(or, what I did 02Mar19PM)



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXLIII)


Crunch M&M's whilst listning to, t'avail,
Karl Lagerfeld on lo, his craft and thence
Why he scorned social media for intents:
Cuz artists need to keep the channels they'll
Use to inspire such feats as we'll in frail
Excuse half worship clear of aught else hence,
Which I have learned ere now in sheer defense
Of this mine own work, whence erm, nod, t'exhale.
Chanel and Fendi lost a master fer
Their grand success these decades, likeas to
Effect they'll never know again in tour,
Methinks.  Ah, Shakespeare, Shelley, long gone too,
Carl Philippe um, Emmanuel Bach--what were
We thinking was ahead?  Mars candy'd do.

03Mar19a

...well, I neglected to stir the refried beans as I wrote this...



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXLII)


Snow flurries past the window for a sense
Of what's beyond these bathroom tiles in pale
Morn's eye, where lo, in lieu of dawn, a veil
As twere of white tricks out the cracks from hence
Likeas some veins filled 'gainst um, surgry, whence
Aught thinnest fissure stands out in betrayl
Now I've a chance to take one look t'avail,
We'd see our breath if we exhale, fr'intents.
If cleaning house ere any rose as twere
Was worth the effort, we'll play dolls anew
"Fore breakfast, cuz a Saturday is fer
O, sleeping-in for her, and fun to do
This opportun'ty good.  And coffee.  Stir
Me to make toast while sipping Daddy's brew.

02Mar19

Ah:  how to begin a new month, specifically the one which sees the seasonal changing of the guard.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXL)


Folk preach this "starting over;" talk fr'intents
Of "liberation," and I'm deaf in pale
Reply.  If marriage was that too, bewail
My hapless case, nor find I've aught defense.
"The bride weeps at her marriage bell--" for sense
Lo, Missus Browning wrote.  I cleave t'avail
To every bit I know, whileas "they" hail
Me wi' the call to erm, "let go."  Pretense.
"If any...be in Christ--" well, THAT is new.
I am just me.  Change is a horror, as poor
As aught good sense.  Years alter me in tour,
Not by my leave.  Oh no!  I yield unto
What I cannot resist, by halves, as twere.
And March culls Spring to 'gain:  renew.

01Mar19b

...every morning, great is Thy faithfulness."  (Lam 3:22-23)



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXXXVII)


O hark now as the train's voice rumbles! Pale
Night else is dead asleep til ah, from hence
That warning whistle pierces through suspense;
And I just listen, rolling to avail
Those words across my silent tongue to scale,
Half seeing that mighty being which passes thence
As wont through woods none save the beasts fr'intents
Troll, wondring dimly over which detail?
Ha, I dunno.  Like, since I canna stir
Good slumber now, should I erm, rise and *****
That effort, to ink down this thought?  Tis poor.
Thus roll oer and exhale.  If morn debut
Sans fanfare, say a chance to write in tour
Shall yield that note a voice?  And what is new?

28Feb19a

...grasping water that sifts through my fingers.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXXX)


I sip espresso Dad pulls, foaming thence
The milk to sheer perfection til t'avail,
While not adorned with artistry, the frail
Notes on that white crown look sweet for intents,
As he talks on--oh!  I forget what hence--
Til he's pulled his; and though winds howl, th'exhale
Chill like twould send warmth packing, how to scale
Our minutes are as erst...philosphy dense?
Not Shakespeare, nor sweet Shelley to demur
This feigned attempt at glory we'd accrue
By dint of "home barista" now as twere,
Or my half stylish gear the ladies do
But offer kind words for:  he lectures poor
Me as wont 'pon that scale to seek, LORD, You.

24Feb19b

Yo.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXXVII)


Roll words across my tongue as fog trims thence
The distance and rain pours in sheer betrayl
Down every window, like choice phrases' scale
Of what is beats out sheer real'ty hence,
How evning culls perspective in a sense:
Mists shroud the thought of yonder with a veil,
The clustered houses silent as, t'avail
I look out on the ghostly naught's pretense.
And oh! What do I try for in a poor
Attempt which falls upon its face anew?
Scroll through pics of stylish ladies' tour
Of lux'ry boots, and they'll still call my view,
Yes, outfits:  "intresting."  Mist woo as twere
My soul, and violets know my name, else, who?

23Feb19b

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