--scratch that, my cat woke up.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCLXXXI)


Where shadows come and go, ah, which detail?
I'm watching Autumn in its paces hence,
Yet like each year, I cannot paint fr'intents
The view, cuz tis so subtle. Skies t'avail
With gilded cloud battalions, blue seas they'll
Own whileas grey sweeps 'cross in sheer suspense,
How leaves are changing sans as twere from thence
Aught fanfare, cuz it is still early. Bail?
And Tigger's sleeping in my lap, the cure
For all my running 'bout since that won't do
Cuz now I'm grounded. T-mobile's freebie fer
This week a logo'd stadium bag, clear too,
I'll cheer on whom? Is Robert coming? Stir
Me when he does? Oh LORD, I wait for You.

26Aug25c

[pipe cleaners in rainbow colours]

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCLXXVII)


Pipe cleaners had a purpose, straws' detail
Left sans recure without. But cat toys thence?
How Tigger comes to watch me wash fr'intents
The dishes; all was cool til she'd t'avail
Espy the cluster on the ledge, her trail
To happy minutes; leaving off pretense,
She picks her way through plates just rinsed to whence,
That tool for cleaning now a toy, and bail.
Last I saw, twas a spider. Straight'ning her
Wreck, I return it, to watch Peter too
Enjoy what never had so much use fer
'Scuse til redeemed by cats. Ah me, who knew?
Were we likewise worth nothing as it were
Until the potter, LORD, was only You?

26Aug25a

Prolly wouldn't have gone off half as well.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCLXXIV)


Whilst steam wafts up in dainty tendrils' sense
Of romance, brie with del'cate mould's detail
Upon my tongue, where Peter's on the trail
Of Tigger and she's dancing oer mice, whence?
The squirrel comes by to look, and they from hence
Are keen on him, or whom? Chill winds' exhale
Sifts through like solace, where calm seems t'avail
Despite their wild play cuz I'm home fr'intents.
Debate what I shall serve for breakfast, poor
As such sheer wastes of time, and brunch will do,
I guess. Swiss cheese and scallions mixt in tour
With scrambled eggs, Canad'an bacon too,
And porridge, noshed on whilst they sleep. Bestir
Fresh air with gratitude. LORD, I thank You.

25Aug25a

...on love and romance.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCLII)


Frogs chorus in the darkness sweetest scents
Waft through as if romance owns aught detail
Now tis May first, oh me! Just to inhale
Is to cull swooning til I've no defense
Where night'd intox'cate in a trice, good sense
As wont in lover's trysts quite perished, frail
Though aught 'scuse when you've nary hope t'avail
Upon the clock--is't lilacs?! or what hence?
Eat salad after hours, "spring mix" as t'were
With olives, shrooms, tomatoes, onions, to
Effect a treat, potato chips to cure
Aught cravings, what I want is to yield 'new
Where romance tugs upon my sleeve: is't poor?
Were not sweet odours meant to thereby woo?

01May25b

...who coulda guessed?

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCLI)


Quip "Happy May day!" to learn that detail
Of ribbons and a party 'round fr'intents
The maypole will not do e'en in pretense,
Cuz he was born in June.  Like to avail
Us of sich joys...?! or was there more in frail
Excuse that I'd miss where he'd answer thence
So oddly? Shall we ever meet 'gain? whence
Shelve this til later, and then whither's bail?
Rain falls in torrents like the storm in tour
Would shut aught down, yet nothing flickers through
Its rampage. Drive home as it lingers, stir
Both cleaning and our breakfast til maunt do
And I yield up to napping; maint'nence cure
All problems til what's left is to seek You.

01May25a

...I'm all mixt up, am I?!



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCXXXI)


Sweet blue skies with soft gilded clouds t'avail,
Red Maples' baby leaves now flutter hence
So lightly, and how dandelions thence
With sunny yellow heads dot green lawns' trail
To yonder as songs flit and call like bail
From every bush, tree, covert, nook, a sense
Of all we cherished in that note, no scents
Of pine, fresh grass nor clover to inhale.
But how the lake now ripples as winds stir
Across its face, the sparrows gaily too
'Non calling as geese rest. If plovers cure
Night's blackness, how frogs chorus through
The welcome touch of chill. And Shakespeare, poor
As subterfuge, remains cloaked. What is new?

