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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