Bring me thou my *** of poetry ink,
Oh bring me thou my quill of a pheasant
And in a sea of beauty I'll thus sink

In a helter-skelter than stars dost blink.
I’ll give up my rubies, pearls and bezant
And in a sea of beauty ill thus sink,

To deepest ends where no mortal can think
And pen my Lass poetry so pleasant.
Bring me thou my *** of poetry ink,

Fair violets, jasmines, and roses pink
So I may brew the finest philter scent
And in a sea of beauty ill thus sink.

Since all near not the perfume from her cheek
That no Eden’s flower bore till present,
Bring me thou my *** of poetry ink

Ere maidens upon the heavens dost wink.
Oh bring me thou my quill of a pheasant,
Bring me thou my *** of poetry ink
And in a sea of beauty I’ll thus sink.


©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Los Angels, California, USA.
          10/24/2018

She wakes me up deep in the night.

I understand you, she smiles
snuggling into me, her nose,
pressed cotton soft on my cheek

I have no strength, I cry
not one, for you

I love your weakness
love you for your weakness
her breath wafts into mine

and the boy stuck in his age
floats in the web
of the girl forever
forgiving.

Strange fits of passion have I known:
  And I will dare to tell,
But in the lover’s ear alone,
  What once to me befell.

When she I loved look’d every day
  Fresh as a rose in June,
I to her cottage bent my way,
  Beneath an evening moon.

Upon the moon I fix’d my eye,
All over the wide lea;
With quickening pace my horse drew nigh
Those paths so dear to me.

And now we reach’d the orchard-plot;
And, as we climb’d the hill,
The sinking moon to Lucy’s cot
Came near and nearer still.

In one of those sweet dreams I slept,
Kind Nature’s gentlest boon!
And all the while my eyes I kept
On the descending moon.

My horse moved on; hoof after hoof
He raised, and never stopp’d:
When down behind the cottage roof,
At once, the bright moon dropp’d.

What fond and wayward thoughts will slide
Into a lover’s head!
‘O mercy!’ to myself I cried,
‘If Lucy should be dead!’

Three years she grew in sun and shower;
Then Nature said, ‘A lovelier flower
  On earth was never sown;
This child I to myself will take;
She shall be mine, and I will make
  A lady of my own.

“Myself will to my darling be
Both law and impulse: and with me
  The girl, in rock and plain,
In earth and heaven, in glade and bower,
Shall feel an overseeing power
  To kindle or restrain.

‘She shall be sportive as the fawn
That wild with glee across the lawn
  Or up the mountain springs;
And hers shall be the breathing balm,
And hers the silence and the calm
  Of mute insensate things.

‘The floating clouds their state shall lend
To her; for her the willow bend;
  Nor shall she fail to see
Even in the motions of the storm
Grace that shall mould the maiden’s form
  By silent sympathy.

‘The stars of midnight shall be dear
To her; and she shall lean her ear
  In many a secret place
Where rivulets dance their wayward round,
And beauty born of murmuring sound
  Shall pass into her face.

‘And vital feelings of delight
Shall rear her form to stately height,
  Her ****** ***** swell;
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give
While she and I together live
  Here in this happy dell.’

Thus Nature spake—The work was done—
How soon my Lucy’s race was run!
  She died, and left to me
This heath, this calm, and quiet scene;
The memory of what has been,
  And never more will be.