23Apr25e

...neither of us.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCXXX)


She calls to tell me of the wondrous scents
Now wafting in from her oped windows hale
In clover and fresh grass, whose sweet detail
Is not, she sez, though that can't be pretense;
And I am glad for her. Wisconsin dense
In such is far too perfect. I'd avail
Me but I am in Lincoln's Land sans bail,
And country living hers, I've no defense.
Best friends now from a distance, what is poor
Is we can't hang out anymore. We knew
Such parties in the day, shared dishes fer
The fun of it, went groc'ry shopping too,
Together, and now only have as t'were
Our phones. Thou gav'st all, LORD, and we wait You.

23Apr25d

Ah, dearest Will, you win, hands down.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCXXIX)


Dear William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, they'll
Not know you as you are. Tis as fr'intents
You wanted; oer four hundred years quite dense
With progress have erased you; that detail
Used then to masque is all they know t'avail
Them of as, "in black ink [my]Love-" fr'intents
Not thee, "may still shine bright." Tis called pretense
Whenas I try t'acknowledge thee. I've no bail?
The "gordian knot" who set in place to stir
That world back then has worked so well, what's true
Is not known now. As for thy Love, in poor
Reply what Francis Meres knew shall not do,
You are a pervert now. Your love in tour
"May still shine bright," yet your Love is just who?

23Apr25c

Hmm.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCXXVIII)


Tis Shakespeare's birthday, and his sonnets' sense
Of who he was, with notes of that detail,
Preserved "in black ink" like he knew'd avail,
Yet nary read by most, still face fr'intents
School children who would rather find defense
In play, but where I've learned much, likeas bail,
Including when the seasons are, in frail
Excuse for what we're taught, til what's pretense?
I wonder. For he clearly knew as t'were
What is, and what shall be. Or did he through
Whatever means but know the half in tour?
That this earth is reserved for fire how few
Know even now? What good is black ink? We're
Not going to read aught then. LORD, we wait You.

23Apr25b

...as does 1580.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCXXVII)


Rain falls likeas a nursemaid's calm voice hale
In tender solace, where the light from hence
Has not resolved itself, and night seems thence
Reluctant to depart, the soothing scale
Of sheer relief what children gladly hail
When fevered as myself, for tis defense,
The soul aware within that note of whence
Being still hid by sheer mists, but what'd avail.
Late morning, how the dove calls from as t'were
Near yet half distant, sparrows, and geese too
'Non chatt'ring as the feast called breakfast's tour
Waits for indulgence, eggs, tomato to
Grapes, bacon, cottage cheese, banana fer
All that and brie with apple asking who?

23Apr25a

...don't look at me.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCXIII)


Too many years ago the talk to scale
Of "cell phones" owned but Blackb'rrys for intents,
And was a dream of yonder not all thence
Could realize, where the "cold war" swore the trail
To any future would be sans aught bail
'Cept freedom was derailed, the "commies" hence
Keen spies who'd access to our land lines, whence
The talk was of which speeches to avail?
They killed off Kenn'dy cuz he swore in tour
To tell us all, yea, ****** McCarthy too.
But that was 'fore my time. Now all that's poor,
I'll post online, to find me barred sans cue
Cuz wherefore, eh? Go "clear yer cache"?! We were
Such fools to cast off fears. LORD, I'll wait You.

15Mar25c

...as Thousand Island or even Russian Dressing.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCXI)


LIfe IS uncertain: eat dessert first'd hail
In fact where we've too little milk fr'intents,
And I am working in the kitchen. Whence,
A bit of milk he murmurs after (frail
As all excuses) is nigh bad, t'avail
Us two of Oreos, where Reubens hence
Are on the docket, nearly crafted thence,
Cuz I'll be busy on the clock sans bail.
My fingers burned from this grand project's tour
Of duty, turns out lo, yer parents knew
Jist how to make all things, and you in poor
'Scuse never kin match up. All that I do
Does not taste half as good as theirs. What were
We 'sposed to do in their shoes? Wait on You.

15Mar25a

...know: t'was from You.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCX)


How lo, a black-capped chick'-dee's call frae thence
(Sweet mem'ries) lilts as I walk down the trail
In foreign wastes where such joys rarely hail,
Aye haunts the twa blocks to my car, a sense
Of former games in tow, likeas defense,
Til I recall years 'go when t'would avail
My soul sae close at hand, where that detail
Of apricot trees and home were all. Whence?
Forsooth.  I swear I saw him day 'fore, were
They nigh likeas the sparrows, sitting, too,
In silence in the naked bush in tour
Outside my bedroom window. If that's true,
What should I know, oh LORD? The mem'ry'd stir
But I can't find that diary page. Where to???

