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Judgson blessing Jun 2015
king Cophetua and Beggar Maid is inspired of the painting of Sir Edward Burne-Jones (1884 , England ) the painting run about an old legend of king that found that his love for Beggar Maid was greater than anything his possess : wealth and power . In that painting of Burne-Jones , the king Cophetua was moon stroke of the beauty of a Beggar Maid ,instead of her naked appearance in regard to this earthing consideration  , though he was allured by her state and deemed the Beggar Maid  would trade her natural beauty upon worldly elevation .But anemones was thrown about around the Beggar Maid standing . Anemone is the sign of refused love , to the king most astonishment and great deceit .Here lain the elevation of love above all thing consideration ; wealth , power and others .the painting also ran another significant meaning to Sir Edward Burne-Jones : its an undercurrent self resentments about chaos upon Frances Graham , a lady he was so devoted that got married one year earlier the painting .


What beauty , did behold a lady .
for what a fame completely shadowy.
lo, in dim recess of England a lady did dwell .
from head to toe a feature exquisitely so well .
her face is the panorama of crimson hue .
with dimple and frown so divinely imbue .
she is effigy of the culmination of word beauty .
peeping her through day long ; you will never feel thirsty.
all her face is settled in heavenly attire of smile .
for her possession of beauty is unique worldly simile .
her body had the mark of excellent work of art .
no nymph , no fairy could possess her frame impart .
princess of heaven ,celestial beauty of holy attire .
for your rendition of beauty a painter worship at your retire .
a smile ; radiant and blatant a devotion of all thing heavenly .
a couple of lips very in regular design , most delicate  work of father holy.
the short up turn of the upper golden lip in rosy glow .
with lower lip so justly fitted as lid and bowl .
nay it deemed the most work of legendary painter hand .
but now what a glorious gait of cadence did withstand .
where in remotest antique could we withheld such beauty ?
from head to toe all the feature luridly in unity .
little upwards the average height with magnificent bearing .
her arms and legs proportionally fitted in good caring .
the neck is culmination of adjusted rings darting as snake .
when she depart all her part spring like a dance at music .
slim and fitted with fitting body as a young mutated snake .
but i warrant all thing upon her hip jingling spring like .
her look naked you and everything with impure world .
well begrounded as reflex through giant mirror .
meeting with her personality is a kind of celestial discovery.
like discovery of a gold pit or gas gush in desert of misery .
she betoken of kind of aura that prevails peace .
but Beggar she was at her secluded place .
with a smile she attracts but beg worldly sympathy .
not a corrupted heart or soul she believe in the holy trinity .
what a beauty to wasted but in shameful mendicancy .
the sagacious spirited dimly alluded with grin .
for all the hole tandem dwelt but in rich lustrine .
the quantity is the mother of all pain and sin .
but chastity is holy devotion all in pure spiriting .
oh, what good for us if we just live in nothing but lust .
money, fame and other elevations are vile and endless lost .
pure beauty you behold with pure noble spirit .
rich or poor do only one thing :run away from ignominy .
the Beggar Maid was sitting upon her recess and shadowy .
lo, trodden king Cophetua back of horse of finely white garb .
and riding sat majestically ***** like state pole in richly parade.
perfume and the richness of articulation stole through and filled the momentum .
with guards and valet finely polite and alerted at the extremum .
what a cadence ! what a sight ! as heaven trotting herd .
but lulled in mostly attire and paraded mostly in gold .
with a look the purest radiant and the noblest ever been .
nothing but a grandeur and riches were what to be seen .
settled on horse so holy that was moved as not touching the soil .
king Cophetua trotted and commanded but with moderate majestic control .
beheld with the Beggar Maid that beauty was a heavenly allure .
halt he made and laid his feet on ground with real frantic gesture .
in obsequious and excess real gesture drove to his knees .
and held altogether ***** airy and up tall .
upon the King procession on his knees the Maid took on in respect.
with stature all slanted flat across the ground all beaming in light .
what grandeur or glory fitted before the Maid most alluring ?
nay,fame ,riches ,noble , power ,cunning nor learning .
all but are subjected and tamed ,transformed into nothing.
king Cophetua is a glory ,but pure beauty is holy not a thing stand pure beauty.
for the worship of our splendor is the betoken kind spiritually .
the Beggar Maid is a right down deprived and seemed a cursed sin .
but pure beauty beholds with pure resplendent holy garden .
what life led you through ?behold there is no wealth down here more your soul .
and you are diving in filthy abode and lamenting your spirit in foul .
nay, beauty keep out of lust and covetousness and preserve your spirit .
cause none ,but only you will stand when is the last verdict .

