Okay, okay.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXXVI)


Ah, listen to the Scriptures as fr'intents
All that was day's gone to the dogs, in pale
Excuse for wanting now to write.  What'd hail
When I was working, had no time, and thence
Thought to ink later?  Blue skies cleared, a sense
Of April winked back through pine shadows, frail
Upon the melted snow's erm, puddles' tale,
And sparrows called for half a minute, whence?
How first John answers all that'd muddle fer
The umpteenth time what I erst thought I knew.
This vain dream I had thought was living, poor
As aught excuse, is only that:  dreams.  Do
We hear what Thou set'st 'fore us in this tour
Of breathing?  O that we'd walk, LORD, with You.

22Feb19b

Laugh at me.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXIV)


Soft blue skies put erst naked trees and thence
These yellowed lawns since dead, as if to scale,
In April's gentler light, though snow detail
The southern regions in that cold white sense
Of frozen Death, eaves dripping in suspense
While ice shrinks 'fore that ghostly breath's exhale
We once thought was Favonious', to avail
Hearts fainting on the threshold of sheer whence.
I canna think, although I sorr'ly do,
This world of mine a mess I wade through fer
So long now I've forgotten what it was as twere
To breathe.  Take notes of what we cherished to
Effect back when all half made sense, in poor
Scuse blind is't, LORD? whilst crying sans voice to You.

21Feb19b

It's so "fun" trying to fit these hugemongous Roman names into iambic pentametre.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXXIII)


So, read an essay on erm, Virgil, frail
As thinking THAT meant aught, and for pretense
Is't lo, Thucydides, to spose I'd sense,
Petrarca's life in um, a nutshell's scale
Of knowledge, even la, Justinian's tale--
Since haunted by those cobbled streets, and hence,
If not the air of Roman days, fr'intents
Those columned cities sages knew t'avail.
And either that, or Valentines in tour
Have ta'en my spirit from me, til I view
All we had joyed in ere as from as twere
A colder distance, seeing, yet voiceless to
Effect, life upside-down, or mine in poor
Scuse, e'en as April haunts the thought life'd woo.

21Feb19a

Hint:  see his sonnet on his second wife Catherine, specifically the line--"...vested all in white--"



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXVII)


Snow.  Was last summer traipsing through a tale
Of mirey puddles?  Ah.  Tis wet fr'intents,
But with frore air presiding all's white hence
Or icy, like the curving claws that hail
From silent eaves, no scimiter--in pale
Excuse for fancied heights--but fringing thence
The void twixt roof and far below, a sense
Perchance of grasping in their scope's detail.
I look out half surprised all's buried fer
The umpteenth time, as flakes cavort now through
Unnumbered hours likeas soft mists in tour,
Sip that espresso foamed milk crowns anew
In thoughtful silence, not unlike that pure
Calm listning as snow falls in silence too.

17Feb19a

Ahem.    Well, here's breach of rigidity, shall we say?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXVI)


If I'm too busy as sheer gloaming thence
Draws lo, the curtains on these frore scapes' tale,
How darkness cozens ere that dinner hail,
This piecemeal chance for sustnance in a sense
Half lonely, til I wander off fr'intents,
To flip through People magazine t'avail
Me of a picture, and why friends ere'd scale
My sweaters and tweed skirts as what from hence?!
"You allus wear such intresting clothes." Were
My choices strange when all don black, and to
A fault wear skinny jeans and leggings through
The week, nor ever touch tall boots?  Is't poor?
Am I thus slated to be odd in tour
Cuz my tastes are not like theirs?  What'd I do?
We're "social creatures."  I've no lover too.

16Feb19b

What's disheartening about THIS stanza is the one that immediately follows it, which, as the site renders it, will appear above it in the listing...



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXV)


O let me not forget Thy mercies! Pale
Morn fraught with e'il, yet with such kindness thence
As we've toast, soft-boiled eggs and porridge hence,
With ah, such poor man's tea as shall avail
Aught who 'non cherish morning's cuppa--hale
To specs yet light as many like fr'intents--
The Scriptures answer 'til that coffee's sense
Culls listning to the radio--sparrows hail!
Watch steamy tendrils waft up in a tour
Of "coffee break," and try to be anew
Half meek, Thou givst my time wi' Dad as twere
Such kindness 'til we part, and lo, just who
Call from the kitchen window?  Sparrows!  We're
So fragile, yet Thou givst us to praise You.

16Feb19a

please oh LORD, have mercy on me and forgive me all my sins--I don't know what I've done.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXIV)


What happened to the home I knew fr'intents?
Why do these fam'lies which are strict, in pale
Excuse have naughty kids? Is't Shakespeare's frail
And mocking answer I use in defense?!
"Do ye with fortune chide, the guilty [thence
Erm,] goddess of my harmful deeds--" I hail
Necess'ty for what 'zactly in betrayl?
Is aught we'd answer but a feigned pretense?
I swear I've been a good girl, mean in poor
'Scuse that I'm still a ******, yet stalk through
The world in tall boots.  Is that naughty?! Sure,
Mum looked grieved at which feature one night? Do
These--? Or what is't twould **** me as it were
Despite my good intents?  Don't swear I knew.

15Feb19d