Why on earth did Sunday AM's cosmetic ad tout "erasing dark circles with concealer" when that was what the mirror answered I needed done?  Talk about coincidence, or what?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMV)


O!  Watch that greyish lace called firs' detail
Upon the blacktop gently shift from thence
To playful winds, where pavement is fr'intents
Likeas some chalkboard smudged t'effect and pale
In afternoon's more lazy eye, in frail
Excuse, myself dead tired cuz coffee's sense
I maunt resist last night did punish, whence
"Erase dark circles with concealer!"'d hail.
Who gives a hoot that I look nice as twere
Eh?  None but older men, ungodly too
Seek me.  Old scruples were mair strict in tour
But faithful as the LORD Whose Word is true.
Blue skies are warmly clean of clouds; winds stir
These naked boughs to nodding; and what's new?

11Mar18a

...just simply crazy:  me.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMIV)


Be modern art.  Don't merely wear a sense
Of twisted souls in anguish, that detail
Seen only on the runway to avail
Is't buyers of the tortured folk which thence
Are writhing whilst they trot amongst us? whence
Designers new upon the scene cull frail
Half notions of it in their wildness' scale
Of "clothing," music pumping out that hence.
Thus Yamamoto's girls looked pained in tour;
Ike Seungik Lee's um, clowns which played all through
Their catwalk, to effect.  Chanel as twere
Conserv'tive was't?  I can't see how but to
Be stylish is pure madness, though tis poor
To call it that.  Just laugh at me, won't you?

10Mar18c

...by sheer droves in erm, Hawaii.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMIII)


Frost's hoary whiteness in the valley, pale
Blue heavns 'non warming as pink blushes thence
Fade softly, and how twilight's greyish sense
I canna 'scribe haunts sweetly, til the veil
Is pierced, that golden eye in sheer betrayl
With yellow fingers twixt the trees, and hence
How shadows draw up silent figures, dense
Yet lacy on dead lawns sans dew t'avail.
Ya, dew.  May shall own silver droplets' tour
Upon green carpets as I know frost's cue
Would be if twas not frore at dawn as twere,
And how the light is ghastly on the crew
Of naked trees, yet prettier thus.  Flowrs stir
As daffodils and tulips search for...dew.

10Mar18b

Yes indeed, oddly enuf.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMX)


Let William Caldwell Roscoe's line fr'intents
Sift to the 'fore while sapphire blue skies hail
In warming black's first light, the moon's detail
Upon day's eastern rim, just as he thence
Wrote centries ere, a sliver in suspense:
"The eastern hanging crescent--" in betrayl
Does not climb higher as he'd said, though how pale
Blue heavns 'gin now to lighten in defense.
And she must have been younger, cuz in her
Love he felt resurrection.  Ah, but to
Effect ist? I shrink from old men, as twere.
Why maunt a young man cherish me and woo?
The moon is lost as surly racks now stir
Rich pink's blush of chagrin.  O what we knew!

13Mar18a

Ya, weeds.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCMLXXXI)


Now April dogs our sunny minutes, pale
Blue skies with nary cloud to mar that sense
As orange 'non splashes buildings in defense
Of rosy sunset just where dinner's bail,
The biscuits cut ere that eye cease t'avail,
And curtains drawn while steamy soup fr'intents
Give us cause to reflect, black night what'd fence
Dessert as we talk oer the future's tale.
I roll the first words 'cross my tongue as't stir
'Fore butter gives flour cause to be anew
Sheer dough, that haunting sense light rouses fer
Auld memries of lost days what winks unto
My soul, though's but March first.  Is it sae poor
To feel it in our bones likeas twould woo?

01Mar18e

for Courtney S. Jennings' "upon the surface of the deep"--



(sonnet #MMMMMMCMXCVI)


Depression's clammy fingers slip fr'intents
'Non twixt her empty ones cuz in betrayl:
She is a woman.  Like some ghost t'avail,
That mist creeps through her veins til ah, from thence
We feel it in our bones, as if good sense
Bows low the head to yield to that detail
Which eats small joys erst wont to be more hale,
And she melts through the floor, a puddle hence.
Thus I embrace November's ghastly tour
Of Death and call grey hours MINE likeas due.
Find solace in these naked boughs that stir
But dimly to winds' chilly breath, as't woo;
Yearn thus to wander through the firs, in poor
'Scuse?  Nah, cuz Thy voice seems there, or is't who?

07Mar18b

Guess I should add, I find 80's fashion abominable.  O, I do.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCMXXXVIII)


So I cut stars of canteloupe to thence
Hang silver ones on string to dance in pale
Hours for the baby showr last week, the tale
Of things I meant to do put off fr'intents,
And now I've chance to breathe, look hence
Upon this buried wasteland's white detail
Which I had noted then was naked, frail
In Death's hands, wishing for what? in suspense.
I spose I wanted to keep all as twere
Unclothed in barren lack, since snow anew
Puts aught in black and white, whereat I tour
What New York's Fashion Week had:  ruffles, to
Thet swishing 'round your ankles stylish fer
Is't eighties' taste again?!  O, what is new?

10Feb18b