O World! O Life! O Time!
On whose last steps I climb,
Trembling at that where I had stood before;
When will return the glory of your prime?
No more—Oh, never more!

Out of the day and night
A joy has taken flight:
Fresh spring, and summer, and winter ****
Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight
No more—Oh, never more!

The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of Heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single,
All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle—
Why not I with thine?

See the mountains kiss high Heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea—
What are all these kissings worth
If thou kiss not me?

And what poem might suit thou, love?
When at once I thought of a nonet,
A voice whispered from clouds above,
"Nay, better would be a sonnet."

In a while before thinking twice,
Another sharply pierced mine ear;
"Better would it be in free verse,
Lend no ear unto Shakespeare."

When I thought of one of a kind,
Another said, "better would be a ballad,
And if thou art not mentally blind,
It goes down well while takin' a salad."

Shortly after I'd employed this clue,
Another said, "better would be a limerick
Whilst taking some gin and rotten stew,
To win so fair a maiden that's the trick."

Nay, quoth another, obsolete are all rules,
To neither lend no ear nor Lear,
For he's the chief of the realm of fools,
A crown he holds for many a year.

"Screech no more like a wingless bird,"
Quoth another. "Thy queen's beauty
Is but peerless and thee, blind bard,
Thy quill canst not tell of her beauty?"

At this , I bethought of her raven hair,
Her ivory skin gaily than a silvern moon,
Her eyes that no luster of star doth near,
And I- I fully drowned in a sea of shame.


©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Los Angels, California, USA.
          10/31/2018

The minstrels played their Christmas tune
To-night beneath my cottage-eaves;
While, smitten by a lofty moon,
The encircling laurels, thick with leaves,
Gave back a rich and dazzling sheen,
That overpowered their natural green.

Through hill and valley every breeze
Had sunk to rest with folded wings:
Keen was the air, but could not freeze,
Nor check, the music of the strings;
So stout and hardy were the band
That scraped the chords with strenuous hand.

And who but listened?—till was paid
Respect to every inmate’s claim,
The greeting given, the music played
In honour of each household name,
Duly pronounced with ***** call,
And “Merry Christmas” wished to all.

Grab my hand
i'll take you to my wonderland
where tears are left unshed
and dreams do not play dead

Maybe we'll go on
a spring leaf fawn
warm nights drunken dreary
waiting for dreams nice and clearly

Or maybe we'll argue all night
splurged by my own fright
thunder clouds of disaster
claiming their rightful master...