...yesterday, did I?! Tsk, tsk.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXVII)


Poinsett'yas red for Xmas "cheer," detail
The huge, white snowflake cutouts with a sense
Of all we dreaded facing, tree fr'intents
A green fir Santa's head hangs from t'avail,
I've Irish strains to give the silence bail
As merry jigs in season charm from hence
The dead calm I'd not wake, but why's defense
So dearly wanted like I'm lost? Joys fail?
I know! Tis amb'ance for a party. Were
Such mine t'indulge in, these might as well do
That want of "what's just right" some good. Is't poor
Now I am dying of boredom strangely too?
Put on Tchaikovsky after Celtic fer
This restless sense I can't shake--oh, where to?!

07Dec24b

Her gift delivered late morning ere I was off, to go straight to the grocery store would have made me too late to retrieve it until Monday, which she thought unwise, so I had a lot of driving to do...where gas is too expensive.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMVIII)


Race home just after nightfall, changing thence
From work clothes to me ain for that detail
Called groc'ry shopping, Starbucks to avail
Tomorrow, snapping photos of that, thence
For posting online, shy barista hence
Half hiding from the cam'ra, on the trail
To who cares what, my list and hopes for bail,
How friendly others were, like in defense!
The Xmas gift from Cynthia stowed in tour,
Our fridge holds all, despite the fear twas too
Much, as we've dinner late; tree lit as t'were
For flavour, how the pie* is now quite through
As our dessert, where how the morrow fer
All that seems'd come too soon. LORD, I need You.

06Dec24b

When you want to put the name of the weekday in the title and make a stab at being.... inventive?!

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXV)


Sweet golden hours whose amb'ance seems t'avail
Us now this hectic week is closing, whence
We've laughter 'stead of anger, like defense,
Till shadows 'gin to stretch their lengths, the pale
Eye of late afternoon with aught detail
Askew, until we're scrambling as pretense
Winks in the thought of twilight where the sense
Of yonder is confused and asking bail.
As ev'ning 'gins to haunt these blue heavns' pure
Note, calm 'most 'ppears to be the rule--is't true?
And why's my foot stuck in my mouth as t'were
Again? I woke confused; thought tomorrow to
Effect was here; looked up my schedule, poor
Though being bewildered. Oh LORD, I need You.

06Dec24a

Meow?

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXII)


Come 'gain?! How Robert would surprise me, whence?
We hang out and he tells me in betrayl
Of his most recent girlfriend, whose detail
Yes, of divorce, at last comes out for sense;
And I'm disgusted with her rudeness, thence
To laugh, yet lo, remind him I'd ne'er hail
Him thus: she's like a Hallmark lover, frail
As lying and using him, like she'd defense.
Then off to bed with me cuz third shift's tour
Of duty needs more rest, so that will do.
He teases that he'll marry me, but's poor.
I know now we're just friends.  Naught else is true.
Did she know of me? YES. But, what? For her
He bent oer backwards. Not my style. None woo.

04Dec24b

Tis hereditary, I assure ye; the only question is whether the series of strokes which very nearly took Mum 8 years too early were from the aspirin she took for hers whereas she trained me to avoid drugs of any sort except Daddy taught me to love black tea and coffee.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMMX)


Frost twinkles in morn's golden eye, a sense
Of hope awak'ning in that keen detail,
Where soft blue heavns sport white fluffs gone on sail
Without a care, if only. How from hence
A headache nags like tis passé as thence
Is't true?! I drank a bunch of coffee, frail
As rarely drinking joe, like that'd avail,
Yet nothing seems to own, is it defense?
My colleague has twa plastic cups in tour
Frae Starbucks, so I tell him of stars to
Be gained in rather using your ain fer
Aught drink; tell him of "red cup day" next too,
Til by the time we'd part he'd quite concur.
Night watches as I leave. LORD, I need You.

