In these rapid, restless shadows,
  Once I walked at eventide,
When a gentle, silent maiden,
  Walked in beauty at my side.
She alone there walked beside me
All in beauty, like a bride.

Pallidly the moon was shining
  On the dewy meadows nigh;
On the silvery, silent rivers,
  On the mountains far and high,—
On the ocean’s star-lit waters,
  Where the winds a-weary die.

Slowly, silently we wandered
  From the open cottage door,
Underneath the elm’s long branches
  To the pavement bending o’er;
Underneath the mossy willow
  And the dying sycamore.

With the myriad stars in beauty
  All bedight, the heavens were seen,
Radiant hopes were bright around me,
  Like the light of stars serene;
Like the mellow midnight splendor
  Of the Night’s irradiate queen.

Audibly the elm-leaves whispered
  Peaceful, pleasant melodies,
Like the distant murmured music
  Of unquiet, lovely seas;
While the winds were hushed in slumber
  In the fragrant flowers and trees.

Wondrous and unwonted beauty
  Still adorning all did seem,
While I told my love in fables
  ’Neath the willows by the stream;
Would the heart have kept unspoken
  Love that was its rarest dream!

Instantly away we wandered
  In the shadowy twilight tide,
She, the silent, scornful maiden,
  Walking calmly at my side,
With a step serene and stately,
  All in beauty, all in pride.

Vacantly I walked beside her.
  On the earth mine eyes were cast;
Swift and keen there came unto me
  Bitter memories of the past—
On me, like the rain in Autumn
  On the dead leaves, cold and fast.

Underneath the elms we parted,
  By the lowly cottage door;
One brief word alone was uttered—
  Never on our lips before;
And away I walked forlornly,
Broken-hearted evermore.

Slowly, silently I loitered,
  Homeward, in the night, alone;
Sudden anguish bound my spirit,
  That my youth had never known;
Wild unrest, like that which cometh
  When the Night’s first dream hath flown.

Now, to me the elm-leaves whisper
  Mad, discordant melodies,
And keen melodies like shadows
  Haunt the moaning willow trees,
And the sycamores with laughter
  Mock me in the nightly breeze.

Sad and pale the Autumn moonlight
  Through the sighing foliage streams;
And each morning, midnight shadow,
  Shadow of my sorrow seems;
Strive, O heart, forget thine idol!
  And, O soul, forget thy dreams!

Lo! ’tis a gala night
  Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
  In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
  A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
  The music of the spheres.

Mimes, in the form of God on high,
  Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly—
  Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
  That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
  Invisible Wo!

That motley drama—oh, be sure
  It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore,
  By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
  To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
  And Horror the soul of the plot.

But see, amid the mimic rout
  A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
  The scenic solitude!
It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs
  The mimes become its food,
And the angels sob at vermin fangs
  In human gore imbued.

Out—out are the lights—out all!
  And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
  Comes down with the rush of a storm,
And the angels, all pallid and wan,
  Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”
  And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

Gone be yon melted summer's day
Whilst shrouded in robes of sorrow
That never quill of a bard can portray
Nor years unborn may ever know
When a fair maiden pottered my way,
Gently as drops of descending snow.

Her eyes fairer than burnished gold
Illuminated the vast shadowy night,
Ebony hair upon her seraphic body rolled
With a diadem of reddest roses bedight
That swifter than a gallant knight so bold,
I plunged to Elysium at such a sight.

For she bore beauty of a silvery moon
In lone splendor upon heavens bay,
The pulchritude of sun beams by noon
Against the sea on a fine blazing day.
Now that love casted her novelty boon,
Timidly I gravitated towards her way

And in fables faintly whispered unto her:
"Little maiden, little maiden, little maiden,
O queen fairer than chalcedonic luster;
Are flowers of yonder golden Aidenn
More fair and redolent than thou are?"
This did gladden - I strayed in a garden;

Her garden of ethereal pulchritude
Where no mortal ever walked through
And now doth hearts gambol with glee
'Neath elm leaves bedight with stars above
That the beauty queen calls it balm of Gilead
To visit her garden - a garden of love.


