I am a short story writer, a poet and an artist. I have written 103 books of poetry over the past several years and 18 novels. I am always looking for an audience. I have published 652 poems, 678 short stories, and 131 pieces of art in over 236 periodicals, books and anthologies as well as in 11 radio broadcasts. I have been published by Static Movement, The Stray Branch, Write On!!! (Poetry Magazette), The Fringe and Necrology Shorts. I have been Published in England, Australia, Canada, Japan, Thailand, Mauritius, Italy, France, Germany, China, Spain and India. I am a member of The Fiction Guild, The Poet’s society as well as The Isles Poetry Association and The Dark Fiction Guild. (My art is viewable at face book, will806095@bellsouth.net) The following are my websites.

*Website-SwampLit (RonnieWK.weebly.com)

* Website-Shadows at Night-Tide (Shadowsatnighttide.weebly.com)

* Website-WolfFray.Blogspot.com

* Website- Ravenswont.blogspot.com

* E-Magazine/Website- FarthermostDream.Blogspot.Com

* Website- Marageinblame.blogspot.com

*E-Magazine/website-Ethrealsouls.blogspot.com

Sincerely

Ron Koppelberger

Yearning Delights

The fond with trust unto adventures in aching desire, in

Proposals of wagered warmth, in unruffled caprice

And ready wills of cause, the impermeable smile,

Nevertheless a compelling quality of flowing secret

Anticipation, in avenues of tender yield, the marvel of

Imbued attentions in exquisite amore, in form and sure devices

Of love. The rapture in adoring dreams and sleepy

Devotions, in yearning delights of bliss

And beauty. 

Moss and Damp Earth

The row in another soul, a spirit in notorious deserts

Of breath, a course in textures of spider silk

And orange guttering fire, the conforming hiss

In empathy with stones and dust heavy darlings,

A coalescence in black shades of evening desire,

Childlike, racy wind whispering the wont of aghast,

Bursting blood and evanescent seduction.

To fall, to drift down with the autumn locus and

Shadowy touch of specters and speckled eyes

Of prophecy, the sense of moss and damp earth,

Listening in wait,

                                       In twilight ice.

 

Alive

Broken clay and parched sandy river-beds, found

In pilgrims rest and ancient coaches, rushed by wind

And savage suns, by the need for survival and

Bidden applause, an earthen asylum of emerald

And glass, borne by the wont of dry eyes and

Rippling waves of hungry heat, by desolate forever’s

And tides of willing wonder, a dream found waking

And colored blue, azure swallows of heralded release,

A hesitant grant shouted to the heaven’s,

“By God, I’m alive.”  

Dark Eyed Dreams

Apparitions in secret traces of illusion, the semblance of what’s embodied

In the design of pointy fangs and sharp purchases in ash,

By half-moon shadows and dark eyed dreams in

Silver and gray horizons, revolving by measures of ancient drama

And flowing blood, the manifest soul in banshee screams

Of ascension and gasping ghost,

Bidden by the portents of wraiths in stony soils

Of fear.  

Dreams of Ash

Luscious ages of heat and wandering

Ceremony, a breach in the seams of clean

Wash and the sterile darkness’s borne of

Amber hued desire, of cold syrup, of larks

In decay and eyes birthed scarlet, tempered

By the wishes of another, the palace of grins

And ghouls, of distress and dreams of ash.  

The Setting Sun

Frightening, disposed to the wills of a day gone to

The silhouette of a reverie in shaded masks and spider

Weave, the delicate wont of a sure raging

Glance to the west then the setting sun at twilight fray,

By the vision of skeletons in bone dust

Anew and tender hands unwrapping the sweet sanctity

Of heaven.