David Grey "that poor Scotsman--"/Poet Andrew.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCXXXV)


How dew lies silver in the valley, pale
Shafts through these naked boughs whose shadows' dense
Grey draws up silhouettes upon the sense
Of green lawns' soft new carpet to avail,
Half winking through the ghost of mists' detail
As trees' gaunt skeletons stand silent hence
In sheer calm's fragile note of light suspense,
And I could lose me here where dawn's eye'd hail.
But, no.  Just take a fleeting gander, poor
Though thinner notice be, and while we two
Put on the eggs, make porridge, toast, or fer
All that I do, as Dad makes gravy, view
A Saturday?  Roll 'cross my tongue what were
Sae almost hallowed ere, and say we knew?

01Apr17a

Fantasy.  Take a second look.  This is literally one angle on the only fiance I've ever had.  No joke.  Mebbe see the sonnet titled "why did you hafta die?" next?


(sonnet # DCCCXXV)


We skidded round the corner and the p'lice
Were in our face.  "Oh boy, we're out of space
Babe--just be brave, we're gonna win.  Disgrace
Will keep them on our case 'til we decrease
Those *******.  'Til they skulk and beg for peace.
Now hang on tight"--(shifts in reverse)--"and brace
Yourself"--(tires squealing loudly)--"we'll retrace--
It might be hard--hold on--don't drop your piece!"
We ducked our heads, careening blythely through
A blockade, sending cars flying everywhere.
Out on the open road 'gain finally, too
Alert to miss a beat--"Get ready!  Ere
You see them--fire!  This is our rendezvous--"
We won at six.  He's now their head.  Take care.

05May12
D185c

If you're really good I might let you see them, that is, if I can find the pointy-toed knitted pink preemie booties some coworker's wife gave my parents....




(sonnet #MMMMMMCXX)


Suppose I'm but a nymph whose sprite in frail
Excuse wars, tangled by long cherished thence
Auld loves, and sorrows which I canna hence
Shrug off.  My father aye, and brothers hail
Me as so oddly wont to in betrayl
Don effervescence, whiles griefs own my sense
Of whither, glad to see this warm eye whence
These yellowed fields bask, dead, as if'd avail.
I dabble in the thought of Death as twere,
Like twould thus ransom me from here, though blue
Skies whisper to my soul of yonder fer
All that.  Yea, I hate aught, but love each too.
Or praps I hate myself cuz joy is poor
And crimnal, left a prisner, whence I rue.

01Feb17b

Yo.  
[L1 the "he/his" is my father when I exuberantly said it looked like...April.]



(sonnet #MMMMMMCXIX)


Ah me!  His short reply:  "It's February." dense
With aye, signifcance--oh!  but how these pale
Yet baby-blue fresh skies white cloud puffs trail
Across in, like to ice floes' vague pretense
Upon some vast sea, whilst the sparrows thence
Chirp gaily, distant as the fragile scale
Of golden warmth's note--heavn's eye in detail
Thus proffers--hints of April in aught sense!
Come, feel it in your bones, nor say tis poor!
Tree skeletons' long naked boughs splashed to
Effect shift as thet purplish touch haunts fer
A space cloud islands and oh!  Say we knew.
Yes, I still cherish these, whileas the moor
Lies frozen, glad tis cuz I miss Mum too.

01Feb17a

You are allowed to laugh, I've heard it is good medicine.



(sonnet #MMMMMCMXCII)


Alas.  I cherish too much, in a sense,
October's pale eye, and how in betrayl
Thet lonely yellow leaf 'non skitters, frail
And hapless 'cross the blacktop, lost from hence
Within grey shadows as cold winds breathe thence
In careless fashion through worn Maples' hale
Stance, green, orange-kissed and whispring of ne bail
Whilst Death walks silent through this vague suspense.
These blue skies wear a cloudless mien as twere,
Yet blinding echoes of thin fragments do
Some tour of duty in their backdrop fer
Good measure.  Yellow gladrags dance, the crew
Of staid leaves fragile.  But I love't all, poor
As saying is, only wanting, yessir:  You.

24Oct16a

...and I'll give you half an ear.  
[L9:  Robert.  And sent a pic when returned.  And yes, I loved him, shame to say.]



(sonnet #MMMMMCMXCI)


Where gloaming filters out in greyish thence
And fading halflight, children's voices trail
Some barking canine as no birds detail
Calm whispers whose soft breath tugs at me hence
Likeas to stay my footfalls with that sense
Tis now, and here.  Ne stars yet in blue's veil
Except the evening star alone oer pale
Dead houses, and how sunset burns low.  Whence?
Indeed.  He's gone to Burning Man as twere
Or some take off that, romance forfeit too,
Else I'll wish for a date with each in poor
Excuse, how's that?  The problem is...that you
Are not here.  What are cool winds' murmurs?  You're
Who gives dusk romance.  Tell me that you knew.

23Oct16c

I'd show you the black and white photographs of this allegedly cherubic 1 yr-old....



(sonnet #MMMMMCMXC)


Oh me!  How diamonds sparkle in th'exhale
As winds flirt on the lake's clear *****, whence
Blue skies thus mirrored  as erst wont, a sense
Of what? half wrestles in me on that scale
Cuz why aren't we together now, to hail
This bounty in each other's arms?  Leaves thence
All whispring as their boughs rock, yellow hence
Mocks joy as I see Mum in sheer betrayl.
We used to walk down to the valley, tour
The yard lost in whatever, and I knew
Our time was short.  But I don't weep for her
Today as yet, cuz who's distracted to
Effect is also quite obliv'ous.  Poor
As saying is:  I could wish you were here too.

23Oct16b