‘Twas many moons ago in fled days of yore,
In a distant realm of a golden shore,
When there dwelt a maiden of golden hair,
The last fairest by the name of Lenore.

The sweetness of her mellifluous voice,
Like only Angels of high heaven can make;
The beaminess of her impeccable face,
Reflections of a dawn sun-kissed lake.

Once by a golden noontide, so they say,
Perfectly salubrious was the day,
Fairly enriched by heaven's fairest ray
That Lenore chose to potter by the bay.

She marveled at so wide a limpid sea,
That was a vast luminous blue millpond,
Whispering mellifluous lullabies
Like of Angels upon heaven's compound.

“O sea, thou art lovely like a sweet dream,”
Quoth Lenore, “In thy waters I must swim.”
Hence as quick as a plummeting sunbeam,
In waters jumped the little seraphim.

Frosted in sheer elation she galloped
Upon the crest of so gentle a wave,
But every sea creature lifted its head,
Whilst doleful as marigold by a grave,

And in faint whispers didst bid her adieu,
"Farewell Lenore," till she was out of view,
Away where mortals of yore never knew,
Away where none canst ever have a clue.

In a while, the sun had shone her last ray
And solitary stars were beaming bright
Upon heaven's timelessly stonking bay,
But she still alone In the dead of night.

By luck, on yonder was a galleon
Of a sundeck decked with bright neon,
Her glossy sails as if from diamond hewn,
With words golden blazoned upon her stern:

Come thou little maiden, come thou aboard,
But little did innocent Lenore know,
At the back words in clear ruby-red read:
“To the kingdom of eternal sorrow.”

Not so long faded the night, dawn was nigh,
Heaven's molten gold began oozing by,
Whilst silvery clouds waltzed athwart the sky,
That Lenore's eyes slavered with ecstasy.

But then, there came a dog in the manger,
A hateful wave assailed the galleon
And heavens raged with roaring thunder
That echoed louder than the hungriest lion.

Tossing her where the sea kisses the skies,
Hence now but a speck on the horizons,
And there she galloped by and by downwards
Till wrecked upon shadowy blue islands

That bore words by the shores: “Little maiden,
Welcome thou to the kingdom of Nineva,
Where mortals shalt see thee never again,
For here you'll dwell forever and ever.”

This sent poor Lenore reeling far in mind
That with cinder-like eyes stumbled behind
But her galleon she could hardly find
For it had long vanished into the wind.

But hark! Yonder woods sprang a companion,
A lad whose names were Edgar Alan Poe;
Bestrode upon a snowy fair stallion
Who unto her whispered softly and low:

“If the moon be fair, then thy skin fairer,
If the stars be bright, then thine eyes brighter,
If snow be white, then thy lip’s gems whiter,
If the sun be hot, then thy hair hotter,

Then tell me, what bringeth thou to Nineva,
A realm of eternal sorrow and fear,
Where no mortal hath escaped ever,
But ever doomed in dungeons of despair?”

Despite her visage was lugubrious,
Her worries were all now but fugacious,
That yonder fair floral woods susurrous
Galloped whilst trees sang in tunes mellifluous.

For Edgar’s words of kindness had soothed her
Now doth she beam with ethereal luster
Like of night lanterns upon heavens shore
Scintillating in a wondrous cluster.

Alas! strange and covetous myriad eyes
By yon brier coveted the beauty queen
That as passes a fiend in the night skies
Did spy upon her with eyes all unseen

'Tis then when Edgar was away hunting
Whilst the beauty queen was all alone singing
When those dreamy figures came whispering
Amongst each other whilst wildly smiling.

Bestrode upon many a snowy fair horse,
Their strange faces, as pale as death her self.
Their voices, as if thousand snakes didst hiss,
Betwixt them, there lordly sprang an elf

Who unto her said, "how sweet thou dost sing,
Thy melodious voice would so please our king,
Unto thee, rubies and pearls shalt he bring,
Of banished gold shalt be thy nuptial ring."

"Nay", softly replied the little maiden,
To thy king I canst not walk down the isle,
For in violent love I'm with a swain,
Thy king's treasures outweigh not his smile.

"Wretch", why dost thou abhor our proposal?
For soon thou art to regret having done so,
So cried the elf, "opting for a mortal
Than a mighty king who is immortal"?

"Hark! Fair moon, see that morrow by noontide
Thou art by the edge of yon verdant moor,
For then thou shalt come with us yonder side
Neath the sea, and dwell with us evermore."

At this, a wild wind danced by many a leaf
And so vanished the strange troop of the elf
That she busted with a sigh of relief
Though deep within, her soul kindled with grief.

Not long, news sprinkled into the swain's ear
Who gathered a troop of a thousand men
Each bearing a bow, a hummer and spear,
All ready to guard the beauty queen.

When came morrow, they took little Lenore
And laid her beneath a lone sycamore
That stood by the edge of a lonely moor,
And then all matched towards the shingly shore.

No army led by any hostile king
Towards them could ever come any near.
There job was great that they did chant and sing
Songs of triumph of the fled days of yore.

