair was like ivy vines creeping down a crumbling cliff
Towards a vacant lot so remote it can't be reached easily anymore
Where amongst rusting hulks of abandoned autos and tumbleweeds so thick
One can occasionally see a horned toad scurrying about upon business so obscure
That we can only guess at the extent of it
And yet in this place of decomposition and oxidation on the prowl
I find that my soul is finally externalized and that there was somewhere
Where I had always and truly belonged after all
So even if she no longer needs me and has moved on to other dreams
At least I'm left a sovereign here in this realm of rot and weeds

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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