03Dec24

"...a) Apple Pie: Independent, realistic, and compassionate; b) Pecan Pie: Thoughful and analytical; c) Chocolate Pie: Loving; d) Pumpkin Pie: Funny and independent" Now, which one are you, dear reader?

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMVIII)


Tis Nash'nal Pie Day, asking for intents
"Which pie are you?" My parents used to hail
Me as lo, "Pumpkin--" where seems that detail
Means "funny, independent," til from hence
I wonder if that's why they did, a sense
Of all I am within that label, frail
As thinking such things stuff and nonsense, bail
For how I 'non approach life, is't pretense?
What if it's true? My friends now as it were
Will call me "crazy," in a fun way, to
Be certain, and I've nary suitor, fer
All that. Been called "free spirit" whence, is't true?
To think twas sweet potato pie in tour
They served us lately. Then: which pie are you?

01Dec24b

...I've either the power of coercion or else most everyone else I meet concurs: 2024 has gone by impossibly fast.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMVII)


December first is here once more, the tale
Of months, weeks, hours--this year--are flown from hence
As Xmas tricks the days out with a sense
Of fabled dreams we've known in sheer betrayl
Lo, all our lives: the colored lights' detail
Which Daddy set up for the tree's pretense
Whose silver tinsel arms Mum unpacked thence,
To put in all the slots what'd e'er avail.
If presents were less grand than dreams as t'were,
If stories of th'impovrished matched ours to
Effect, what of it? Sugar plums in tour
Were lines in songs; the camel cookies' cue,
Green sugar cookie wreaths with red hots'd cure
Our visions in good style, as how all'd woo!

01Dec24a

Whatdya know?

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMIV)


Pink smudges on the East long after sense
Was on its toes and I upon, t'avail,
The clock, I'd NOT warm til three hours sans bail
Passed, frozen to my toes til in defense
The sun now blinds me. Nary telly hence
Tae drive sense out of count'nance, which detail?
Dark choc'late pieces, pie, dip, porridge'd hail,
With coffee from my birthday like what thence?
I am a wreck? The wind comes like as t'were
A guest, just as John Clare wrote ere, thin blue
Skies fraught with streaky clouds, trees naked fer
Effect as how November's last day, through
Ole Winter, looks as wont. Blue shadows cure
The golden light as, LORD, all wait on You.

30Nov24a

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMIII)


Why do the Colorado prairies hail
When I think of "Thanksgiving Day" for sense?
Did life stop there, more than how many dense
Brief years 'go? thirty eight since that detail?
My photographic mind snapped all t'avail,
And shelved it 'gainst which future day fr'intents?
I wanted wine, though but a child, pretense
What drew up visions like more could own bail.
If now I'd rather work cuz all's lost to
The dogs and ravages of time, is't poor?
I've nothing left to cling to, as it were,
Except the Scriptures. Aught we ere then knew,
Like childhood, is long gone. Steak now in tour,
And deserts I ne'er dreamed of-- I'll seek You.

29Nov24b

I never yet fail to hop on the bandwagon, buying eggnog when it's very nearly out of stock, or actually is.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMII)


Thanksgiving meant a turkey, stuffing thence
Inside and out, with gravy too, the tale
Of green beans, mashies, cranb'rries cooked for bail
Until they popped, with cranb'rry velvet's sense
For aught else, sweet potatoes, olives dense
With finger fun, and rolls I baked t'avail,
The actual dinner late, with cass'role's hale
Solution for the end bits, sweet defense.
Yes, pumpkin pie was Grampa's rec'pe, pure
Home crafted whipped cream dolloped on it too,
With not much else but love, til twas as t'were
No more. And I've not known it since. The crew
Of styles since then are NOT Thanksgiving. Stir
But mem'ries in the wilderness, will you?