©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Los Angels, California, USA
             12th/09/2018

Gaily bedight,
  A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
  Had journeyed long,
  Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.
  But he grew old—
  This knight so bold—
And o’er his heart a shadow
  Fell as he found
  No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.

And, as his strength
  Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow—
  “Shadow,” said he,
  “Where can it be—
This land of Eldorado?”

  “Over the Mountains
  Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
  Ride, boldly ride,”
  The shade replied,
“If you seek for Eldorado!”

Now the other princes of the Achaeans slept soundly the whole
night through, but Agamemnon son of Atreus was troubled, so that he
could get no rest. As when fair Juno’s lord flashes his lightning in
token of great rain or hail or snow when the snow-flakes whiten the
ground, or again as a sign that he will open the wide jaws of hungry
war, even so did Agamemnon heave many a heavy sigh, for his soul
trembled within him. When he looked upon the plain of Troy he
marvelled at the many watchfires burning in front of Ilius, and at the
sound of pipes and flutes and of the hum of men, but when presently he
turned towards the ships and hosts of the Achaeans, he tore his hair
by handfuls before Jove on high, and groaned aloud for the very
disquietness of his soul. In the end he deemed it best to go at once
to Nestor son of Neleus, and see if between them they could find any
way of the Achaeans from destruction. He therefore rose, put on his
shirt, bound his sandals about his comely feet, flung the skin of a
huge tawny lion over his shoulders—a skin that reached his feet-
and took his spear in his hand.
  Neither could Menelaus sleep, for he, too, boded ill for the Argives
who for his sake had sailed from far over the seas to fight the
Trojans. He covered his broad back with the skin of a spotted panther,
put a casque of bronze upon his head, and took his spear in his brawny
hand. Then he went to rouse his brother, who was by far the most
powerful of the Achaeans, and was honoured by the people as though
he were a god. He found him by the stern of his ship already putting
his goodly array about his shoulders, and right glad was he that his
brother had come.
  Menelaus spoke first. “Why,” said he, “my dear brother, are you thus
arming? Are you going to send any of our comrades to exploit the
Trojans? I greatly fear that no one will do you this service, and
spy upon the enemy alone in the dead of night. It will be a deed of
great daring.”
  And King Agamemnon answered, “Menelaus, we both of us need shrewd
counsel to save the Argives and our ships, for Jove has changed his
mind, and inclines towards Hector’s sacrifices rather than ours. I
never saw nor heard tell of any man as having wrought such ruin in one
day as Hector has now wrought against the sons of the Achaeans—and
that too of his own unaided self, for he is son neither to god nor
goddess. The Argives will rue it long and deeply. Run, therefore, with
all speed by the line of the ships, and call Ajax and Idomeneus.
Meanwhile I will go to Nestor, and bid him rise and go about among the
companies of our sentinels to give them their instructions; they
will listen to him sooner than to any man, for his own son, and
Meriones brother in arms to Idomeneus, are captains over them. It
was to them more particularly that we gave this charge.”
  Menelaus replied, “How do I take your meaning? Am I to stay with
them and wait your coming, or shall I return here as soon as I have
given your orders?” “Wait,” answered King Agamemnon, “for there are so
many paths about the camp that we might miss one another. Call every
man on your way, and bid him be stirring; name him by his lineage
and by his father’s name, give each all titular observance, and
stand not too much upon your own dignity; we must take our full
share of toil, for at our birth Jove laid this heavy burden upon us.”
  With these instructions he sent his brother on his way, and went
on to Nestor shepherd of his people. He found him sleeping in his tent
hard by his own ship; his goodly armour lay beside him—his shield,
his two spears and his helmet; beside him also lay the gleaming girdle
with which the old man girded himself when he armed to lead his people
into battle—for his age stayed him not. He raised himself on his
elbow and looked up at Agamemnon. “Who is it,” said he, “that goes
thus about the host and the ships alone and in the dead of night, when
men are sleeping? Are you looking for one of your mules or for some
comrade? Do not stand there and say nothing, but speak. What is your
business?”
  And Agamemnon answered, “Nestor, son of Neleus, honour to the
Achaean name, it is I, Agamemnon son of Atreus, on whom Jove has
laid labour and sorrow so long as there is breath in my body and my
limbs carry me. I am thus abroad because sleep sits not upon my
eyelids, but my heart is big with war and with the jeopardy of the
Achaeans. I am in great fear for the Danaans. I am at sea, and without
sure counsel; my heart beats as though it would leap out of my body,
and my limbs fail me. If then you can do anything—for you too
cannot sleep—let us go the round of the watch, and see whether they
are drowsy with toil and sleeping to the neglect of their duty. The
enemy is encamped hard and we know not but he may attack us by night.”
  Nestor replied, “Most noble son of Atreus, king of men, Agamemnon,
