Ken L. Jones
There’s something creeping
Round the room in my pipe smoke 
Something cold and sly  
It is not sinister but curious 
And I sense that it was once alive
It touches me with tendrils  
That have not gender 
As if to question my flesh 
And I sense in its presence questions 
 Ah yes and a few regrets  
It’s no more than a memory 
That has refused to die 
It has no concept to 
Move on to and so 
On the winds it flies
I am not troubled but tolerant
 For I am a knowledgeable man
And I sense no malice in its intent  
Only a need for me to understand 
It tells its story to me 
It is one I know so well 
It believes in neither  
Hell nor Heaven 
And so on the Earth it must dwell 
I offer it my sympathy  
I condole it with my advice  
Then it departs as quickly as it arrived  
Leaving the air like ice.  
Ken L. Jones has been writing professionally for several decades. Although he has written everything from Donald Duck comic books to putting words in the mouth of Freddy Krueger in the movies he likes to think of himself first last and always as a poet.  Currently he is working on a short horror movie with his son and sometimes collaborator Kevin for horror director David Todd Ocvirk. When not doing that he is also writing an insane amount of horror and other types of genre short stories and novellas and is editing three or four huge collections of his never ending flow of poetry including a volume of his much published horror work Blood Is Red which will be his second solo book of horror poetry.  


 
 
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