29Nov24a

...old.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMLXVIII)

Trees are so naked now, as if what hence?
The rain stript off their leaves? The féte's detail
Was last month, and we're ****** anew in frail
Reply where xmas lights could add fr'intents
The cheer we feel within our bones from thence
Is sorely missing? Last night's piece t'avail
Of choc'late cake, half finished, starts the trail
To whither, where I think of Campbell's sense.
Yes, veggie beef stew sounds grand where in poor
'Scuse my head's stuck in summer. Yearning to
Be back where plaids and cocoa, soups in tour
And knits were all the rule, why is that view
So foreign still? I'm all mixt up. Demur
Not to redeem me, LORD, for I need You.

07Nov24b

...I asked when I ordered.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMLXVII)


Geese wander in the wheelchair parking, hale
Late morning golden with a teasing sense
Of yonder, where now Starbucks' menu's dense
With all our fav'rites: peppermint's detail
What I've missed since last Winter, like t'avail
Me signifies the weather I feared? Whence?
If I'm bewildered, Thou, LORD, art defense
Enow. The day off I'd requested...bail?
Is't either work yourself to death as t'were
By hours both day and night, or scramble to
Make ends meet cuz you've time to rest up, poor
As need for some recov'ry?! What'd I do?!
Behold, LORD, my confusion. Oh, bestir
Thy mercies as of old. Save me, won't You?

07Nov24a

...and him: what shall I do?


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMLIII)


Caprese...oh! Fragrant basil with, t'avail
Fresh mozzyrella and tomato hence
In tango waltzing, how I swoon! Defense
For dreaming lo, all summer, which detail
Could e'er suffice next? None. Aught else derail
Th'indulgence, yet the time was sweet fr'intents,
Corn on the cob not too bad, with pie thence
As our dessert; why still in love sans bail?
I was his once; he keeps me still, yet's poor
Cuz wherefore? He dates 'round behind me who
He does not want,  ergo what shall I do?
Brought me Panera coffee for, as t'were
Old time's sake, wore dark stubble to bestir
Me, ate half of the salad, and seems'd woo.

02Nov24b

...with Panera [hazelnut] coffee.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMLII)


Frost glitters likeas diamonds in the dense
Keen silence of black night, where to exhale
Is white clouds which just hang, suspended, frail
Naught list'ning closely for a voice to fence
The thought of yonder; but none answers hence
'Cept lo, the Scriptures. Lonely walk whose trail
None but one set of headlights 'llumes to scale
Ends wi' a plea to Thee, oh LORD: defense.
"What is yer life but lo, a breath that'd stir
For half a moment ere tis gone?" We knew
How to lisp off that like the alph'bet, poor
As nevir seeing, oh LORD, how it is true.
What have we here? What do we do? "In Yer
Light we see light--" Bring us with joy to You.

02Nov24a

...until Saturday morning. [Up at midnight November 1st for work, and not able to go to sleep until nearly 2100, having titled October 29th's sonnet "I've Lost Track Which Day Tis" who's surprised?]


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMLI)


November first is up to specs, t'avail,
Chill as we knew it best like Winter's sense
Delivers, golden light where naked, dense
Bare trees stand in blue heavn's eye, wrappers trail
Left on the floor like last night's féte' detail
Was as expected, and the thought fr'intents
Of yonder is ham, turkey, gifts pretense
Tricks out in style, and thinking you own bail.
Oh, tis a Friday too, where I've as t'were
Been granted so much to thank Thee for through
These hours, how could I fail to see, in poor
'Scuse? Robert visits and hangs out like to
Rekindle what once flourished, and leaves fer
All that as if he owns me...is that true?!

01Nov24b

Starbucks latest stardash for yours truly, beginning of supposed summer [however summer began May 1st], demanding I make a purchase BEFORE 11AM, when my café wasn't open until 5am and I needed to be half an hour away on the clock by 5am, forced me to head in even earlier, stopping at a café by work which had only just opened for the day at 4:30am, and when I ordered an espresso, they said they'd accidentally prepared eggbites--did I want those for free with my espresso? What a treat!



