A lake as still as still — a cloudless sky —
A bird-less forest — silent as the page,
That monk-like sits reflecting for an age
On pious deeds exalted upon high,
The page gilded in wisdom, lauded by
Its maker’s peers, wherein is set the stage
For Nature’s bountied beauty — I give homage
Unto its gifted craftsman, one that I
Have oft’ with envious eyes admired afar,
And matchless to his art, have grasped for skill
Far far above my grade — From him to me
Has come a gift as bright as Keats' Bright Star —
        Unto thy lake, may this stone rend the still,
        And loose thy songbird skywards, Timothy.

We sat atop the remnants of a spire
That counted once the heavens its domain —
The storm that laid it low no more held claim
Unto that heart, that served still to inspire,
And we — we sat beneath a sky of sapphire
Inlaid with gold, a ring of Helios flame —
And ghosts passed by, and curious spirits came
And flickered over our hill like lilies afire

And leaving hence, I felt a bitter chill,
The numbing frost-touched fingers of the dead
That rent my soul and tore my heart asunder —
Such wounds infect the heart, the soul, the head,
And evermore resound inside as thunder —
Their chattering grating voices haunt me still.

The crash of crystal breaking at a party
Draws jeers of laughter from the self-same few
Who claim, when morning comes, they never knew
Of idle boasts that grew to plans more hearty,
And pressed, would say from him we stood apart.  We
Were bold and brash but unlike those who slew
The *******, and the dark skinned, and the jew,
We upheld values of society.
The coward hides in plain sight in a crowd
And adds voice to the clamour, not as one
Who acts alone, subverting evil schemes,
But like as one so small, so ill endowed,
That when the hardy revellers are gone,
His empty life holds nothing but their dreams.

Ye men so coward of poor Uganda,
Why dost thou comfortably rest in bed
As though crimes extant all propaganda,
And overlook the rising toll of dead?
Ah, night is nigh, rise now or nevermore,
For deep in dungeons lies thy dear child
Who should have lifted thy hope from the floor
That bliss as merry birds spark in the wild,
As such would bloom again upon thy land
That now lies in a sepulchre of sorrow,
As of a pirate prostrate by the strand
With faded hope to sight a new rainbow.
  O rise up now and fight for thy freedom,
  Before the land sinketh in lasting doom.



©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Kampala, Uganda, 20th.August.2018.

#Shakespearean sonnet

Da Dum Da Dum - melodic sonnet beat,
Ten syllables on each and ev'ry line;
Enough to put the reader fast asleep,
And don't forget the **** thing has to rhyme.
Just fourteen lines exact, no more - no less,
To revel in some tantalising plot;
Two short quatrains endeavour to address,
And introduce the who, the where, the what.
Then just four lines to tell a second tale,
That wends and weaves on some tangential route,
To set the scene that leads to the unveil
As if the reader gives a flaming hoot!
       A rhyming couplet finishes the tryst,
       To hit them with that all important twist!

They sit atop a low wall kicking heels,
Pyjamas draped in bathrobes pulled-to tight
To ward Antarctic winds — Nearby the squeals
Of blues and twos betray the mortal plight
Of some ill-fated soul — A fog bank peels
Up from their glowing embers, for in spite
Of coughing blood and dragging drips on wheels,
Collective will has long since lost the fight —

And did they think as children at the flicks,
As war was sold with glory, did they think
As Bogart raised a lucifer to his lips
How Tinseltown might guide them to this brink,
And just like Fleming’s catcher tempt them in
With candy coloured cartons and a grin?

During youth I was quite the collector
of ocean ******'s annealed sandcastles
Though the hosts inside could not be cheaper,
their fleshy coats were worth all the hassles

Content I was amassing worn seashells;
monthly did this fine collection accrue
Though furnished, barren felt those wooden shelves,
as even pearls are lesser than a jewel

Still, the sand was warm; the waves were soothful
and regardless of what hollowness struck,
the beach granted a chance to feel fruitful
so long as one had either skill or luck

Alone was I, but daresay not lonely,
but I was not merry until married.

To own a house has always been the dream,
Or so the kids are told — And so they yearn,
And enter servitude to pay to learn,
Amassing debts that pile up till they seem

As tall as any townhouse — Graduation
Goes by, and now they need a car to ply
For work to save to buy some old pig sty,
And banks will lend (subject to valuation) —

And so, kids born with nothing now have less,
And toil their life to pay the debts they owe,
And teach kids of their own how they should go
To lend to spend to learn to have success,

And buy a house to live the American dream,
Or wake from debt-fuelled nightmare with a scream.

me thinks a sonnet is very hard to write
putting it on paper doth require skill
one must show the ease of a carefree kite
whence applying each and every ink spill
there's no room for bad mistakes being made
the formatting should carry the right tone
as stated by Will who knew of poetic trade
penning many hundreds in iambic cone
one did dare Shakespeare's enduring trail
on attempting his fourteen line layout
oh yes the challenging road did prevail
depicting a time honoured rhyming rout
with couplet concise one shall fly away
leaving a poem of red roses in May