"betoken" poems
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.
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 3:23 PM UTC
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.
1.6k
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 ****
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 11:01 AM UTC
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.**
Jun 30, 2017
Jun 30, 2017 at 8:10 AM UTC
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
Apr 27, 2020
Apr 27, 2020 at 12:09 PM UTC
'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
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC
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.
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 12:58 PM UTC