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMDCCLVII)

Mist's hazy essence likeas ghosts whose pale
Forms hulk and hunker down like sent'nals thence
In silence watching aught which pass fr'intents,
Detail morn even yet, as if to scale
Half loth to vacate, ling'ring in the hale
Eye of a Friday heat upon the dense
Yet distant massy trees the valley's sense
Of hidden joys boasts, as birds sweetly hail.
The kale and 'shroom bites fragrant,want as t'were
Bread with th'espresso, or else cream t'undo
Its sharpness, and if romance flirts in tour
Within mists' note, shall I say that all woo?
My elbows swelled as if that's normal, stir
Thyself to save us, LORD, for we need You.

21.Jun.24b

Like Lot's wife, eh?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMDCCXLIX)


How Samuel Daniels' lines come to from hence
The 'fore, though nary Delia shall avail
Aught suit or break a heart, just that detail:
"...Ne'er let the rising sun approve [fr'intents]
You liars--" as dreams waltz through my noggin, dense
With mair chagrin in tow than joy, their frail
Sweet promise I knew ere what shall 'non fail
Before the light, although they dance. Ah, whence?
Dear youth so subtly fled! Though I bestir
Fond mem'ries of my father's house and rue
The loss of all we'd cherished, known and were
A part of then, I can't return. I threw
The pieces off, saying I'd come back. T'was poor.
All's lost. There's naught left. LORD, what did I do?!

14.Jun.24b

Swooning over a very pretty number in Palgrave's Golden Treasury, I Googled it, to find to my chagrin it was supposedly pure fiction. [I think not, but.] Ergo, I began, but since mine are never fiction, this is neither. Begun in dialect, that effect deteriorates midway since the initial drive did likewise.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMXLIX)


Say Jenny, she ne'er married aught, and whence?
Fine fellows came a' courting. She'd avail
Hersel' of mair than ane or twa, 'cept he *** fail
To tie the knot and she *** feign frae thence
Twas a' fer guid, as if thar was defense.
But thar was nane.  Or p'raps thar was. Detail
How minny girls ha' suffered in the frail
Hope of a happy life, and she's spared hence.
The man who played her fer a fool in tour
She blindly loved, as minny wimin do,
He courting others 'neath her nose in puir
Reply, then telling her long after. Who
Kin blame puir Jenny she ne'er married? Stir
Her sisters now to envy or tears too?

20.May24b/31.Oct.24
Note: a stab at writing for art's sake alone.

Don't ask me now cuz I don't know.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCDLXXXI)


Which day would ye have back? What years t'avail,
That ye pine so?  What have ye here fr'intents,
Or whither do ye go that we from hence
Are scrambling all the time? Come, which detail?
I have since lo, my youth, been in this (frail
Though aught 'scuse) race to yonder with a sense
Of where I'm headed and some goal, whilst thence
Bedazzled and deceived til now all fail.
Was I too picky with my men? Why were
There none to take me for his wife or woo
And give me his dear ***** for in tour
Repose? I ne'er could have a child, then. Rue
My folly, yet remain confused? Bestir
Me to redeem the time, but LORD, where to?

12.Sep.23c

We shan't indulge in the collection which puts the thought to shame.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCC)


You envied what? His paper cup's detail?
The plastic straw which shreds itself ere thence
You've even had a sip? Or what is't hence?
Sketch nothing cuz you won't draw, just to scale,
This world Bill Peet deplored thus? Yet the tale
Of naked buildings 'cross the fields pretense
Threw up to grand effect are what fr'intents
'Non haunt yer dreams likeas they would avail.
Or is the "lukewarm nightmare" all as t'were
That's left if you would trick out visions to
Beguile the fleeting moments none bestir?
Or join the traffic on its way, where through
What means you half yearn for those hours in tour
Which terr'fied was't? No. That vain hope I knew.

01/17.Jan.23a

...routine will **** me yet?