14Mar25c

...meaning, when I'm half asleep I'm significantly tamer--but that's why you men forever tire women out anyway.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCIX)


The wafting scents of chicken 'long the trail,
Where I'm too sleepy yet, conspire from thence
To turn my stomach as I hasten hence
To work oernight, ne hunger 'longside, frail
As all the others eager to avail
Themselves of food or action, Friday's sense
Alive elsewhere than in my car fr'intents.
Besides, I've packed a lunch, should I want bail.
Three lanes of heavy traffic wane as t'were,
Their foolish sense of was't street racing? too
Much for this time, where's not my style in tour.
They pull 'longside and match my speed, then do
Not but fall back. My uniform? Is't poor
I'm thankful?LORD, be Thou my refuge: You.

14Mar25b

...yet wherefore?!

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCVII)


Forget to watch the shadows as they trail
Across this sun-washed view, as if fr'intents
Too charmed with life, the page turned in a sense
Back,...or is't forward? Caught in which detail?
How can I know? Chagrined to find I fail
At all, or so it seems, resort to...whence?
Dost Thou, oh LORD, give me to see? For hence
Reminded oer and oer how I'd avail?!
I never was a grand soul, only her
Whom Thou wouldst ransom, all I have of You;
I'm but forgiv'n anon, and failing, poor
As all my protests and best efforts to
Be better than I am. Back here, bestir
In me to do Thy will, LORD, as I'd do.

13Mar25c
--By Dand

...like, what comes after this?!

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCVI)


How is't? But having mulled (was't vain pretense?)
Returning to these 'scapes, work drags me, frail
And full of silly old complaints, t'avail
Right back to my old stomping grounds for sense,
Famil'ar sights and streets, where aught from hence
Half whispers that I know it too well, trail
And all likeas mine own in each detail,
Til I begin to wonder why? and, whence?
Last night I toyed with stuff frae years 'go fer
A spell because I could not sleep. Now too,
I'm back right where I used to be as t'were,
And wond'ring what I'm s'posed to learn anew
Or realize? I half love it too. Is't poor?
Oh LORD, til all of Thine hand. I wait You.

13Mar25b

...silly me.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCV)


Oh sunny warmth, I'm thankful to avail
Me of these tender hours where sparrows thence
Tease, and now I recall how last night scents
From bar-b-que would haunt mine exit, trail
Along, til in the pre-dawn darkness, frail
As aught 'scuse, how sich odours tempt fr'intents
Til I am making arguments for sense
T'unravel, as his comment last week'd hail.
He wished repeatedly for bar-b-que in tour,
A grill left out last night from neighbors who
Could thus avail themselves. Forget in poor
Reply the pulled pork whiskey'd tinge, as through
Thy mercies, LORD, I'm giv'n more hours. Bestir
In me to sing Thy praise, all, all of You.

13Mar25a

I do.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCXIV)


Where dawn is not, for rain whose last detail
Is threat'ning snow, grind coffee like erst, whence
Fresh Thompson's Irish Tea in lo, what thence?:
A well-worn Barry's mug, and joe t'avail,
Both with a dash of half-n-half to scale,
How snow late fills the air with white for sense,
As forecast, and I dearly hope from hence
That March swears off such blankets and owns bail.
A blackbird wanders nigh til, how in tour
The plover cries. Geese next, he calls 'gain to
Distract me, and by afternoon tis pure
Spring wetness all 'round. Puddles blankly view
Whate'er is nigh and naught else seems astir.
I put the Scriptures on...LORD, save us too.

16Mar25a

...you know?


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCIV)


The card'nal's voice from naked trees I thence
Reply to in his style, like that detail
Of courtship is a game? How plovers hail
Now after dark, keen mem'ries of Mum hence
In tow, cuz that's when I saw them fr'intents,
On her last walk with me, like that t'avail
Is no more from lo, Col'rado, the trail
To yonder is't? within their call for sense?
As if they call unto my soul in tour,
Oh LORD, I hear, yet what's anon to do?
My brother texts 'bout tuna salad--her
Um rec'pe, and we realize thereby too
That she ne'er wrote it down. Remember fer
Him, and he says it sounds right, LORD, of You.

12Mar25c

Howdya like that?