Jove will not do all for Hector that Hector thinks he will; he will
have troubles yet in plenty if Achilles will lay aside his anger. I
will go with you, and we will rouse others, either the son of
Tydeus, or Ulysses, or fleet Ajax and the valiant son of Phyleus. Some
one had also better go and call Ajax and King Idomeneus, for their
ships are not near at hand but the farthest of all. I cannot however
refrain from blaming Menelaus, much as I love him and respect him—and
I will say so plainly, even at the risk of offending you—for sleeping
and leaving all this trouble to yourself. He ought to be going about
imploring aid from all the princes of the Achaeans, for we are in
extreme danger.”
  And Agamemnon answered, “Sir, you may sometimes blame him justly,
for he is often remiss and unwilling to exert himself—not indeed from
sloth, nor yet heedlessness, but because he looks to me and expects me
to take the lead. On this occasion, however, he was awake before I
was, and came to me of his own accord. I have already sent him to call
the very men whom you have named. And now let us be going. We shall
find them with the watch outside the gates, for it was there I said
that we would meet them.”
  “In that case,” answered Nestor, “the Argives will not blame him nor
disobey his orders when he urges them to fight or gives them
instructions.”
  With this he put on his shirt, and bound his sandals about his
comely feet. He buckled on his purple coat, of two thicknesses, large,
and of a rough shaggy texture, grasped his redoubtable bronze-shod
spear, and wended his way along the line of the Achaean ships. First
he called loudly to Ulysses peer of gods in counsel and woke him,
for he was soon roused by the sound of the battle-cry. He came outside
his tent and said, “Why do you go thus alone about the host, and along
the line of the ships in the stillness of the night? What is it that
you find so urgent?” And Nestor knight of Gerene answered, “Ulysses,
noble son of Laertes, take it not amiss, for the Achaeans are in great
straits. Come with me and let us wake some other, who may advise
well with us whether we shall fight or fly.”
  On this Ulysses went at once into his tent, put his shield about his
shoulders and came out with them. First they went to Diomed son of
Tydeus, and found him outside his tent clad in his armour with his
comrades sleeping round him and using their shields as pillows; as for
their spears, they stood upright on the spikes of their butts that
were driven into the ground, and the burnished bronze flashed afar
like the lightning of father Jove. The hero was sleeping upon the skin
of an ox, with a piece of fine carpet under his head; Nestor went up
to him and stirred him with his heel to rouse him, upbraiding him
and urging him to bestir himself. “Wake up,” he exclaimed, “son of
Tydeus. How can you sleep on in this way? Can you not see that the
Trojans are encamped on the brow of the plain hard by our ships,
with but a little space between us and them?”
  On these words Diomed leaped up instantly and said, “Old man, your
heart is of iron; you rest not one moment from your labours. Are there
no younger men among the Achaeans who could go about to rouse the
princes? There is no tiring you.”
  And Nestor knight of Gerene made answer, “My son, all that you
have said is true. I have good sons, and also much people who might
call the chieftains, but the Achaeans are in the gravest danger;
life and death are balanced as it were on the edge of a razor. Go
then, for you are younger than I, and of your courtesy rouse Ajax
and the fleet son of Phyleus.”
  Diomed threw the skin of a great tawny lion about his shoulders—a
skin that reached his feet—and grasped his spear. When he had
roused the heroes, he brought them back with him; they then went the
round of those who were on guard, and found the captains not
sleeping at their posts but wakeful and sitting with their arms
about them. As sheep dogs that watch their flocks when they are
yarded, and hear a wild beast coming through the mountain forest
towards them—forthwith there is a hue and cry of dogs and men, and
slumber is broken—even so was sleep chased from the eyes of the
Achaeans as they kept the watches of the wicked night, for they turned
constantly towards the plain whenever they heard any stir among the
Trojans. The old man was glad bade them be of good cheer. “Watch on,
my children,” said he, “and let not sleep get hold upon you, lest
our enemies triumph over us.”
  With this he passed the trench, and with him the other chiefs of the
Achaeans who had been called to the council. Meriones and the brave
son of Nestor went also, for the princes bade them. When they were
beyond the trench that was dug round the wall they held their
meeting on the open ground where there was a space clear of corpses,
for it was here that when night fell Hector had turned back from his
onslaught on the Argives. They sat down, therefore, and held debate
with one another.
  Nestor spoke first. “My friends,” said he, “is there any man bold
enough to venture the Trojans, and cut off some straggler, or us
news of what the enemy mean to do whether they will stay here by the
ships away from the city, or whether, now that they have worsted the
Achaeans, they will retire within their walls. If he could learn all
this and come back safely here, his fame would be high as heaven in
the mouths of all men, and he would be rewarded richly; for the chiefs
from all our ships would each of them give him a black ewe with her
lamb—which is a present of surpassing value—and he would be asked as
a guest to all feasts and clan-gatherings.”