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXLIII)


If twas some lurid rite of passage, whence?
Gulp scalding water down cuz naught'd avail:
I'm driving, nor can spit aught out. Derail
Hopes of a lovely ev'ning cuz what hence?
Being brave jist does not cut it. I'm burned, sense
Now screaming in me til I canna fail
To hear that I'm on fire inside. Detail
Which, after that? I'm tamer--is't defense?
If being above ground is a joke as t'were,
Tis ***** and too cruel to torture through
My waning hours what's left of all in tour
I thought t'enjoy, or vainly thought I knew.
Mum held her tongue, yet warned me. Dad too. Stir
Hope in but Thee alone, LORD: I need You.

27Oct24b

...what half freaked me out was, having been mulling the first line, the thing itself overtook me like it was some wrestling match.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXLII)


Fog manifests itself in headlights, hale
White haunting lo, the black night til, what hence?
How mists oertake aught trying for passage, dense
Naught blotting out the distance like no bail
Exists, until I canna help, nor fail
To thus reduce speed as "password?!" thence
Seems now demanded, so I pray, defense
But Thee alone, oh LORD, Whom shall avail.
If fear was what they wanted, I'd as t'were
A start of it, recalling folk complaining too
Oer its keen essence blocking travel, poor
As mulling how I cherished it, t'would do
Me in now, in a trice, if only. Stir
Vague mem'ries of its courtship like, what's true?

27Oct24a

...will you?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXLI)


They photographed their baby girl whose sense
Of running water was to grapple, frail
As aught excuse, for lo, a handhold, fail,
Yet keep on trying, the faucet no defense;
And now she's left behind, this grasping hence
To just retain whatever slips sans bail
Betwixt those clutching fingers maunt avail,
All like the liquid water, mere pretense.
Lo, watch light trickle out as gloaming'd stir,
But one month til I'm fifty...is that true?
What had I here, whom held I close, in poor
Reply gone far from me, despite love too?
Oh LORD my God Who changest not, in Your
Hand tis to give and take, all I've of You.

26Oct24c

...guess I'm still here.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXL)


Oh me! What is't about these hours' detail
My heart so dearly loves? Where naked thence
Stripped skeletons of trees cast shadows dense
Wi' subtle import on the green, which trail
Leads to the thicker stand whose yellow tale
Calls to my soul as from afar, defense
For cherished hours, plaids, woolens, stockings hence
And dreams whose sights October'd e'er avail.
November's in the wings like cozy'd stir
Itself agin to welcome me home to
Which ***** that it thrills me now in tour?
Oh cherished niche of girlish hours spent through
The years safe in my father's house! Demur
Not to reclaim me, stranded graveside too.

26Oct24b

These shifts are killing me. Oh well.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXXXIX)


Where pink is like romance ere daybreak, dense
Wi' import, burning on the East t'avail,
A fire which seems t'oertake the blackness, hale
In what, precisely? youth by now pretense
Is't? On but three hours sleep, I've no defense,
This dragging me along must do sans bail,
As coffee is some dragon I'll to scale
Do battle with when I've some strength for sense.
Tea-lemonade for drowning sailors'd cure
Me halfway, if at all, where Milo's brew
With "Simply Lemonade" I'll take in tour
Along to keep my chin 'bove water. Blue
Heav'ns warm as sparrows chirp likeas to stir
The dead (and I'm death warmed oer): I need You.

26Oct24a

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXXXVIII)


Or'nge mums in planters at the entrance hail,
The leaves yet ling'ring on few trees whilst hence
How gloaming 'non encroaches as suspense
Half deepens like the colours whose detail
Grey turns to naught where pink romances frail
Bits of cloud fragments ere these blue skies thence
Fade out of being. Yet oh! how silent! Whence
Night seems to swallow all as lights avail.
Tis Friday, which I thought owned plans as t'were
For souls, but being upon the clock would *****
That auld perspective is't? Tell me tis poor?
Drive to the groc'ry store, yet never, to
Effect, see what I'm missing. Am I? Stir
Hope in the LORD alone. How I need You.