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCIII)


In Elgin over twenty years to scale,
Yet not in Scotland, Illinois as thence
Where I was born, and now like for intents
I live in Bolingbrook, yet not t'avail
In Munster Ireland, but lo, that detail
Of Lincoln's Land, again. What is it hence?
My father's house is Gordon, thus for sense
By Dand in all, and in my blood, like bail.
Is't by mere chance I drink tea, Barry's fer
All that?! Grew up on porridge like twas due,
And bagpipe strains more rarely, was that poor?
The prairies in my youth where skies so blue
Were all we knew, and longhorn too, bestir
In us to seek Thy face, LORD, and wait You.

12Mar25b

After all, "on Wednesdays we wear--"


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCII)


Three lanes of heavy traffic, racing thence
Whenas a gap appears, get home t'avail
Ere dawn, and sleep twas hours likeas sheer bail
Upon the couch, to heat the hash fr'intents
With ham on top (yes, protein central hence!),
Fry eggs (one frozen!), and make porridge, frail
As aught 'scuse, AFTER Barry's with to scale
Some shortbread, thankful's easy, like defense.
I guess I slept off Wednesday as it were,
March tender warmth enough with softest blue
Heavns to keep our heat off; the lake winds stir
To gentle rippling ducks sail on, a crew
Of geese on guard upon the shore, demure?
Thy mercies new each morn, LORD, we thank You.

12Mar25a

...I've wanted to for 14 years now. My late father had an anecdote from his college days where his friend's mother called after them: "Eat your banana! It's good for your heart!" and you know about how "an apple a day keeps the doctor away!" right?


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCI)


Caprese with cherry 'matoes' sweet detail
Tops aught I've known before, as if from hence
Tis all I ever should use, eh? The sense
Of basil fresh thus matched like to avail,
What's left to add? Pom avrils for sheer bail
Now that is done, the cake is finished, whence?
There's mac-n-cheese, beef hot dawgs, and from thence
So much more, choc'late ice cream down the trail.
Charcut'rie boards I'll pack for third shift's tour,
(Go call me selfish will ye?!), ne ado
For that detail, bananas, apples fer
Our hearts and keeping doc at bay anew,
We've oranges, and the list goes on. Bestir
Friends online and but tease? LORD, we wait You.

11Mar25d

...you've gotta BE here.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCXV)


Let stormy blue racks hide the day to scale
Where naked trees lined up evince from hence
Vague hints of Spring, as if leaves shall fr'intents
Not be much longer, like chartreuse t'avail
Already murmurs of beyond, this frail
Calm plovers pierce with strangest wafting scents
Of melted butter just in tow for sense,
Like popcorn and a movie thought of bail?!
I was not here oernight, so maunt demur
Nor say if that e'en could occur, or's true.
Tomorrow is Saint Patrick's Day. We were
Most fond of corned beef with yes, cabbage too,
Yet rarely had such treats. With Reubens cure
For that, I'm only wishing I'd wait You.

16Mar25b

I do.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCXIV)


Where dawn is not, for rain whose last detail
Is threat'ning snow, grind coffee like erst, whence
Fresh Thompson's Irish Tea in lo, what thence?:
A well-worn Barry's mug, and joe t'avail,
Both with a dash of half-n-half to scale,
How snow late fills the air with white for sense,
As forecast, and I dearly hope from hence
That March swears off such blankets and owns bail.
A blackbird wanders nigh til, how in tour
The plover cries. Geese next, he calls 'gain to
Distract me, and by afternoon tis pure
Spring wetness all 'round. Puddles blankly view
Whate'er is nigh and naught else seems astir.
I put the Scriptures on...LORD, save us too.

16Mar25a

Ha, you weren't really wondering, now, were you?


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCLXXVIII)


A headache nags for lack of coffee hence,
Is that? Or fer the sun? My breakfast's tale
But finished by mere halves, nor lunch' detail
Worth aught til's done, how skies are blue, a sense
I canna pin down in that pure note, thence
Quite out of words cuz wherefore? Naught'd avail
Yet what else do I need 'cept sleep? Derail
That for my crazy schedule, and pretense.
Clouds which would sail like huge battalions through
These freighted seas are gone. The snow which'd tour
On schedule but a jest as March first to
Be certain is quite chilly yet as t'were
Not adding feathers to ole Winter. Stir
Hope in these warming hours, oh LORD, of You.