  They all held their peace, but Diomed of the loud war-cry spoke
saying, “Nestor, gladly will I visit the host of the Trojans over
against us, but if another will go with me I shall do so in greater
confidence and comfort. When two men are together, one of them may see
some opportunity which the other has not caught sight of; if a man
is alone he is less full of resource, and his wit is weaker.”
  On this several offered to go with Diomed. The two Ajaxes,
servants of Mars, Meriones, and the son of Nestor all wanted to go, so
did Menelaus son of Atreus; Ulysses also wished to go among the host
of the Trojans, for he was ever full of daring, and thereon
Agamemnon king of men spoke thus: “Diomed,” said he, “son of Tydeus,
man after my own heart, choose your comrade for yourself—take the
best man of those that have offered, for many would now go with you.
Do not through delicacy reject the better man, and take the worst
out of respect for his lineage, because he is of more royal blood.”
  He said this because he feared for Menelaus. Diomed answered, “If
you bid me take the man of my own choice, how in that case can I
fail to think of Ulysses, than whom there is no man more eager to face
all kinds of danger—and Pallas Minerva loves him well? If he were
to go with me we should pass safely through fire itself, for he is
quick to see and understand.”
  “Son of Tydeus,” replied Ulysses, “say neither good nor ill about
me, for you are among Argives who know me well. Let us be going, for
the night wanes and dawn is at hand. The stars have gone forward,
two-thirds of the night are already spent, and the third is alone left
us.”
  They then put on their armour. Brave Thrasymedes provided the son of
Tydeus with a sword and a shield (for he had left his own at his ship)
and on his head he set a helmet of bull’s hide without either peak
or crest; it is called a skull-cap and is a common headgear.
Meriones found a bow and quiver for Ulysses, and on his head he set
a leathern helmet that was lined with a strong plaiting of leathern
thongs, while on the outside it was thickly studded with boar’s teeth,
well and skilfully set into it; next the head there was an inner
lining of felt. This helmet had been stolen by Autolycus out of
Eleon when he broke into the house of Amyntor son of Ormenus. He
gave it to Amphidamas of Cythera to take to Scandea, and Amphidamas
gave it as a guest-gift to Molus, who gave it to his son Meriones; and
now it was set upon the head of Ulysses.
  When the pair had armed, they set out, and left the other chieftains
behind them. Pallas Minerva sent them a heron by the wayside upon
their right hands; they could not see it for the darkness, but they
heard its cry. Ulysses was glad when he heard it and prayed to
Minerva: “Hear me,” he cried, “daughter of aegis-bearing Jove, you who
spy out all my ways and who are with me in all my hardships;
befriend me in this mine hour, and grant that we may return to the
ships covered with glory after having achieved some mighty exploit
that shall bring sorrow to the Trojans.”
  Then Diomed of the loud war-cry also prayed: “Hear me too,” said he,
“daughter of Jove, unweariable; be with me even as you were with my
noble father Tydeus when he went to Thebes as envoy sent by the
Achaeans. He left the Achaeans by the banks of the river Aesopus,
and went to the city bearing a message of peace to the Cadmeians; on
his return thence, with your help, goddess, he did great deeds of
daring, for you were his ready helper. Even so guide me and guard me
now, and in return I will offer you in sacrifice a broad-browed heifer
of a year old, unbroken, and never yet brought by man under the
yoke. I will gild her horns and will offer her up to you in
sacrifice.”
  Thus they prayed, and Pallas Minerva heard their prayer. When they
had done praying to the daughter of great Jove, they went their way
like two lions prowling by night amid the armour and blood-stained
bodies of them that had fallen.
  Neither again did Hector let the Trojans sleep; for he too called
the princes and councillors of the Trojans that he might set his
counsel before them. “Is there one,” said he, “who for a great
reward will do me the service of which I will tell you? He shall be
well paid if he will. I will give him a chariot and a couple of
horses, the fleetest that can be found at the ships of the Achaeans,
if he will dare this thing; and he will win infinite honour to boot;
he must go to the ships and find out whether they are still guarded as
heretofore, or whether now that we have beaten them the Achaeans
design to fly, and through sheer exhaustion are neglecting to keep
their watches.”
  They all held their peace; but there was among the Trojans a certain
man named Dolon, son of Eumedes, the famous herald—a man rich in gold
and bronze. He was ill-favoured, but a good runner, and was an only
son among five sisters. He it was that now addressed the Trojans.
“I, Hector,” said he, “Will to the ships and will exploit them. But
first hold up your sceptre and swear that you will give me the
chariot, bedight with bronze, and the horses that now carry the
noble son of Peleus. I will make you a good scout, and will not fail
you. I will go through the host from one end to the other till I
come to the ship of Agamemnon, where I take it the princes of the
Achaeans are now consulting whether they shall fight or fly.”
  When he had done speaking Hector held up his sceptre, and swore
him his oath saying, “May Jove the thundering husband of Juno bear
witness that no other Trojan but yourself shall mount

