Surprised by joy—impatient as the Wind
  I turned to share the transport—O! with whom
  But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recall’d thee to my mind—
  But how could I forget thee? Through what power,
  Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss?—That thought’s return
  Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
  Knowing my heart’s best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
  Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.

The hollow wind funneled the voice
of the distant night-train crossings,
awakening  a  familiar  silence
hanging from the vast wilderness sky
A restless heart hearkening the echoes,
imagining  a  runaway  Pullman
flew away off the rails,    airborne
on the winged wind headed north

Winter  pausing  for a moment
in  the  shadows  of  familiarity,
as if parsing the unspoken breathings
in an  echoless  surrendered sigh;
uncertain if tacit words set free
could ever allow a heart broken
        to feel whole again

There  is  no  absolving  voice
that whispers in a solemner tone :
        Death  has  no  mercy  ―  
love remains marooned in the wake ,..
and it feels like the world’s gone mad
letting time be the arbiter of perpetuity

The fading dream of a motherless child;
a wish to be held maternally
fell to the ground with a thud,
        breaking the silence,
dissipating formless as the shape of water

Muted cold lips so full of questions
morphing into fugitive sighs
come the unsettled night;
when shadows disappear like frail memories
that  passed  too  soon  to  grasp,
thickly palpable as the warm breath
a winter bird alone on frosty branch

There’s no fear in braving the darkness
in the  winter wilderness of life borne alone
There’s no way of knowing what you’ll find
down that long empty road back home
Life just flashes by silently before your eyes
        through the windshield
    of countless miles and miles

And there’s nothing you can do about it ―
It’s like hearing the moment of truth in a lie
when all I was looking for
was  how I got here in this now,.. yesterday

only finding a hopeless poet
scribbling  slightly stained pages,
spilling  a  bitter  sweet  dream ...


        harlon rivers ... February 2018


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A time will come when days are dark
Your lantern will not light a spark
The devil, then, will leave his mark
And night will sweep toward us

The darkness will blot out the light
And every hour will be as night
All of mankind will be a'fright
When the devil comes a'callin

But there is hope inside this tale
The sun will wipe away the vale
And then all wickedness will fail
We'll hear a brighter story

The Lord will come in chariots bright
He'll banish blackness, greet the light
His righteousness-oh what a sight
When He will come again

Like a warrior He will come
Into His loving arms we run
His brilliance is like the sun
He'll banish fear and sadness

The devil He will send away
In all His glorious bright array
We'll go to heaven where we'll stay
And live with Him forever

And when all things are said and done
And when the dark o'r takes the sun
upon the golden streets we'll run
And live with Him in glory

So take hope then, He's coming soon
To have the sun, wait out the moon
He sings a sweeter, richer tune
Hallelujah what a King

How pleasant to know Mr. Kiko
Whose nose is remarkably big—
Whose soul blazoned with a poetry freckle—
Whose black hair resembles a wig—
He who cometh from Uganda—
He who most of his poetry all to his lass—
Though some say, "such, such propaganda"—
But to Him as pure as green of grass.

How pleasant to know Mr. Kiko
Who sleepeth late in the dead of night
Gazing about ancient star's glow
That ever beam long and bright—
Bright—but not as his lass's limpid eyes
Bestowed never upon seraphim above—
Though some say—"such, such lies
Of a swain drownded in a pool of lurve."


©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros
Jumeirah, Dubai. 13th.Feb.2018.