[the Japanese' term for women over 40 was it?]



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXII)


We're "friends," and so I penned of him fr'intents.
And likewise we discussed in sheer betrayl
Just how he liked erm, *******, to scale,
Til I found by degrees how it will thence
Go:  he's a man.  THAT said a mouthful.  Hence
It's NOT what I want, nor believe.  In frail
Excuse for girlish dreams, it's what he'll hail,
Despite all my um, protests.  It's his sense.
Sigh.  Thus we draw apart, cuz I won't do.
O if I'm as a fragile violet you're
Quite heedless of in passing, trampling fer
All that my petals, ah, tis nothing new.
I'm not a siren who is brazen, poor
As your hot passions.  Therefore none now woo?

26Apr19b

Um, I blamed it on having read my friend's dark piece.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXCVI)


Likeas a small child standing naked thence
Within the charred bits of a doorway, frail
As lo, thin wisps of smoke 'non drifting, pale
And silent twards grey heavns, where no voice hence
Replies but tis the shrieking call fr'intents
Of nary hawk nor gull, but whom avail
Them of burnt wreckage--lost upon that scale
Wi' but a des'late wilderness 'fore, whence?
They talk of some "new start."  I laugh in tour,
Yea, smile as if I'm ver'ly happy too,
Can fool myself like such is true, yet's poor.
I'm that wee child left 'fore this desert view,
Pretending all's sae fine as Death stalks fer
All that whate'er I'd cherished.  And what's new?

20Apr19b

or Notes From, erm, Sunday [AFTER MIDNIGHT]

(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCLXXXII)


So boot up, grab a coat, red scarf, and thence
Wade out to breathe afresh (like to inhale
Ole Winter is refreshing) and none hail
Save lo, the cardnal from a distant hence,
Erm, corner.  Ha, pretend in sheer defense
I don't care, though to roll upon that scale
Yes, "lonely" 'cross my tongue as each detail
Hangs frozen in keen silence haunts that sense.
The lake is as erst wont and still, grey fer
How very white all is!  Wee snowflakes to
Effect land in my hair I 'non in tour
Unloose and shake out whilst a robin, too,
Sans voice half stumbles to the Maple.  Poor
As talking when none answer, what's to do?

15Apr19a

Smile, or?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCLXXX)


White.  Snow.  Sae del'cate that we feel it hence
Within our souls:  that hallowed silence they'll
Assure ye is what Sunday's due.  T'inhale
Is what we do, half stifled, til I thence
Am lo, some heathen, breaking in fr'intents
And shattring that fine calm as I exhale
My raptures with sheer glee words maught avail
Aught else, Dad chiding me like's sans defense.
So I pass through to breakfast:  late.  Yes, stir
Him 'spite all that to later say it too,
Whenas the dainty white is heavy--we're
Agreed tis verra wet, and will melt to
Effect ere we're aware, nor linger.  Pure
Sweet silence calls unto my soul as't woo.

14Apr19b

Like my name tag?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCLXXVIII)


Lo, all you see is lies.  I blink, fr'intents,
O ya, pretend I know and see t'avail
Past aught detail unto the truth, to scale,
But it's a nightmare, waking, sleeping--sense
Though half aware sees but this wasteland hence--
I laugh and jest with friends, yet joys are frail:
All's empty; hopes here corpses, and in pale
Excuse I keep on like it's not pretense.
Cling to the Scriptures as I drown in poor
Reply; forget, forget so I can smile on cue
And feign I'm not a shadow, not in tour
So empty.  Pray for dear love, failing to
See what I have.  LORD, if I weep, will't cure
What?  All I have is You, cuz Thou art true.

13Apr19d

Oh, to be certain, she* was dead serious.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCLXXVII)


Quoth she, "...THIS fashion plate." to, smiling, scale
Me lo, from pink headband to tall boots' dense
Black, like the comment she was stylish thence
Was--what? to MY attire?!  and whither?  pale
As friends and kindness, poor attempts t'avail
Myself of being half stylish, all's pretense?
So guys stop talking when I pass, a sense
Of turning heads mine for too long sans bail.
I'm "never good enough." Or what is't, fer
All that?  What am I chasing?  Wherefore do
NonChristians seem...is't kinder?  Why in poor
'Scuse did the church um, ladies, tell me two
Times that:  "your outfits are [for aught as twere]
E'er intresting."?!  Laugh.  Tell me what is true?

13Apr19c

So get used to it.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCLXXVI)


"They" swear you should write at all hours, fr'intents,
But oh! what swore it wanted voice t'avail
At nearly midnight left me with, to scale,
Its acrid taste upon my tongue for sense
Ere dawn could settle on just whither hence,
The memry's chalkboard smudged, but NOT in pale
Excuse at all erased, alas.  Go hail
Some taxi to the edge of town, and whence?
I pick 'non through the rubble of as twere
Now oer a decade of romance I rue
Attempts at, sighing.  Dredge up hopes I'd bestir
Oer whom, was't? back then, cuz it all fell through.
Those kisses, dates--all soured.  I'm left in tour
Lo, an olde maid, where dawn won't even woo.

13Apr19b