01Mar25a

I knew the actual recipe would be different when my first attempt used up cabbage gone south. What I forgot, until three days later, was that flavors need time to meld.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXCIX)


The twa big heads at least chopped up, t'avail
We've canteloupe and breakfast hash fr'intents;
With cabbage, sausage and potatoes, dense
With flavour, saurkraut would be better; frail
As making that first batch with old, t'was bail
For heightened tastes. How fix that, eh? save thence
Til's aged? the rest will rot. Alas. What hence?
Be teased to death cuz that's the best detail.
Online suggests lo: vin'gar, as in tour
He tells me 'gain how to craft saurkraut--do
That later, mebbe? Sparrows gaily stir
A happy sense where milder temps now woo,
Like Summer's not far off. Come, come, what were
We thinking? LORD, restore us: we wait You.

11Mar25b

Oh my, oh my.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXCIII)


Oh tender hours of waking hope! T'avail
Is like a breath of heart'ning air; suspense
Alive and dancing in the eye fr'intents
Of dearest Spring, whose golden glance' detail
Is fragile yet full with sheer hope, the pale
Light laden with that notice e'en from thence
As gloaming haunts this joyous day, like hence
It won't be long til life abounds, as't hail.
These naked woods own sapphire blue in tour
And I'm content to watch because all woo.
The forecast sez t'will freeze oernight in poor
'Scuse for late pleasures waltzing hope, yet to
Effect as Winter's wont, whose treach'rous tour
Warms but to freeze all puddles.  Say I knew.

17Jan25b

I can't believe it!



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXCII)


Spring's but twa weeks awa by now, a sense
Of sweeter haunting hill and snow-capped dale,
Favon'us breath upon the soft exhale
Which murmurs oer the leas, of hope, to fence
These coming hours with just enow fr'intents
To keep the fainting soul 'bove water, frail
Yet clinging still to life, if that t'avail
Before the shadows deepen, of defense.
Birds sing as if from ev'ry bush astir
With joy now waltzing, as both puddles to
Thinned snowy slopes seem half aware as twere
All's melting, where the fragile light would woo
With hope in ev'ry golden shaft. Demur
T'acknowledge and hide off--oh if ye knew!

17Jan25a

Why?!



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXCI)


Of scoundrels, fears, and theivry, which detail
Shall now suffice where black night seems so dense
As to evince naught, frozen likeas sense?
If twas my treasure chest, from which t'avail
Me I had longed, tis robbed clean like in frail
Excuse I shoulda known, smiles were pretense?
List off some items to see how much hence
Was lost, and whither shall I turn as't fail?
Thou, LORD, dost give and take away; in Your
Light we see light--is this grave ill of You?
Too compromised and weak, I maunt as t'were
Act on the moment, yet what should I do?
Consult with fam'ly and dear friends in tour
To settle on the morrow with aught cue.

16Jan25

Mayhap, ridiculously.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXC)


Patchouli-scented goat's milk lotion dense
With that dear fragrance as I 'non avail
Me of a steamy, huge Italian' scale
Of soup mugs, full of lo, beef ramen, scents
Aught til I half expect to taste mair hence
Than just the ramen. Mouth with that detail
Full, how lo, my companion'd shortly hail
Patchouli likewise with a query thence.
Explain my paws were dry, wherefore as t'were
I used a lotion from years 'go whose cue
Was Daddy's fave scent but I don't know fer
All that why we're imbibing it, like to
Effect for lunch.  Oh well, eat up in tour
And don't do that again. Too funny too?

15Jan25b

...am I?!



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXXXIX)


Tis faintly golden on these fields white'd trail
Across til nothing's left but snow, as hence
Beethoven's ninth expresses that vague sense
We feel within our veins despite the tale
Of grandeur known as bunch, as if t'avail
Is naught before the face of what, fr'intents?
Say that we ARE, with an expectance thence
Beguiled and foiled, til hope seems far too frail.
I'd planned on Tuesday, but no, that was poor.
Called, and the scoundrels pleaded off, yet knew
Again, what eh?I was too busy fer
Whatever, so today? Why does e'il cue?
It's not my dolls I'm setting up in tour
For photos, it's just me.  Save me, won't You?

15Jan25a

I dunno.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXXXVIII)


Want danish for a month, to fin'lly thence
Indulge with fresh brewed coffee, aught detail
Likeas a gift to thank Thee for, LORD. Hale
Sweet golden light sifts through with half a sense
Of better days long since forgottn as hence
The fire department checks th'alarms, t'avail
Ostens'bly, yet's but piercing torture; frail
As all good claims of aught, tis sheer pretense.
No sleeping in on my day off, is't poor?
This cold which nags is. Refried beans craft through
The hours where I'm fatigued til ev'ning cure
Is't day of work? I don't know what to do,
LORD, save me please, won't You? Aught I bestir
Does not redeem me. Let me wait on You.

