Ahem, the night’s so long,
But hey, can’t be so wrong
To sing quite a silly song:

If you look at such a thing
With thine eyes round as a ring,
Ain’t the very silliest king.

Now I know you wonder
A king I am, but if you ponder
Enough like Homer’s Pandar,

You’ll know I’m the King of rhyme
And King of meter time after time.
This you’ll learn from clime to clime

Though the night’s pretty long,
But hey, you ain’t so wrong
To listen to such a silly song

Despite quite a funny thing
In mine eyes round as a ring,
That you’ve heed unto this king

All this while, my good friend!
Makes thee quite dumb in the end.
I say, close thine eyes and go to bed.


Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Tacoma, Washington. 03/19/2020.

If thou dost know thou art as silly as I am not to sleep in the dead of night but busy weaving word after word, thought after thought, that’s for thee Lol.

Winds from the mountain sail in ‘cross the sea,
Tree tops are whistling a wild melody;
Time, the old fiddler, has struck up his bow
As Summer flees south with the waning Sun’s glow —

Lock up the windows and seal all the doors,
A red mist is rising on these hallowed shores;
Shelves full to bursting and no one let in,
A storm is a-looming about to begin —

Footprints still rest in the places we’ve been,
Faltering short of new pastures unseen;
Untrodden pathways lead yonder away,
Unto an horizon, unto a new day —

Mist hides the morrow that lingers in wait
To greet weary travellers who pass by its gate;
Night is the shadow that cloaks all in fear,
Dawn is the beacon to beckon light near —

Out from the mist, from the dark, shall arise
A halo of sunlight to brighten the skies;
Sunrise and sunset shall be bookends, no more,
For days long since borrowed, and days still in store.

Though ebony waves might roar from the deep
And racing winds howl athwart a darkened sky,
Though gloomy clouds might scud and weep,
My lurve for thee, precious mom; shalt never die.

Though thunder might crash with bitterest ire
And doth blot the entire stupendous yonder sky
With strangest ire, more fierce than Hell’s fire,
My lurve for thee, precious mom; shalt never die.

For though I know the ocean is deep and wide
And infinite seemeth a sinking sky without a bend,
Hark thee, effulgent star! Enslaved in the universe
Are all the above, but my lurve for thee hath no end.


©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Tacoma, Washington 03/14/20.

Eons ago, in the far countryside,
Twixt a sequestered strange bush
Where early boughs grow wide
And rank, there dwelt a Thrush.

Not far off on yonder dwelt a dove
Whose feathers were as white as snow,
With eyes chatoyant than stars above,
And her nest of feathers of fairest glow.

One colorful morning, in a soft hum the dove
Cooed, “Dear Thrush, how sweet thy voice,
Nighly akin unto those of seraphim above,
Charming than of mermaids of a fairy sea!”

“Dear dove, how fair the hue of thy wings,”
Softly replied the Thrush. “Thrice more fair
Than multicolored maidens of golden rings
That fairly beam through the midnight air!”

And, on yon day in yon sequestered kingdom,
They made nuptial vows to walk down the aisle.
A new nest of thatches of gold was their home,
And there dost dwell evermore with a radiant smile.

© Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Los Angeles, California. 02/20/2020.

If the thrill of the hunt sets you a'flame
I long to be the man to play your game
But I'm not a beast to be satisfied with a bone
No "here's a scrap" now go on alone

For me, it's your divine feminine I pursue
The gods felt like showing off when they crafted you
Your sense, so dark, so deep, is what I'll follow
Don't short-shrift my time and make my efforts hollow

I'm in need of a feast - your body, your mind
My cravings won't end with wrinkled sheets and a bottle of wine.
Your flesh on my tongue is what I will savor
I'll eat you alive, if you'll return the favor.

I want to devour you whole
Your spirit, your soul
And once I've stripped you down to your core,
Only then, my dear, will we start the chase once more.

Upon dissipated streams of time,
In middle earth, in a fairy clime,
There once dwelt an aged man
Who’s tales were impeccably fun
Unto folks who lent him their ear
Whilst they sat entranced to hear
Him reeling off novelty folklore
Of goblins and dwarves of yore.
Of him legends go on and say
His tales glittered like a sun’s ray
Or silvery drops of dawn dew
Upon meadows of an emerald hue
Or the luster of the most effulgent star
That evermore beams forth from afar
Upon heaven’s timelessly stonking bay
In the most splendidly ineffable way.
Hearken ye ladies and gentlemen,
This’s no other than, J.R.R Tolkien.


© Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Los Angeles, California. 12/09/19.

Effulgence of the brightest star
That evermore beams from afar.

Resplendency of the dawn dew
Beaming forth with a silvery hue.

Opalescence of a neon rainbow,
Or the luster of winter snow.

Glitter of a moon-kissed sea
Murmuring with sheer glee.

Hues of a polychromatic sunset
Upon heaven's stonking gate.

Glow of buds of a rose-gold sheen,
Or snowy lilies by meadows green.

The sparkle of a sun-kissed stream
Whispering along like a sweet dream.


©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Los Angeles, California. 11/05/19.