...as Mum taught me.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCMIX)


Did sparrows gaily call as wont, t'avail
Espresso with Dad's lecture of a sense
Long since forgotten, just where blue skies fence
Is't Sunday morning's placid airs as frail
White clouds lent April's winking eye a pale
Note of grey yonder, what? for aught intents?
How Janry owns the jest was poor as hence
These naked wastes look dead, likeas to scale.
O yes, they market florals ere March tour,
Cuz stylish girls must be the first to do
Um, April Fools a proper notice.  We're
All shivring in wool rollnecks now, but you
Just want mair golden hours to cull what'd stir
That keener sense Spring shall anon debut.

28Jan18a

...asking if I'd "--left the kitchen because it was too hot?" as I'd brownies in the oven and dinner warming on the stove.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMCMVIII)


Lo, nary voice flits through this warm pretense
Whose eye is April's in a trice, the pale
Blue heavns white clouds dim with four geese' detail,
And yes, a silent flock of birds which thence
Fly past, light flashing off their wings, a sense
Of deathly naught held like a notice frail
Warm hours are but a tease, as sparrows fail
To merrly answer, whiles I feign what hence?
Thin nonchalance, just as last night in tour
Where I "performed" sae poorly with a crew
Of local poets at the Lit Fest.  Were
Their kindness not Thy mercies, LORD, what through
Our vain hours should we answer?  Is't sae poor
I cherish 'gain these minutes I once knew?

27Jan18

...like, "if you must remain nobly a ****** unto death in lieu of marrying divorced or ungodly men, buck up and be thankful." or something like that.  


(sonnet #MMMMMMCMVI)


If butterflies were dancing gaily hence
Across these wastes, likeas in sheer betrayl
Pink 'non embroidered ones do whilst flutes scale
Soft notes and trip too merr'ly for intents
Now through the minutes I work pinning thence
An ancient zipper to this skirt, we'd hail
Sweet joy no, aye?  But thin white clouds 'gain veil
Blue skies til shadows' ghosts fade, and's pretense.
Did I complain too much ere, that as twere
I'm punished with ne best friend?  No man'd woo
Affections then, but he was toying in poor
Excuse with me, or was divorced.  None do
Ha, ha now either, flutes in lieu what stir
Fond visions as I bend oer sewing's cue.

25Jan18b

Magnolia can correct me, I guess.


(sonnet #MMMMMMCMV)


Thin snow fir's lacy shadows cozen, frail
Nor but a vestige, waits as how from hence
The eaves drip like some faucet, April's scents
In tow whileas this warmer light'd avail,
Blue heavns expansive, wind's a soft exhale
And fragile though a caller breath, suspense
Is as a child in nurs'ry school fr'intents,
My soul half wanting to skip through the vale.
O yes, the moors are frozen still in tour,
Mud wakened to **** at our feet and do
Linoleum in childish strains.  None stir
Dead leaves' thick carpet to lift smiles unto
These gracious skies: no daffodils yet, fer
All I kin feel it in my bones.  What'd woo?

25Jan18a

You are allowed to guffaw at me, considering what came before this.



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCCCLXXXI)


Snow.  Likeas if what, eh? mists' fragile veil
Haunts gathring darkness as white caps from hence
That thought of April in the wings, suspense
Put back to sleep with frozen kisses' scale
Of niceness was't?  Rain's tripping through t'avail
Culled naked lawns in yellowed Death, which thence
Are tucked 'neath that chill coverlid, and whence
Straps on its boots 'gainst crunching forth, hope pale?
Nah.  It is Janry still, and violets' tour
Shall not be guaranteed until the dew
Once more rests silver on green carpets fer
Soft light and warmer hours lost under blue
Skies nary iciness skulks in as twere.
Tonight we'll shiver, glad the furnace knew.

14Jan18c

Hi.



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCCCLXXX)


O! did I cherish that more ghastly sense
Of light, how tis gone with the shadows' pale
Forms likewise, blue heavns masked in sheer betrayl,
Nor but this duller blank of nothing hence
Which region clouds own, dead leaves silent thence
Upon these naked limbs, with nary frail
Breath save tis frozen air whose keen detail
They shiver to, as I, sans aught suspense.
Or wait.  Now Paul "likes" me as well.  In poor
Excuse, and for the first time ever--ooh!
I sent a man a "smile."  Now what, as twere?
Let me hear Bach and pick up Shakespeare to
Align half wakened dreams, lest I chafe fer
Long minutes oer vain hope. as none quite woo.

14Jan18b

"...what is seen, but what is UNseen, for what is unseen is eternal."



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCCCLXXIX)


Twas MY lake once as twere, which now in pale
Morn's fragile Sunday calm is placid hence
In slate-grey silence wandring voices fence,
But don't as frore winds own this Janry scale
Of lost joys I view from afar in sheer betrayl,
The naked trees' black silhouettes as thence
Sae gaunt or rattling bony fingers, whence
Is't that the only call I catch--winds' hail?
Snow melted by rain,  how th'expanse lies fer
Blue heavns' half clouded eye so dead, yet to
My soul's perception, 'ginning now to stir
With hope, though March is but a dream.  We knew
So many things, once, and the lake as twere--
Its ***** like a mirror--shows 'gain what'd woo.

14Jan18a