14Jan25

...like that's okay?!



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXXXVII)


Put on the kettle and sip Barry's, frail
Though I feel, heartened by that cuppa, whence,
Wash up all last night's dishes, to craft hence
Our breakfast, which he seems to think t'avail
Is my job, porridge, bacon, omelet bail
With roasted, fresh potatoes, showring thence
As if's not late, yet's noon, a friend fr'intents
Oer ere I realize or am dressed--I fail?
Plan crafting reubens for our lunch, and fer
All of our chatter, how Thou grants that too,
Oh LORD. Run off to work whileas in tour
They lunch and talk, filled with the happy view
Of that dear sight. And if the hours drag, stir
In me to seek Thy face, LORD, all of You.

13Jan25b

He's my peer, too sigh



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXXXV)


Of handsome men whose cars have died sans bail,
Let us now not enquire; the naughty sense
We'd flirt leave quite asleep, for's sans defense.
Swear I am old and blind nor could avail
Me, if I even had a chance. Detail
What, after that? I'm only fifty, whence
No chances could exist; tis cruel pretense
To cast one's eyes upon fair beauty's trail.
Besides, imagine if you were his: stir
Hope when he's driving that?! Don't ask me to
Be sens'ble in the face of that.  Tis poor
To mention aught for hope's not here.  Pass through;
Let him be friendly, and dream as it were
Of life without.  Redeem me, LORD, won't You?

12Jan25b

...today.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXXXIV)


Fat snowflakes justle with wee ones as hence
Keen silence bathes the whitened 'scapes t'avail,
Where Sunday seems as calm as should be, frail
Though being called in to serve ere I've but thence
Slept forty winks; to mob'lize, where fr'intents
Yer not awake, as Barry's steeps, sans bail,
Yet how I try. How did my cuppa fail
To cool?! Or wherefore is't sae hot from hence?
Watch steam in sheer ascent likeas in tour
Erst wont, yet oh! the tendrils' dance I knew
Ere seems t'escape mine pressured sense, as t'were
Too fraught is't? Somehow all planned 'fore comes to
Fruition, 'spite the madd'ning thought. Bestir
Our tongues to sing Thy praise, LORD, all of You.

12Jan25a

M'hm.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXXXIII)


Night sifts through sans aught fanfare til the frail
Light yields to gloaming, where I'm busied thence
In shuffling site to site, with no time hence
To spare, for all I'm scheduled, maps sans bail
Confusing me til I am late; then which detail?
How Cynth'ya calls when I can't pick up, whence
Spin off the weary hours in sweet talk, sense
Half unaware time's passing, like'd avail.
Oh! how Thy mercies, LORD, prevail in tour,
For I could not have done aught sans Thee, Who
Has kept and keeps us ever. Back home, stir
Hot cocoa up for our dessert, cuz betime to
Effect seems better with warm milk as t'were,
And let us praise Thee 'lone, oh LORD, as due.

11Jan25b

...now.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXXXII)


Mum's birthday: white snow blankets all in dense
Naught so pure, what's left but to rest, inhale,
The list'ning silence' calm likeas t'avail,
Whilst elsewhere, how folk race through with a sense
Of sheer importance; crows now mock fr'intents
The folly of our ways, til which detail
Shall do within the face of that? We fail,
Yet hurry forward, chasing sheer pretense.
Bored, watch the shows I 'void to see as t'were
What allus happens on the highway do
Its worst, as all I know plays out in tour
And I've a crush on whom most fools hate, to
Effect, though he'll ne'er know.  Oh LORD, bestir
Thyself and save us now. We wait for You.

11Jan25a

[having just watched a "crime" video where a foolish driver threw a drink at a former military man and lost her life in the next instant thanks to basic training, guess what happened to me?!]Now I've actually had a drink thrown at MY head while driving. What gives?!



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXXXI)


How Joe Hisaishi's strains waltz like t'avail
Now through mine head, yet which? "My Neighbor [thence
Erm]Tot'ro" ist? Because they played that, whence?
Oh, Thursday.  Cheerful notes dance gaily, hale
In sweetness 'spite the TV, that detail
We cherish like a private joy which'd hence
Enlighten duller moments by its sense,
If only we'd hear Thy voice, Who'd ne'er fail.
Put on the Scriptures in my pocket fer
Recure, as how the final hour the teasing crew
Half seem to have a problem. I'll as t'were
Escape whileas they mull just what to do,
If Thou will, LORD, yet oh! how troubles* stir
For me once back in town. Save me, won't You?