25Oct24b

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXXXIV)


Cold, likeas ev'ry Winter knows to scale
Quite well, sifts through the hours where I'd fr'intents
Giv'n up on wearing knits and woolens, sense
Drowned in the heat of Summer whose detail
Has chased me nigh six months, til I'd bewail
And search for chill but find t'was mere pretense.
Now thet the heat's been off in sheer defense
For so long, boil up Ramen to avail.
Oh! How I see the snow beyond as t'were
These blinds, lying on the fields foresworn anew,
The chill which eats through aught famil'yar, poor
As freezing in October, where frost'd cue.
What am I seeking that this see-saw'd stir
But keen chagrin? Oh LORD, how I need You!

24Oct24

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXXXI)


Hark to the sparrows' cries like whither hence
Might have a voice to guide me on the trail,
And wherefore now recall the sweet detail--
How ere small children's voices trimmed aught sense
Of being with happy notes, the hours sae dense
With their 'loved noises I'd hate rooms th'all hail
Could not be heard in, where keen silence'd veil
The shadowed places' lack with aching thence.
Why am I stuck here, left behind as t'were,
Right where I'd oft deplore the folk that knew
Cold silence as their norm? Why maunt I stir
Life 'cept in plants?! I hate this empty view!
Being all growed up was s'posed to be in tour
The ticket to that joy. But not for who?!

22Oct24a

(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

..add to that, "sleeping is a luxury; eating a privilege"...by MY definition.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMLXXXVI)  


Does coffee ever wake aught soul fr'intents?
Or do we merely welcome in betrayl
Caffeine's ole kick-start to the morning's hale
Note it is time to put off sleep?  Dad's sense
Of it I canna say, 'cept he'd swear thence
Twas to be lo, "enjoyed." not quaffed t'avail
The soul like medicine, no.  That detail
Could praps suffice, yet I'm confused still.  Whence?
And oh, tea does not mix with joe.  Tis poor
On both sides if you drink them both, each brew
No complement to th'other, as it were.
Yes, laugh at me.  Now "independent" two
Weeks running--sip tea first, to savour fer
All that what'd ope mine eyes; then joe's weak.  You?

24May19b

Forty-five...the number of years her parents were married.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMLXXXV)


So many things, I spose, beg to avail
Themselvs of lo, a voice now I've fr'intents
Taen up the page and pencil in defense
Of aught.  Tis Mum and Dad's erm, in betrayl,
Yes:  wedding annivers'ry, as sans bail
Now it was ere and e'er shall be, for sense.
Which other items wanted space from hence
Pale in the light of that note's keen detail.
I yearn to call Dad for that reason, too.
Yet how my pride is shown up as what'd stir
Me, is it eh?  Whence ****** ere I (as twere)
Begin, what's left?  Pride caused our rift, as to
Effect tis ever what the Scriptures fer
All that 'non prove:  oh LORD, save me, won't You?

24May19a

If only, if only...



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMLXXXIII)


Read Jeremiah twelve, and lo, in pale
Excuse how William Drummond's lines come thence
Unto the 'fore with that old question dense
Wi' import we've asked oer and oer to scale:
"...Is THIS how all goes?  Is it thus?!"  Detail
Jist what the Scriptures beg an answer hence
To, and, oh me! is that auld query's sense
Of wrong the reason we do not find bail?
Thou dost not seem to tell Thy prophet fer
All that a wherefore, jist as lo, unto
Thy servent Job, um, rather how as twere
We aught to be.  Why don't we follow to
Effect?  Why am I here?  Have I in tour
'Non turned aside as if such things would do?

23May19a

Can I plead that I don't know how...as poor as that excuse?



(sonnet  #MMMMMMMCMLXXXII)


****** up the tea cups Dad gave me, to thence
Drop all to get a hold of him, t'avail--
His dear initials on those twa cups hale
Reminders of my father, in defense
Of all he's givn me, 'spite my follies, whence
O how we talk in lieu of breakfast's scale
Of nour'shment!  Likeas when we could detail
Each other's eye and face--talk--for intents.
I knew he'd love the Calhoun County tour--
Twas all both he and Mum had cherished through
The years:  secluded, off the grid as twere,
Nor with the city's echo, quite poor too.
It's just the money.  What drove me to stir
Up independence was that cursed thing's cue.