I.

Beneath the vine-clad eaves,
   Whose shadows fall before
   Thy lowly cottage door—
Under the lilac’s tremulous leaves—
Within thy snowy clasped hand
   The purple flowers it bore.
Last eve in dreams, I saw thee stand,
Like queenly nymph from Fairy-land—
Enchantress of the flowery wand,
   Most beauteous Isadore!

II.

And when I bade the dream
   Upon thy spirit flee,
   Thy violet eyes to me
Upturned, did overflowing seem
With the deep, untold delight
   Of Love’s serenity;
Thy classic brow, like lilies white
And pale as the Imperial Night
Upon her throne, with stars bedight,
   Enthralled my soul to thee!

III.

Ah! ever I behold
   Thy dreamy, passionate eyes,
   Blue as the languid skies
Hung with the sunset’s fringe of gold;
Now strangely clear thine image grows,
   And olden memories
Are startled from their long repose
Like shadows on the silent snows
When suddenly the night-wind blows
   Where quiet moonlight lies.

IV.

Like music heard in dreams,
   Like strains of harps unknown,
   Of birds for ever flown,—
Audible as the voice of streams
That murmur in some leafy dell,
   I hear thy gentlest tone,
And Silence cometh with her spell
Like that which on my tongue doth dwell,
When tremulous in dreams I tell
   My love to thee alone!

V.

In every valley heard,
   Floating from tree to tree,
   Less beautiful to me,
The music of the radiant bird,
Than artless accents such as thine
   Whose echoes never flee!
Ah! how for thy sweet voice I pine:—
For uttered in thy tones benign
(Enchantress!) this rude name of mine
   Doth seem a melody!

Beloved of the sultry ness,
Half wight, fully light;
dayspring of the morn.

Heaven's spark at night;
Mine rainbow in
Fiersome storms.

Bedight me with thy
Comfort, quench me
In the dusk, lancinate
This anxious soul,
Kiss me with a
Hush.

Quiet i'll stay,
I'll sit quite still;
To put mine soul
Inside thee, struck
By love so real.


