Lolita Poems

1) Lolita (anagram)

Light of my life, fire of my loins. Plight of my strife, wire of my joints. 

oh Lolita my darling daughter, flightless pigeon, blinded doe

love, no such thing could hold my weight Lolita, my Lolita, please understand

in the end Lolita, I loved you Dolores. It would have made all the difference-

the English language, the Parisian heart, the Russian spirit cannot place

a world in which you and I would never have met

and for that I hope you’ll forgive me.

2) Lolita (sonnet)

When alone at night while I lay quite still

When life rings sour when such life so rued,

I rise from my cave and pick up my quill

And write my dearest a love letter crude

She is mine, divine and stubbornly bold

Humble yet loud, she has left me a while

The thought of her warms my dreary hands cold

Murder my spirit, tease me her smile

Let her test my resolve, land me a stroke

For I will drown and to give her her way

Divine intervention, hand me a smoke

Gift her my time, my life, my days. What praise! 

She is my darling, my daughter sweet dove

A member of my mind or part thereof

3) Sonnet for Lolita

My paradise of flames, light of my days 

A birdling to raise, a nymphet to kiss

Shield my poor heart! To Lolita I’d pray

I lost her temper; To whisper, she hissed

My infant daughter who’d cry in her sleep

Beside me, with me, what more for my fun

At dawn I’d listen and echo her weep

To drive me to madness, reach for my gun

To my new God on my knees I would plead

To send me a sign, a road to follow

One by one my many virtues would leave

How she had left me, so lost to my woes

Lolita, I love you always and still

Loving Lolita, my violet pill

4) Sonnet for Lolita part 2

A labyrinth of youth, my hidden flame

Braids and freckles, a hidden smile noir

Apple of my gaze, the smallest miss Haze

My burning sun, cosmic light, sapphire star 

A nymphet in shadow, stolen grace

Eternal sunshine, a scorched paradise

My fingers stained with ink, rich navy trace

Cherry soda, tennis games, cloudy skies 

A dozen pink roses, a thousand thorns 

A paradox of purity and pain, 

grand columns of letters, through pages worn

a haunting melody in sweet refrain

Beyond the hill at the children’s chorus

Where are you waiting, my dear Dolores?