Three poems by Ken L. Jones

I Regret

My tearfully exquisite mistress sounds just like when you were small
And standing by a melting fire place's slivers of echoes
Where those mandalas of fractured winter
In that unmoving autumn town
That too soon gave way to boulevards
That can feast on all that is impressive
And where Warhol's muse first brought down
And pierced his skull with all that embraces
And that came out of nowhere



Gone Too Soon

The afterbirth of Achilles' secrets is a moving porridge and
I am lost and I am calling in this galaxy of laughing gas
For I am but a sad clown made of diamonds
Glued to the most brutal of all televisions
That delicately sings that she was
Always all human boundaries broken
Even if it was far, far in the past




Split Logs

Once the secrets of the cosmos were in every bottle of milk
Till the Green Man bade me to follow the path
Of Art Spiegelman and other magicians like that
Away from the lazy quilt work of mandolins
And the lullabies that were the crabs
Back in that coldest winter of other people's bad trips
When the tears of a clown only hinted at our looks up wonderingly
At the night sky to that land that never was nor bothered to ask why
Where in a speck of fountain dancing once upon a time
Was watched ceaseless moments through the big keyhole of renunciation
That over shadows even yours and was like
Evangelists walking upon the airless moon
Not yet ready to disclose anything even soon
Until those gob smacked timelines formed a tapestry
Really, really immortal yet gone too soon
Where we became silver hitchhikers marooned
In the shadows of pumpkins like puppets dancing
As we set off upon a quest for unsung diamonds
To where all melodies of memories took their final rest
As we rode on melting into this transplanted century of cardboard launderomats
And clocks that most gingerly like surfer girls who fall and swim away
Tick tock on relentlessly through night and day
And yet there were kaleidoscopes of poetry that still serve me well
In this reaping of those summers and all they did foretell
That has fled though leaving a selfish wine behind
That glimmers like the midnight stardust of unremembered climes
That as I come back to consciousness in dawn's fractured light
Sends me quick to this pen where upon paper I confess once again
That all that attracts the bee still acts similarly on me
In the white light of so long as there is an ocean anywhere






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.