©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poets poetry
©earl jane nagley dedication.

i.

She, the Filipino rose
That sit's in a vase, gilded in Filipino gold;
Builded by seraph's and cherub soul's
Structured by the hand of God, in mansion's of old.

ii.

She, the archangel, of storytime mode
She, the one mother's and father's hast a book of on their shelves;
She, the tunnel to the third heaven, the messenger of Christ's help
She, the light, she, yellow majesty bedight, she; mine jane: wife.






©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl jane Nagley dedication ( Filipino rose dedication)

[and scarcely worth the trouble, at that]

The same to me are somber days and gay.
  Though Joyous dawns the rosy morn, and bright,
Because my dearest love is gone away
  Within my heart is melancholy night.

My heart beats low in loneliness, despite
  That riotous Summer holds the earth in sway.
In cerements my spirit is bedight;
  The same to me are somber days and gay.

Though breezes in the rippling grasses play,
  And waves dash high and far in glorious might,
I thrill no longer to the sparkling day,
  Though joyous dawns the rosy morn, and bright.

Ungraceful seems to me the swallow's flight;
  As well might heaven's blue be sullen gray;
My soul discerns no beauty in their sight
  Because my dearest love is gone away.

Let roses fling afar their crimson spray,
  And ****** daisies splash the fields with white,
Let bloom the poppy hotly as it may,
  Within my heart is melancholy night.

And this, O love, my pitiable plight
  Whenever from my circling arms you stray;
This little world of mine has lost its light....
  I hope to God, my dear, that you can say
                                          The same to me.

The same to me are sombre days and gay.
Though joyous dawns the rosy morn, and bright,
Because my dearest love is gone away
Within my heart is melancholy night.

My heart beats low in loneliness, despite
That riotous Summer holds the earth in sway.
In cerements my spirit is bedight;
The same to me are sombre days and gay.

Though breezes in the rippling grasses play,
And waves dash high and far in glorious might,
I thrill no longer to the sparkling day,
Though joyous dawns the rosy morn, and bright.

Ungraceful seems to me the swallow's flight;
As well might Heaven's blue be sullen gray;
My soul discerns no beauty in their sight
Because my dearest love is gone away.

Let roses fling afar their crimson spray,
And ****** daisies splash the fields with white,
Let bloom the poppy hotly as it may,
Within my heart is melancholy night.

And this, oh love, my pitiable plight
Whenever from my circling arms you stray;
This little world of mine has lost its light ...
I hope to God, my dear, that you can say
The same to me.

I shalt bedight her in Accretion formation, to thy earth she's a patron; bringing a missive from planetary space station's. The string's of Constellation's holdeth up her finger's, as she tint's the empyrean with yellow petal's. Her cosmic ray's woo and spray mine heart with Extragalactic feeling. Her wing's stretch high to ceiling's; whilst her plumage safeguard's mine worrie's. She's the entity of the heavenly father's beginning stories; O' sweet glory, O' marvelous glory, how thou hath given me a wonder dear God, thou hast given me the land with golden street's, inside the palm of mine tired hand's. O', how blessed I am. O', how blessed I am. For thou hath sent me Asiatic Jane, messenger to man.


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication/Filipino rose

Amorous one, bedight me in snug linen
Canopy me in thy oriental pinion's;
A ditty for thee, I writeth in this amour
For thou hath let me in, and opened thine door.

Forsooth, we shalt be lover's in cinema Booth's
Letting go of ourn past, cutting ropes, untying the noose;
Thither the jungle's we shalt be missionarie's, exemplary

No thwarting to enter in the tropical orient gate's
Openness cherished, withy exotic plant's to fit ourn date;
Don't be late amare, thou canst put up, or keep down thy hair
For thou shalt blend the forest's, as no makeup for thee is needed.

Thou shalt quench me by thy tan colored painted skin
Betrothing another, fused bodie's together, preparing perfume;
Locked behind ourn own wall, leaving the world in back room
Other's think we're dead, because ourn spirit's from tombs, alive.


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry/
あある じぇえん

Farewell, farewell, farewell unto thee,

Hands of time; 'Tis time to run free.

