Kenneth, loves satire and writings to spotlight others, but he also has an "addiction" so to speak, to dramatic and abstract/prose poetry.
I see you sleeping in the mill, oh sweet lonely daffodil
A shy, petite woman whose heart sits with me until
Sundown, oh, lovely daffodill, sing sweetly, soft, so shril
I watch your eyes laughing, asking a dawn's rosy hill.
A white crane hears clearly, your silky cries
That die qutetly while toads dance, the raven flies.
You wink left eye in raindrop tiara priceless ties
I hunger thrice and never entice your dusky skies.
Laugh, oh, sleepy, lazy daffodil so young
And yet so given in wisdom in the womb
I've touched your image in brook near silent tomb
And walk slowly not speaking a prisoner's tongue.
Cry, oh, young, strong and everlasting daffodil
And seek a never asked question when pains I feel.
While wolves devour my worried care
And brush your golden hair with moondust fair.
Can we sit on rainbow arc, silly daffodil?
And talk wildly with salty men who grind the mill?
Oh, tiny daffodill, a teardrop on your eyelash I see
Wondering where tomorrow is and where we will be.
Break no softly-carried chains about you, weeping daffodil
Softly talking inside my breast and hands hold till.
Roses bow. Day in late vision while trolls dancing their will.
While holding your vision in my heart of light ages real.
Ne'er take thy sharp sword to me, princess daffodil
Ne'er take my tears for events that I will never feel.
Only touch my hand in sincere gesture, lovely friend
Unloose the dark murderers of caves at the end.
And stop . . .seeing, knowing that liars knew you, daffodil
Vocal, stepping silken lies some with writing quill.
Oh, tender daffodill, I give you a caressed rose for thee
Praying silently that only now you embrace with me.
Sit quietly in my carriage, oh gentle daffodil
And hear your ladyship's sweet laughter serene.
Ride softly not speaking the master's cabinet lean.
Oh, lover, lover, soft daffodil, we sing--lightning rings.
Sweet little daffodil
I'll build your forevers--I will. I will.
© 2017 Kenneth Avery