(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXXX)


Say "retail," and then think of which detail?
Department stores and small boutiques, pretense
With boredom hard in tow, as tripping thence
Across the threshold, ladies men t'avail
Join, or else tiny dogs, pass through, a trail
Of lesser beings left in their rear for sense,
Who scuttle in and out trying for defense
Where money's not so plentiful for bail.
When I'd adjust the racks, or take as t'were
Their orders, party to the tales of who
And what, where money flowed like water (poor
As Daddy's saying it did not grow for you
On trees), I'd not aspire to their ranks. Stir
The same, til LORD, how I wait Thee: where to?

21Oct24

...well, who doesn't love Cheerios?

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXXVIII)


Mum said that I loved Cheer'os when, to scale,
A baby, til I knew the photos thence
Well-nigh by heart, those little o's fr'intents
So perfect yet so slippry e'en dry (frail
As aught excuse where tiny fingers hail
All sheer retrieval as a project hence);
And now she's gone, I eat them like defense
For all we knew and cherished, like t'avail.
One brother rhymed and sang that, "Cheer'os [were]
The best thing you e'er tasted!" cuz we grew
Up with our oats thus packaged, or in tour
Rolled, boiled and hot, as porridge, til what's new?
I'm packing them for werk, in milk, is't poor?
And if they're comfort, LORD, how we need You.

20Oct24a

I only let my trainee use the computer--did I unconsciously lean too much on the desk?

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXV)


Say "road construction" nice and slow, til sense
Wakes up to realize "parked" upon the trail
To yonder is no jest at all. Avail
Me of the wilder flowrs as we sit thence
Upon the highway, driving some pretense
Stoked by whom thought it meant to travel. Frail
As aught excuse, I find no means of bail.
And "late to work" revives its image. Whence?
Have baby back pork ribs, pork egg rolls too
For lunch, and breakfast's omelet'd languish, poor
Though aught reply cuz, hunger sated, were
There else to eat, a spinach smoothie'd do
For in between, as I'm mixt up. Stir
Thyself and oh return, LORD. We wait You.

12Oct24a

Believe me, if I knew the reason, I'd give it;your guess is as good as mine.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXII)


Go flip me out like yoghurts lately; frail
Though aught excuse, I'm still here, with a sense
I canna shake, cuz I don't wanna thence
Be is't?  I slept more soundly like t'avail
Me of the mere suggestion could own bail,
Yet such, erm, follies are but cruel pretense.
I neither want this scene nor can from hence
Return to aught I knew, so which detail?
Where pink begins to romance night as t'were,
Find Ian Van Dahl's beat in my fingers to
Drive forward "Castles In the Sky" as poor,
Til ere dawn break, find what 'neath softest blue
Heavns? How Thy mercies new each morning stir
Afresh: Thy sparrows sweetly sing of You.

10Oct24a

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXVI)


October's but twelve days in, and the trail
To yonder looks as bare as erst wont hence,
Trees naked by the score as yellows thence
Look orange for age, and drop. Oh me! In frail
Excuse it's "Game Oer" ere I realized. Hail
Next season with the usual mourning, sense
In black, as Death stalks joys like no defense
Exists. What happened to the féte's detail?!
And wherefore am I yawning, listless, fer
All that, so very dull?! I'd coffee to
Be certain, in a big mug too. In poor
Reply, now eat Chobani under blue
Heavns no rain haunts, and be as t'were
What, eh? What do I need to do? Seek You.

12Oct24b

There IS a reason we're told to beware of what we...everything, really.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMLXXXVIII)


Swear off the pleasures I knew ere cuz thence
I'm too, what, eh? beleaguered to avail
Me of indulgence, yes.  No choc'late, pale
As loving oft to nibble it fr'intents
Home in my father's house.  And thus, what hence?
The id'ot box passe, I'd in betrayl
Now clean forgot the litrature's detail
Which shaped my thoughts and manners, yea, my sense.
Take oh, the lux'ry of an essay fer
Lo, minutes on familiar turf I knew
Weeks, months, so many years ago as twere
Likeas my other "food," and what ah, to
Effect?  As if my thinking clears in poor
'Scuse for brief seconds, oh how sweet tis too!

24May19d

...cuz there's not much left 'cept a body, and pretty face.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMLXXXVII)


Vogue begs to know what "entertains" me.  They'll
Be certain I indulge in that cuz thence
By sheer default, who does not, eh?  My sense
Of that is either quite perverse sans bail,
Or mebbe true:  naught but distracts me, pale
As sich assertions that's my case from hence.
I'll laugh for this or that, watch for intents
Both movies, and the id'ot box t'avail.
Yet all's for mere DISTRACTION.  Joy is poor,
Quite frankly.  I am broken, smile as due,
And swear it's all a game of sheer, as twere:
Pretending.  Christians say that is not true.
So what am I?  My heart died whenas her
Heart did, and I'm a shadow, fading through.

24May19c