Home » Poems » Best » Ken Rone » Best Ken Rone Poems

Best Poems Written by Ken Rone

Below are the all-time best Ken Rone poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Ken Rone Poem

Fo'C's'Le - a Dream

fo'c·'sle /'fohksel/ noun deriv: forecastle
1. the forward part of a ship below the deck, traditionally used as the crew's living quarters.
2. historical: a raised deck at the front of a ship.

With the equinox illuminating a fortnight of recovery
On pelts spread like Ionian jars left askew,
My flame-keep sparked alight against the doldrums of
Greed. Stagnant and fetid.
My bark beats out a call stretched
Skin-tight over the sea’s virgin core
And sets trust aflame.

Ashes collected into the collated casks and
Corked with animus, Moon Girl pounded on.
Drumming a dirge on the tanner's own flesh.
Pounding the seed of echoing hope.
Pounding the corpus beat of life anew.

Those echoed my own harmony and emptied my ears.
My tunes would now be true and crisp.
My struggle to syncopate the middle eight
Was like on the saltchuck the time before.
Before we crossed the bar,
Breakers chasing, pounding aft of stern.

Now in the glow of the coal oil lamp
Sat The Dane who came to trade.
He mumbled a Chinookian curse and winced.
He sensed my mariner's cred, how I lit my smoke;
Muscle memory and addiction married in my subconscious.

But His eyes would never sense the venomous flow
Of the seabreak distant,
Like hounds baying to the highway of stars
And up to the dunes ran with phosphorescent faces
Fermenting the blackness.
Hell-hounds bounding.
Lungs pounding.
Driving on.

River may lick Disappointment’s shanks
But Drake’s gold remains unfound.
The cavities carved along the capes
Echo an emptied ethos and sapped spirit
Which salal and sage cannot clense.

Walk with me now Sister Ilchee.
Beat your dirge
Along the pock-marked ports of plunder
Laid before the flattened corpse of
Ebbing freedom found.

Details | Ken Rone Poem

Highway Wind

I drive the night because of open road.
My retreads are sounding strong.
Hauling cars up from New Orleans
Where I'm not sure that I belonged.

Traded whiskey for a woman
At a bar in Abilene.
Then a long haul up to Portland town
Helped along by methadrine.
                
There’s a lady there in Stumptown
She dances on the pole
Makes her pay in dollar bills
She's never ever home

Daylight fades and night descends
Men come, await their fate.
She sucks them dry and infects their soul,
Relights her lamp and waits…

She goes to church on Sunday.
Always comes in late.
She says a prayer, she sheds a tear,
puts food stamps in the plate.

Dropped my load down at the docks
there's a motel by the sea.
Homebase for my Peterbilt
That's parked out by the tree 

Called her up, the kids are home.
I hear them laughining on the phone.
Grandma says to call again,
She'll tell her I'm in town.

“Yea. tell her I'm in town again
And kiss the kids for me,
Gotta leave on Tuesday”.
Hung up and fell asleep.

The phone rang in the morning.
The call was short and sweet.
She had some things she had to do,
Didn’t think that we could meet.

Fueling up, the fog horns moan.
Red pills to feed the beast.
A woman left back in the fog.
A white line headed east.

  Look at my life
       Some say I've sinned.
           My dreams were blown away 
                 By the cruel ... 
                        Highway Wind.

Details | Ken Rone Poem

The Park Bench

shade moves down the bench
   I shift my seat to stay warm ~
           the cloud finds me yet



Submitted: 4/16/21 for Line Gauthier's one Haiku Contest
Award: co-champion, 1st Place. 4/22/21

Details | Ken Rone Poem

Golf Love

Play life together
Trust faith and putt your ball true ~
    The hole will widen.

Details | Ken Rone Poem

Beach Maiden

A fair maid took a stroll on the beach,
In the moonlight while eating a peach.
        Afraid the juice dripping down
        Might soil her gown,
She doffed it and juice ran down each.

Details | Ken Rone Poem

Lil' Richie

A butcher named Richard McCall
Attended a naturist ball.
        But at registration,
        Due to refrigeration,
His name tag read "Dickie McSmall".

Details | Ken Rone Poem

Dry Goods Store '62

The scent of linen,
Slacks, creams, leather. Mellow tunes.
Soft muted bustle.

	We move promptly to our quest.
	In the purse, Mom’s hard won cash.
 ~
The shoe department...
Always with my size and style.
The well-groomed salesman,

	His warm charm sooths my unease
	At the cold chrome size device.
  ~
Brylcreem, tweed, Old Spice.
Soft caring hands hold my feet.
New shoes. Perfect fit.

	And now, such memories past
	Bring warm solace to my years.


* Reworked version submitted in tanka format.

Details | Ken Rone Poem

Roslyn Coal Mine

Twenty-two miles to the Roslyn mine.
Two blocks beyond, ten headstones you'll find.
All dated the same the registry claims,
though the wind, the ice and acidified rain 
have disfigured and stolen the names of those souls.
My tears they might wash and reveal some of those
but are wasted. They run down my nose.

The #4 Mine blew out in ‘09.
Now ten graves lay neatly in line.
Each man skipped the Army to work underground, 
found eternal peace and never were found. 
Twenty got out, then the fan house she blew 
from an explosion of black damp allowed to accrue.
Ten lives disappeared in the dust and the fumes
And in the dark they were buried like in Brigadoon

I left by the toll road, crested the pass, 
crystal streams from Lakedale my compass. 
To a sacred valley of aspen and ash. 
Ten decades to heal now, tears looking back.

historylink.org/File/9182      
   and    images.findagrave.com/photos/2020/49
/19026379_61b0f05c-4e3f-4938-82d3-5f06c999da64.jpeg

Details | Ken Rone Poem

Chino Cim 91708

The guards said I couldn't make it 
But, there's one not talking now.
     He not talking now. 
They’ll find him in the morning
When you hear that siren howl. 

I've been running through the bushes, 
Through the canyons and the trees.
     Through the trees.
I've been running for my life baby. 
I've been running to get free. 

I'm riding on the night train, 
The bus just takes too long.
     Just too damn long.
No body there can know me 
But the engine knows my song. 

I’m going down Colorado. 
Two days and I’ll be there.
     Coming there. 
I gots to find you woman, 
Run my fingers through your hair.

Keep out of sight babe, 
Stay low until I come.
     I promised I’d come.
I’ll be knowin’ where to find you 
If you keeps your porch light on.

Now they got those bright lights on me
But the lights they're turning black. 
     Slowly turning black.
I ain’t going’ back to Chino, 
Got a bullet in my back. 

Now if you see sweet Angeline, 
Softly tell her that I'm done. 
     My freedom’s done.
But though my broken heart ain’t beatin’,
My soul keeps running on.