Though Sun is burning bright to behold

Her sprinkling ripples of opalescent gold

Through trees bedight in robes of green,

Evoking wild lonely leaves to preen

To the sussuration of zephyr's whispers

Sweet as of nymphs beside rollin' rivers,

Nevermore in a pit of thoughts to hide

But far deep in Mandeville Canyons ride.


Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
      Los Angeles, California.
            Mon/09th/2018

Thrown like ripples of a star
From a dreamer's somber shade,
I gazed about frisky birds afar
In coats of blue, gold and red,

And they sang: Sky maidens we,
That dost float on high forever
Atop vales, mountains and seas,
Forests, and many a lonely river,

Lets flap our gentle wings and wing
Yonder the land of lofty mountains,
Where dwelleth the mighty King
In halls bedight with silvern fountains

Beneath temples of burnished gold,
Where golden run nectar streams,
Where beauty by any bard yet to be told,
Where leaves dewed by fair sun beams;

In a realm where naught doth ever age,
Where song birds croon loveliest lullabies
In a realm where love is the language
Unto all that walketh – unto all that flies.

And from there we’ll fly nevermore
But mellifluously whisper a paean
To echo golden from shore to shore,
Beauteously through many an eon.

When summer pierces earth and dying root,
And winds the golden-honeyed flowers sweep,
And liquor rays bathe every bud and shoot,
Newly awakened from the depths of sleep,
When pollen springs forth in white, seasoned clouds,
Miasmic dreams, like visions, pure and sweet,
When gentle rainy mist the land enshrouds,
And tiptoes cross the meads on silent feet,
When sweet, ambrosial bloom shall sprout and bud,
And throw their dreamy breaths to weave a sigh
And cast their milky sap, and sport sweet blood,
And touch the Heavens that bedight the sky,
    Tis time, when fresh and pure is all of love
    But still I worry, for seasons all move

Vast depths of silence
streaming through the night sky.
The monotonously moving trees
Swaying in unison.
Lapping erratically,
The cool breeze blows
Serene and cool,
The full moon glows
Twinkling in playful sprite,
Stars wink in delight
Nature's humble beauty
By a master stroke; bedight

Rolling hills, eye popping mountains,
Kissing the stonking ***** of heaven
With fairly capped eternal fountains
Of chalcedony and emerald sheen.

Clouds of opalescent birds in flight
Ineffably croon mellifluous lullabies
In their coats thrice fairer than twilight
Till emerald stars bedight yonder skies.

Silvery galloping rivers gush in ecstasy
On whose foam sitteth many a nymph
Whose starry beaming eyes are as sassy
As of knights upon their maiden triumph.

Gems, like dew upon grass of meadow,
Fairly evermore bedight each strand
In beauty like a kaleidoscopic rainbow
Doth hang in air with a colorful band.

Heaving tides, and many a glassy wave,
Evermore ebb unto the pebbly shore,
But making not a sound like as a grave
Or a peregrinator twixt an enchanted moor.

Soaring towers, paved with fair flowers
Redolent of a novelty loveliest scent,
That doth resemble nothing of ours
But of seraphic breath by heaven's gate.

In Fairyland, their roads of silver hewn,
And there falls rain of crystals of gold
Once in a blue moon, in noontide of june,
All kept in enchanted hoards of old

Beneath dungeons deep as yonder skies,
As dark as the darkest moonless night
By tripple headed creatures of three eyes
That evermore beam than the sun's light.

Their eyes fixed upon them day and night,
So wills their king, of him denizens sing:
O mighty king of lands beneath perpetual light,
Evermore shall we guard thy gems, they sing.

And this, our land, of strands of emerald sheen
Where naught doth ever age as the sun’s rays,
No mortal shall ever stroll by and leave unseen
For our eyes shall wink never till the end of days.


Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Los Angeles, California. 01/18/20.

Not far from here there’s a novelty eye
   All bedight with exquisite lashes of gold—
That smiles at all mortals and all that didst die:

Sometimes she’s jolly, sometimes she doth cry—
   At peep of dawn till dusk with tears of gold
That smiles at all mortals and all that didst die.”