the maid garbed in silken attire float so soft and dainty .
king Cophetua in his mighty clad covered with gold is holy .
i seen you are a beauty , entreated he in lowest musical resonant voice .
and i deemed make you you the praise of my ever unique choice .
yet before God and before mortal i would worship you as holy throne .
the Maid as voice as lute and lyre sang but in sweet musical tune .
my King im as much obliged though unworthy servant of your kingdom .
all the honor is for me ,and upon my foil state is for me a bloom .
my honor is regardless said he ,i fain treat you as an equal .
now deign tell me what can i do to you cause i feel towards you loyal .
glory be to Lord !for you philanthropic reverence my Lord .
for i need nothing more but, 'give me today my daily bread '.
appalled but aghast upon the Maid humble and unequivocal demand .
he stretched ***** in mournful and sad air of command .
and took quite survey of the Maid that is nothing but pretty creature .
for his wildness dreams he never seen such purity upon his pasture .
yet abashed with the Maid demand ,a lesson of life of great enormity .
something somehow weird and unusual stroke him about the Maid personality.
but he restated once more i feel hearty and  kind towards you then .
you might tell me that you need in life now and then .
and sat ***** fancying himself of new pleasant answer .
oh King retorted the latter i had formulated my need .
for faith under and heaven above i have no greed .
nettled he settled his curled hair back thrown .
and so should it be as you but did deem .
and nothing but here receive a dime .
Once at a halcyon sea thee dare glance,
And you'll see her smiling vivaciously
To render eyes of thine into a trance
By lullabies crooned rhythmically.
And if thee dare saunter by the shoreline
Upon a shingly beach in a brisk breeze,
Kissed by glassy waves you'll feel so fine,
For in mist of joy shalt thy worries freeze;
Yet if thee stroll by a fine golden day
With heaven's eye fairly raining her light,
It'll betoken joy to forever stay
Like of a bird upon her maiden flight.

In sweet delight it'll thus dawn upon thee,
For nothing smiles than a halcyon sea.



#Decasyllabic
#Attempt at a Shakespearean sonnet

**Kikodinho Edward Alexandros. 7th.Dec.2017. Jumeirah, Dubai.
On feasting about a murmuring limpid sea that was a vast brilliant blue mill-pond whilst at Atlantis Hotel in Dubai by the terrace yesteryear on a golden May day, upon the back of my palm there I jotted a faint line "Whispers Of A Halcyon Sea"... Faint, for I really didn't know what to write next but since yon day, fires of my muse about the sea errupted...'Tis once on a fine sweltering day when I decided to visit the edge where waves kiss the shore...Fact that I know not how to swim, I remembered some indelible words of sheer wisdom: "TILL TO SWIM YOU ARE ABLE, SIT CLOSE TO THE TABLE...Loll" by the ancient sage, LEWIS CAROLL".... hence there by the table, that's when I knew what to write. Lest thou art a sea lover, hope thou hast enjoyed my musing about the sea. Thanks for reading. God bless ye, dear friends.
1296

Death’s Waylaying not the sharpest
Of the thefts of Time—
There Marauds a sorer Robber,
Silence—is his name—
No Assault, nor any Menace
Doth betoken him.
But from Life’s consummate Cluster—
He supplants the Balm.
JP Goss May 2014
Earthen roads spring alive with berm-gardens,
Thistles, and animals’ connive,
A country road the blows the dust
Off the porch, so that it’s just
Us.
When the time comes
that we arrive to claim the hills over there,
Command honey evenings
I, the colt, you, the mare
Transformed by winds, raw from the pastoral
Over-there,
It gives to us the boundless open dome
Free to graze
Free to roam
Where we shall know finally what it’s like to be home.

The homes, they spring by diving arms
Growing strong and respiring clouds
Of coaly waste
That eat the clarity of austere farms
And every life of put-upon
Denature, contorted as the victim-fawn,
Bloating with guts the hue of oil
Strewn by a semi’, in two drawn
An image that takes some getting used to.

