Two Poems by Ken L. Jones

Ice Cold Hallelujah

An enchanted evening of autumn leaves wants to hold your hand
As I dry martini channel surf to golden swooning
And as I pretend continues to thrive there's witchcraft
In its songs that just whittles down all fallen angels that are yet to be born
I don't know the direction of lost
I'm beheaded by my sad poignant television
Of a poem that struggles to connect half the dots
Bringing forth a feast of blurred lines
That continues to linger even as it lets the lovely wash over you
In the forever missteps that are in its glittering boughs
Down by a seaward bay where the echoes of tumbling fiddles
In this dog-eared light freeze all apples on their trees
And is even in the veins of seeds that tick like sea blown clocks
In the midnight thistle that grows so wild in the plague of blood red gardens
Where deliciously the moon is covered in seaweed as summer's singing birds
Become my shrunken anthill until rose gold like a tiger's eye
I become disembodied in a gallery of Picassos
Where I drink away my fading as smudges of train whistles
Turn into raw cathedral bells every time



Once the Gremlins are Loosed

The owl in the sea sand is a song
You can't quit playing
Not even now that the sunlight is in ruins as
The bones of a storm rolling across
The milky twilight of the desert
Becomes an nocturnum silver sequined
And there is a spinning wheel
In the leaves that form the autumn's
Turrets that rise up above the pole stars of an ocean
That is thoughtful beyond all paintings
And torn and fragile its toy box wings
Do beat across grape sugar vineyards
That pale the centuries where the nightingales
Put on a gilded minstrel show
Near where the chill waves melt
Like the adoration of a fine boned blond
Naked in the bearded tides
While the galloping thunderbolts
Above pastures made of blood
Become her petticoats of moonlight



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.