Alas! To match towards the sycamore,
There pale and cold laid innocent Lenore
With not any single bone of poor her
Broken, but her breath taken evermore.

Mute, forlon, and motionless stood the swain
With bitter tears galloping from his eye,
With his soul 'neath a sepulchre of pain
That from yon day on, the realm he did curse.

For in Nineva, a realm dim and deep,
There not a mean ray of light canst now creep,
And there all creatures night and day dost weep
Till sweet Lenore wakes from eternal sleep.


©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros, Kampala, Uganda. 16th.July.2018.

#tale #adventure #fantasy #Lenore #EdgarAlanPoe #Nineva

in the grey, churning mill pond at the bottom of the garden
grows pale flax root and creeping ivy.
the wisps of wood are twisted and knotted
that's why, when i am five or six,
i peer into the icy water. I peer and yet I cannot see
the tendrils of flax root, so I wade in, stick legs blue from cold
and skirt floating like a kelpie's mane in the water around me.
It is still too dark to find my flax and ivy.
I brace my pink, shiny face and 1,2,3!
I plunge in, submerged as i squat in the millpond's murk.
Muffled screams from my mother, which I do not heed, as i finally touch the flax and ivy roots on the far bank.
Suddenly i am wrenched from my cool, quiet, muddy hole,
and later my father nails boards over the millpond, and all my little roots must wither and die from lack of sunlight.
my memories of that pond grow clouded
like tadpole water and sodden murk

Bounty snatched and safely stashed
         Bare the yielded land
Fringed wilderness displays her wares
   Palms open outstretched hand

      Tawny millpond stubble seas
         are lifted wave by wave
  Mechanically exposed, tossed over
     Broken, pummeled flat again

     Cool the calm September days
     Winter clothes as yet we shun
Creeping through our summer weave
Dead men's fingers tell of what's to come

Love is truly canny,
Rages like a storm,
Quiet as a millpond.
(On a still day, for sure)
Twisting and turning,
Tugging us here and there,
Turning us inside out,
Laying us low, flying high,
Departing, returning,
Cursing and praising.
The perfect love, hah!
Matter of perspective,
Where we are in life.
Love is linked with time,
Time is a fickle *****,
Turning on us unexpectedly,
Just as we have it all wired,
Running out on us,
Leaving in the blink of an eye.
(Why bother? Hmm, anyone?)
Well, we choose to bother,
Just because love is good,
For some it is all there is,
Why else are we here?
If you have love, so lucky,
Cherish, cuddle, hold,
Tomorrow is another day.

©Paul M Chafer 2015

you woke me up in
april storms and may flowers.
i can't recall the place or
the time or or even
what you wore, but i remember you.

i prayed for rain that
dry, unwelcome summer.
god never liked unwelcome
requests and rain dances and
unwavering smiles.
god laughed at me that summer.

autumn approached and
i fell hard into your
warm millpond, and i felt
your love. but god did not
grant me the serenity i felt
i deserved. and so i'd
wade around, waiting.

the day you held my frigid
fingertips, you plucked my heartstrings.
my mind, soaked in thought and
misery, could not keep up
with the way you made my heart
beat.

we didn't believe in the
superstition of umbrellas or the
well-understood chance of rain.
perhaps it was by happenstance that i
drowned under the taste of your lips
that cold july day.

and now i stand at
this taciturn train station with
my eyes to the sky, waiting for it
to pour, to pour. i never believed
in the forecast until it told me
there was a 60% chance of seeing you.

On a hurricane it came.
Knocked down the old wooden fence.
Melted it.
Was a dark night.

The night the sky cried a torrent.
Ripped landfill inside out.
******* thrown across the land.
Compliments of bad weather's hand.
Battered fish deep in the pond.
Was not a millpond placid.

The landscape melted.
Courtesy.
Reigning acid.
The queen of the stormy skies!


By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

the air outside is still
as though the world
is a living room
and the trees furniture
shouts arousing fear
sound close at hand
aggressive threatening
as though directed at me
a tiny spider crawls
up the front of my shirt
one of those that makes
a web of your head
and itches all day
a car more noise than power
echoes it's exhaust sound
round the terraced houses
then
all becomes quiet
as though waves have
mellowed into a millpond
a bird sings
the most haunting beautiful
refrain,  lonely chanteuse
filling the airwaves
finally I sleep again

little man,
you are, skipping stones,
across the millpond,
of your mother's heart.

you are not a monkey
in the jungle
or a superhero in flight
you are breakable,
not undestructable...
and we are not always
there when you jump...

as much as i would like to be

The last time I beheld her comely eyes
That are as halcyon as a millpond,
Thrice brighter than colliding galaxies
That proudly waltz upon heaven's compound,
Girthed I by a bizarre brume of dismay.
The same that once saw me as a lover,
Scowled as of a knight at his enemy,
Clouded with despair as wilted Stover,
Thus as tumbles a withered leaf to ground,
So dropped I unto my quivering knees,
Whispered a serenade in a soft sound
Fairer than of a zephyr to wild trees,

But she dimmed her novelty shine away,
Never to beam upon me since yon day.


**Kikodinho Edward Alexandros. 7th.Nov.2017. Jumeirah, Dubai.