And yet, this is only natural to be one with the aluminum blood
That runs in the veins of pale concrete to its beating heart
A healthy babe born of predation
A community called Animosity,
Where a life affirmed is a life denied
Though it be a bridge ‘cross chasms to prosperity,
Hold it close,
For they are deep and one United States wide.

The entrails rot on the city face, spelling out
“Payment,” on the pavement, the street
Maggots reeking, thriving in carrion
Smiling as they urge me, of course
Carry on,
That all will be well in time.

My beautiful mare turns from the hills
Her eyes now glow cinereal
How wretched she stands my side
Her heart now a mirror for how mine feels:
Drawing on love, the general kind.
Such life of hers
Such of mine
Betoken a passion, in its turn, an ill
Then to two ridges, shorn by pure will,
And still we congeal two passions to fill it
‘Till a fibrillating heart beats the color
Of ****.
What words of  beauty could ever near thy beauty?
Thou art fairer than Seraphs of heaven,
Peerless than the fairest night skie's sentry,
For paradise, thine eyes dost betoken.
Long I've sailed in my boat of poetry,
With golden oars of fairest metaphors,
Craving to fish thee some words of sheer beauty,
From whispering rills, from wildest rivers,
Down a silvery halcyon sea, thought,
Where often I wonder from shore to shore;
But dusk fades, dawn breaks having fished naught,
'Tis then fair nymphs croon me a tune so low:

"For she's nothing but a beauty reflection,
What on earth could near her beauty complexion?"


©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros
Jumeira, Dubai
30th June 2017


   **Literally, I penned this sonnet many moons ago to a person who might read it never and so I decided to keep it...., but, on passing by beauteous roses wafting an ineffable scent upon whispering winds this morn,  transfixed I was struck by a violent thought, "Why not to as well whisper such a lovely sonnet unto the mighty winds that dost blow from shores of the east to the western clime as to caress souls of all lovers at HelloPoetry who spared their precious time to pray for such an amateur Bard like me when I was bedridden a couple of days back?"
     Honestly, I may not be able to thank everyone of Ye in person, but wholeheartedly I dedicate such a lovely sonnet to Ye.

Thank goodness I'm now feeling better and ready to share with Ye once again.
#Decasyllabic
#Attempt at a Shakespearean sonnet.
Ferdaus Tahir Oct 2018
'twas the scorching sun shalt embrace
With civet's blossom, it continuate
Wherefore thee mysteriously banish?

For I betoken to mouse-hunt ye

Hast the orb of light oft shine
E'en it acknown of its despair
Nay! it guides us toward our lover

Drunkenly and wobbly walking toward thee

Dost the sun amercing us
Due to our misgiving of love
Nay! it amerce to those who've lost

Hence I really wished to return whence you came from

As thy body is away from me
My heart wast devastated
In your whimsical disappearance

I've became drunk for longing ye
Carrillo Apr 2020
Chisel the surface with plain grains, valleys, and burnt sienna eyes
Kindle the waking day as it rests on the
hammocks of your canopy  
Aureate Renaissance bequest divine goodbyes, farewell fortunate tales and my whimsical cries  

Christen the Seven Seas with the speckled embers that are bemoaned unto thee
Vitiating virtuous vitality within your incomplete home
Forty winks of spring tread beneath your firm, cold brow— blossoming bluebonnets reveal mosaic plateaus  

Divulge the yen under lock and key
Imbue your sentiments with charcoaled pique
Alas, anchor the revelations— caress the crystal vector that enlightens individual aspirations
Dethrone the wrinkled creator, for thou created the wicked chamber, blossoming bluebonnets betoken the savior

Hidalgo, thee shall attaineth the season’s gl’ries, and thou art the judge of your own amorous, beatific stories
Go away of all flesh and poisoned rip-roaring, secure another meridian and whittle euphoria

Chisel the surface with plain grains, valleys, and burnt sienna eyes
Kindle the waking day as it rests on the hammocks of your canopy  
Aureate Renaissance bequest divine goodbyes, farewell fortunate tales and my whimsical cries
Brendan Cadman May 2017
By: Brendan Cadman

A beam of royal gold breaks through,
the misty and hazy gates of grey.
Clearing to majestic blue skies,
a house basks in the warming ray.

