For ages men's thoughts hast roved yonder skies,
Naming nameless planets and stars afar,
But not far from mine eyes nor from thine eyes,
There's still a novelty un-named bright star,
That whispers along like a rushing brook,
Drawing men in a vale of thoughts to Rove,
Like a lone shepherd doth search a stray crook,
Or like a frisky cloud scudding above.
Though, if she'd be a gem, she's but a pearl,
Thrice more precious than gold is to a dwarf,
Yet if a flower, seldom doth unfurl,
Despite to her, poetry, all men ****.

If thee would truly unveil my riddle,
Come thou away take my golden fiddle.

Clinquant stars shied away from her splendor
Harrowing nightmares banished from my sleep
Rambunctious, my soul singing in tenor
Illicit smile, this heart is hers to keep
Sophrosyne; she's the envy of many
Tall tales, myths, legends; all insufficient
Intellect complements her high beauty
Nay nebular thoughts, for she is sapient
Eclipsed behind her eyes; wondrous kindness
Morning zephyr at the end of winter
Allure that cured this poet's mad blindness
Roused the humor in this foolish jester
    I wished her joy, from the very first sight
    End may come; she's the source of my delight

Layered.  Say you didn't know these were complex.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCXXXVII)


Blue skies peer thinly twixt the whiter tale
Of clouds whose stringy webs mask what, from hence?
The warming golden light half bleak, a sense
I maunt put down stalks through all that'd avail.
Ne shadows nor a flirting breath t'exhale
By even halves and I am jumpy, whence
What daffodils might nod can own intents
While folk tell April Fools jokes like we've bail.
Did I complain oer...jonquils' yellow tour
Of frilly heads and purple hy'cinth too?
Yes.  I said even ******* laundry's...poor,
Sith Mum is buried.  Taen from me now, who
Shall pity?  Sparrows e'en too distant fer
Aught smiles, I wonder if a man'd now woo.

01Apr17c

See my spiral for how she rendered it*  



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCXXXVI)


Ya.  Lean upon the porch rail as night's dense
Black--does it twinkle with ah, stars? nor hail
The mirk none pass through, just my brother.  Pale
As Au Revoir where all else sleep from hence,
Lo, how--what ist?  Hark!  For the train calls thence,
Its whistle breaking this cold silence' tale,
And think now, of how I'll lose all ist? frail
Against the metal lacework, sans defense.
Turn back indoors to clean the mess we'd stir
In babysitting.  Wooden tracks a crew
Of Brio traincars clattered oer in tour
Half like what deeply rumbles past, aye to
A fault, my brother saying "a real train--" Were
I numb too long oer Mum?  Or swear I knew?

01Apr17b

Fresh Spring, the herald of loves mighty king,
In whose cote-armour richly are displayd
All sorts of flowers, the which on earth do spring,
In goodly colours gloriously arrayd—
Goe to my love, where she is carelesse layd,
Yet in her winters bowre not well awake;
Tell her the joyous time wil not be staid,
Unlesse she doe him by the forelock take;
Bid her therefore her selfe soone ready make,
To wayt on Love amongst his lovely crew;
Where every one, that misseth then her make,
Shall be by him amearst with penance dew.
    Make hast, therefore, sweet love, whilest it is prime;
    For none can call againe the passèd time.

Most glorious Lord of Lyfe! that, on this day,
Didst make Thy triumph over death and sin;
And, having harrowd hell, didst bring away
Captivity thence captive, us to win:
This joyous day, deare Lord, with joy begin;
And grant that we, for whom thou diddest dye,
Being with Thy deare blood clene washt from sin,
May live for ever in felicity!

And that Thy love we weighing worthily,
May likewise love Thee for the same againe;
And for Thy sake, that all lyke deare didst buy,
With love may one another entertayne!
  So let us love, deare Love, lyke as we ought,
  —Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.