So sang a wandering wind through the rye.
   There’s an eye like of a tiger so bold—
Not far from here there’s a novelty eye;

All animals have seen, all birds of sky—
   Whose shine like a rose in bloom doth unfold;
That smiles at all mortals and all that didst die.

Some say, far from fairyland she doth ply”—
   Sang the fish in lonely seas deep and cold.
“Not far from here there’s a novelty eye,

A wandering dove went cooing by and by:
  Though her strange beauty is yet to be told—
Not far from here there’s a novelty eye—
  That smiles at all mortals and all that didst die.

"King he was to the realm of Nineva
In great halls that fairly shone forever.
Kaleidoscopic were hues of his blade,
Of burnished gold was it fairly made.
Diamonds, sapphires, pearls, and rubies
In fresh numbers were seen in his vase.
Ninety nine archers guarded the palace,
His horsemen swifter than comets of space,
Over wood, yonder hill, yonder vale, they'd race.

Eternally limpid yet ineffable was his lass's
Diamond-like eyes as dewdrops upon grass.
Winds of hate this beauty beheld and said nay
A beauty reflection as that in my wings must lay.
Roses, lavenders, lilacs, gardenias of the spring,
Daffodils of rolling hills unto her I'll bring.

A star-like diadem I'll press upon her gaily hair
Light buttons of pearl shalt bedight her dress so fair
Eternally mine shalt she be like as waves to sea or
Xylograph upon wood shalt be her soul to my soul.
And 'tis for this reason that all creatures know
Nineva's king since yon day turned cold as snow.
Diamond-like, so hardened his soul that now
Roves in a labyrinth of restless nostalgic winds
Outgribing here and there like wingless birds
Stuck in branches of night or shells neath the sands."


© Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Los Angels, California, USA.
15th/DEC/2018

Beauteous clouds hang upon the sinking deep,
    Ineffably in coats with no stain upon ‘em seen.
Susurrus zephyrs evermore chime and sweep,
  Through leaves bedight in hues of golden green.

Susurrus leaves rhythmically sway and sway
     To the susurration of the wild blue yonder.
Fugacious clouds enrich every fading day
     In opalescent hues upon heaven’s shore.

Salubrious flowers waft ethereal scent upon air,
  A scent of Elysium on earth, a scent of loveliness.
Lugubrious seas call it a soothing balm so fair,
  And softly whisper comely olden tales of the seas.

Splendiferous olden golden hills roll evermore,
  Wanderin’ olden rills peregrinate here and there,
Whilst whisperin’ euphonious murmurs of yore;
  Such—such mellifluous music unto a naked ear.

In the emerald state, upon every river bank
   There groweth exquisite merry flowers of gold,
All flowers of novelty beauty—all wild and rank.
  In the emerald state—pulchritude is all to behold.


©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Evergreen State, August 16th 2020.

Hark! Hark! Kenny Rogers,
A lark at heaven’s gate sings
Sail away like galloping rivers
And spread thy gentle wings

To wing from the ****** earth
Unto a realm of opalescent skies
In the mighty land of worth
Where seraphs croon lullabies

Mellifluously day and night,
Where flowers dost shine
Ineffably long and bright
All bedight in colors devine.

In lands of novelty sea shores,
Lands of many a whispering river
That dost serpentine forevermore
With heaven’s sweetest nectar.

In lands of halcyon glassy seas,
Seas as calm as a millpond
With banks of multicolored trees
Yet all veiled with many a diamond.

Lands enveloped by lustrous stars,
Stars painting words of desire
And heaven’s ineffable wonders
Upon chatoyant skies on fire.

Lands where love is woven by
A tapestry of truth not lies,
Lands where love isn't bought by
Sapphires, emeralds nor rubies.

Lands where avenues are all
Paved with green and gold
Come winter, spring, summer & fall,
Such pulchritude is all to behold.

In lands where the only air
There is to inhale is purest love,
In a kingdom all but so fair
Beside the king of heaven above.


Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Tacoma, Washington. 3/21/20.

You are in
the late blue of a rainy sky
and you are
in the deep true where stars bedight
you are somewhere
I go to stay
somewhere
my mind
goes
astray
you seem to care with every glitch
and the coldest wind will make no
speech
cause' when you walk
the silence speaks
and no more I see
beneath
my
feet