10Jan25b

Yep, I'm pretty certain that's what it is.



(sonnet # MMMMMMMMMLXXX)


Snow, likeas Winter knows to dish out, whence
With dread go forth, Thy mercies all t'avail
I know, the "white stuff" crunching subtly, trail
With ice below, and that keen silence hence,
We are alone, yet not, the lonely path fr'intents
By fellow trav'lers littered, aught detail
Lost to this purest white, afraid t'inhale,
Yet trusting in Thee, LORD, all our defense.
The hol'days oer til next month, eggnog's tour
Long since, unless I craft some, what's to do?
Where movies used to trick the hours as twere
Out of their substance, hanging out anew
Is nicer. I post, nap, or work. Bestir
Us to sing Thy praise, LORD, as we wait You.

10Jan25a

Ah, wouldn't that be nice, though?



(sonnet # MMMMMMMMMLXXIX)


Sweet golden eye of afternoon, t'avail
Calm as the fevered soul desired, suspense
On edge and chewing off its nails whilst sense
Feigns tis mature, if only I could bail
Me out of all here in that light's detail,
Forget aught else which nags, and rest from hence,
Half lost in dreams where rolling lawns lie thence
In peaceful slumber, frozen, hill and dale.
Could I, for half a minute, lose as twere
What is, and wander, traipsing merr'ly through
Lost pastures, I'd still be dumped back in tour
Where I had been.  These freighted heavns' vague blue
With clouded eye yet wash the land, astir
Elsewhere, with golden light.  That we'd seek You.

09Jan25

(tongue in cheek)


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXXIV)


As if to freeze maunt thus suffice, what hence?!
Work in an office where all boast in frail
Excuse of fevers, and food pois'ning! They'll
Trade ghastly stories til I cringe from thence
Whilst trying to feign I don't give for intents
A hoot for that contagion, like'd avail
To be aloof or play the nurse' detail,
Cuz after all, my dear, what's not pretense?
Grab for my "lunch" oernight what turns out fer
All that to be...so green with mold t'won't do
But for the trash. Did I, like, take as t'were
The wrong turn somewhere back?!  Tell me's not true.
Yet wherefore does aught seem amiss? Bestir
Hope in the LORD our refuge: save us too!

08Jan25b

Ahem, so ya.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXXXIII)


Keep writing "June" as if the snow's detail
Does not affect the facts, as if from hence
The cal'ndar page does not reflect good sense,
Just start the date with that first letter's scale
Of truth, and don't acknowledge that t'avail
Yerself of this might be half selfish thence.
Or wherefore is't I'm caught miswriting whence
I canna say, a Summer month, like's bail?
Tis Jan'ry eighth and bitter chill in tour
The rule, hot soups and drinks prevail as due,
Whilst heat and not the AC often stir,
And Christmas strains yet linger, til the view
With aught effects deny the note as twere
Of "June." I dunno why I'm mixt up. You?

08Jan25a

(If I'd thought a full departure from the pink standard was underway, it was only Tuesday.)

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXXII)


Behold, last year now I wore pink, a sense
Of what, within that theme pursued t'avail
Since when? "On Wednesdays We Wear Pink'd" detail
A tank top in the thrift store with fr'intents
The movie title "Mean Girls," whilst I thence
Saw means to don what Mum told me in frail
Excuse too many decades 'go, like bail:
"Your colour's pink."  Worn since like sheer defense.
Yet oh, this morning, after Christmas' tour,
I begged t'avoid both red and pink, t'eschew
That cuz I could not bear what, eh, as twere?
Dunno.  But deep maroon is perfect, to
Be certain.  What has changed? I have?! Demur
What I'd embraced for years?  LORD, I need You.

07Jan25b

Enjoy?

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXXI)

How can it be, and wherefore sans aught bail,
Just little me?  None other'd 'bide fr'intents
And freeze, nor could I warm til, in defense
A very hot showr ransomed me t'avail,
Chilled to the core as if twas that detail
Deemed perfect, eh? I'm not e'en skinny, whence
Oh, what explains the tale, where for mere cents
I froze to death for twenty hours, too frail.
Tis known that pregnant women have as twere
Odd app'tite urges at strange times--is't true
Thet only pregnant women do?  Is't poor
That freezing for eight hours, I ate all through
My lunch and starved?  Nigh midnight, I'd bestir
Lo, hot dawgs by desire.  Twas too good too.