Perched high above the quiet town,
atop a rolling hill of emerald green.
The looming structure casts a welcoming presence,
of dedicated craftsmanship so impeccably pristine.

Through lusting eyes the natives gaze,
and marvel in the homes' aesthetic glow.
Still for years a vacant slumber took,
place of the final dwelling long ago.

Myth and tale engulf the town with,
power equal to a fire captive in the wind.
None would dare to dance with fate,
or brave what presence might lurk within.

Floorboards creak under a phantom's footstep pace,
as silence fills the void of a dark and empty hall.
Cobwebs line the ceiling attractively impure,
as shadows roam the chambers quietly as pictures on the wall.  

Continually as the current of a river flows,
so does the quest for a tenant our house will seek.
Toilsome the foreign inly journey can become,
how lucrative is the lenity of inner peace.

Like star-crossed voyagers lost out at sea,
with no course but to betoken of their plight.
Few are destined to a sempiternal fate,
kindred to a haunted house in the daylight.
After descent of eventide
luminescence of freshly fallen snow
still illuminates the terrestrial firma bright
even upon the onset of dusk,
when dark shadows
betoken the edge of night
analogously herald outer limits
invoking intimations of the twilight zone,
which visibility amplified
with appearance of full moon
accentuating brilliant blinding white
across the bucolic expanse.

No matter familiarization
with precipitation falling to Earth
as ice crystallization,
nevertheless a child like mirth
bubbles up inside of me,
the shear beauty worth
more than words can spell.

These transitional bifocals I wear
become naturally tinted
(upon exposure to radiance)
courtesy law of reflection
which states that, on reflection
from a smooth surface,
the angle of the reflected ray
equals the angle of the incident ray
essentially darkening material
comprising lenses for glasses,
which constituent chemicals for lenses
come in four types of plastic:
polyethylene, Trivex, polycarbonate,
high-index polymers, and glass.

After looking away
from brilliantly shimmering raiment
displaying full regalia donned
courtesy the nearest solar body,
one might see dark spots or patches
within field of vision,
which ocular entities called afterimages.

Afterimages happen because
the cells in your eyes that help you see,
called photoreceptor cells,
get tired from the bright light.

There are two types of these cells: cones and rods.

Though myopic, I still marvel
and feel blessed at ability
to experience capability,
no matter nearsightedness
insync with color vision deficiency (CVD)
diminishes fullest breadth and scope
to see with perfect
(meaning 20/20) vision
ever since a wee lad
way back in second grade
nearsightedness became quite evident

and difficult to ignore
forsooth in while deep in the womb
visionary genesis made
with slight inability
unable to distinguish
one or more chromatic colors
also in the chromosomal store
and so-called “floaters”
like my own private kaleidoscope
played tag across field of view

in the process concentration wore
out ability to attune other senses
to lend even a shade
now as an older fellow,
who dons bifocals with pride
eligible by optometrist/ophthalmologist
to undergo laser surgery
to shine on (me) lens
and render spectacles superfluous
as necessary guide
once anonymous philanthropist pens

adequate check for costly procedure,
whereby ocular weakness to hide,
whence ability to see keen as a hawk
with zoom empowered by tens
meanwhile this wayward fellow
will pilgrimage to the oracle of Delphi
hoping the priestess can deliver
like some divine
miracle worker for near blind
and if prayer
(to be free of glasses answered)

will become prophet
(written on subway walls) well nigh
and wordsmith will no longer
make spectacle of himself,
additionally no longer at the mercy
per groping in the dark
for misplaced eyewear to find
able to discern celestial objects
far away in the sky
which cosmic phenomena
t’will hypnotize this inquisitive mind.
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                   Meditation - and a Lawnmower - in Early Autumn


               We cannot stay young and strong for long -
               Both of us have grey hair at the temples

                        -Du Fu, “To the Recluse Wei the Eighth”1


After summer rains the earth is still green
Oak leaves dance happily in the cooling breeze
Old lawn chairs are the humble chairs of poets
Old lawn chairs are the glorious thrones of kings

The seasons remind us of our mortality
We sit and ponder the mysteries of change
We will die, to be replaced by others
Who will sit and ponder the mysteries of change

And still, whatever these deep thoughts betoken -
I need to mow, and the lawn mower is broken



1Three Hundred Tang Poems
Translated by Peter Harris
London: Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets, 2009

— The End —