07Jan25a

Reexamining the mere three inches of space between the microwave and the edge of the counter, I began to wonder how on earth the salad tray had balanced seemingly fine in the first place.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXIX)


There's nothing like the salad which sans bail
Was scraped off of the filthy floor cuz sense
Forebore to toss my lunch and lo, defense
Was elsewhere when I rose to check in frail
Excuse the thermostat, cuz freezing'd fail
To please me, and my lunch went SPLAT.  Ah, whence?
But gather all by hand and don't starve hence.
If Monday thought of trouble, snow in tour
And icy rain meant slippry, driving too
A challenge mair than wont, wherefore bestir
More by the tossing of my lunch?  Where to?
Oh LORD, do be Thou magnified. Tis poor
To thus complain. Bring us with joy to You.

06Jan25a

...and was granted that.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXVIII)


Tis Jan'ry fifth, and fin'lly I've fr'intents
Had shortbread with my cuppa Barry's, hale
In proper Sco'ish fashion is't?  T'avail
Gave me perspective--nary milk for sense,
I tasted tea as aught like tis defense,
And I am thankful.  Cheer'os that detail
For Sunday breakfast I maunt miss in frail
'Scuse, cottage cheese with't, craft up pizza thence.
Then Cynth'ya calls and we talk like as t'were
Six hours can't ruin our friendship; others too
Come by and hang out for a spell in tour
Til nightfall, then wash dishes like t'will do,
As lo, a day off is a mercy.  LORD bestir
In us to serve Thee, faithful in all:  You.

05Jan25

...and January 4th, at that.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXVII)


With blinding sunrise golden, like t'avail,
I still am NOT awake, three hours' defense
Yet far too short for rest, my coffee hence
But keeps me feigning I'm upright though frail,
Frost glitters in heavn's eye, snow lining trail
And ***** in purest white the hours, fr'intents
Maunt shift, as nothing melts, because suspense
Is frozen like today, which yet owns bail.
They're all gone off to fetch some food as t'were,
Midmorning blue skies gaze on taking through
Such measure, is't a breather? Haha, bestir
Me likewise to step out and oh! Breathe too,
So deeply of the chill air til in tour
You feel revived by half.  LORD, I thank You.

04Jan25

Why the Colorado prairies came to mind, I don't know, but here you go.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXVI)


Oh for the open prairies, grasses thence
All rustling softly far as eye could hail,
Blue skies above as if life was in frail
Excuse so rich and free! Dirt roads to fence
The thought of passage to jist where?  A sense
Of lonely calm alive as every trail
Jack rabbits knew, hawks, owls and else t'avail
At home far from the cities, like defense.
Five years and nary more we knew in tour
Out on the Col'rado prairies, cycling through
Each summer with such dreams in tow as t'were!
Go to the city for our groc'ries, to
Return home where, oh how sweet freedom'd stir
Us with soft peace.  Oh LORD, that we'd see You.

03Jan25c

Insanely busy, if you want to know. L5: my father taught me coffee "is NOT a medicine; enjoy it."

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXIII)


Why does a headache nag?  What shall avail?
Dream of lo, coffee in the morning hence,
Like t'will erase this, lack of sleep fr'intents
A culprit sans much for recure, to fail
Was't at "enjoyment"? Or then which detail?
Cold sausage gravy on cold biscuits thence
Sans eggs for lack of time, half grapefruit's sense
With clem'tines, nary lunch...cuz later's bail?
Yet home with not a wink of sleep in tour
For working oernight twa days now, I do
Not have the time.  Clean house, then dinner'd stir
And I'm asleep thereafter...until through
What?  Wake at midnight, on the couch--is't poor?
Where is the day fled? LORD, I wait on You.

02Jan25

Yes, it must have been.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXII)


Yes, sausage gravy and oh! biscuits hence
So light and fluffy, just the eggs sans bail
Fried past excuse? and brunch that new detail
Of late, is on, the page-day kittens sense
For aught else as I'll feign no sleep fr'intents
Is fine, until I've showered.  Then derail
The day with foggy dreams of lunch t'avail
None, as I slept past sundown, til what hence?
Eat dinner in a fog, dessert in tour
As well, and crawl off to catch sleep for two
Hours mair...in bed.  Up 'gain, lo, dress, astir
For work oernight a fresh like that will do.
What of the tale of sheer adventures we're
Now putting in the mem'ry bank?  Year's NEW.

01Jan25b