22May19b

Or do you simply wade in a fog through both sith the idiot box leaves souls in a perpetual trance?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMLXXVI)


I've heard of whipporwills ere now, a sense
Of romance in the mention, that detail
Which Wordsworth spelled out plainly in betrayl
False as it ever was, eh?  Or what thence?
Perhaps.  Where tall woods hem us in fr'intents,
Fire dancing as orange licks at logs t'avail,
Gnats, either by the spray or dusk, gone, they'll
Begin, a call I learn to hear from hence.
Tis nary dream.  The lone deer I glimpsed fer
Effect in that field of alfalfa dew
Was settling on near twilight (seems) in tour
So perfect.  Where dusk's blueish veil fell through
That lively calm, hark to what as it were
Calls from the distance, as't draws nigh...so new.

20May19b

Note how the title comes directly from John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMLXXIV)


As hunter's wont, the deer's skull hangs fr'intents
Upon the wooden porch, eye sockets' stale
And empty hollows staring in betrayl
Without a blink, forever, with a sense
Of Death behind their deeper look, pretense
Half shivring down to nothing, bones dried, frail
What? shrinking at the ghastly sight, birds hail
From greenest trees where life sings in defense.
And I...observe in silence, like as twere
Some child.  This womanhood I never knew,
Which crept on me ere I was 'ware, in tour
A joke which laughs 'non in my face.  Skies blue
With whiter cloud battalions, winds bestir
These Maples to soft whispers in what, too?

19May19b

Ha, all the little details my daddy worried over me about is it?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMLXXIII)


O how the dove coos softly in dawn's pale
Eye!  Warmth a light caress as songs trill thence
Through Sunday's hallowed peace, a ghostly sense
Of silence hovers as none else t'avail
Breathe here except the wind whose cool exhale
'Non whispers through tall grass and leaves fr'intents,
Morn's golden shafts upon the mowed lawn hence
Like fragile notes playing hide-n-seek, to fail.
Showrd, dressed, start that machine for coffee, poor
As using canned joe after I've penned through
The years so many lines on beans as twere
FRESH-ground; boil water for my porridge too--
That "instant" stuff I oft deplored--and fer
Aught see how last night's rain winks as the dew.


19May19a

Well, in discussions since, I'm torn only because I cherish socializing, though I abhor the city.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMLXXII)


Out where twa rivers meet, or rather thence
Lo, at the top of that peninsla's tail,
In Calhoun County where farm houses hail
At scattered intervals, with half a sense
Of sheer depression hard in tow fr'intents,
They show me where folk lived sans plumbing's scale
As twere of "civ'lized," cell phone service frail,
Point out the pump:  an outhouse their defense.
I ask how long they lived thus, and that's poor,
Cuz "all their lives!" (the answer) sez what? to
Me in effect?  I canna say.  We tour
Their property by A.T.V., the view
Romantic in its backwoods' fashion.  Were
I thinking what, that all half seems tae woo?

18May19d

Is it "funny" how miniscule my writing is when's done from the back seat?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMLXXI)


Up north, blue smiles at intervals (to scale)
Frae stubbled fields' expanse, 'non rolling thence
From one side of the view to th'other, dense
Half greyish region clouds, south, where signs hail
With "Quincy in so many miles;" how pale,
Long minutes draw up navy to gird sense
Framed to a modern "christian" novel, whence
I spell out "bored" to academya's tale.
Does rain cull ghostly mists to romance fer
All that green woods off in the distance?  Do
We drive straight to their farm? can't now as twere,
The Illinois and Mississippi too
Far swollen, roads closed.  What I've known, is't poor?
Suffice it, "city" boots swear "rural" is new.

18May19c

If only my ears weren't so damnably deaf.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXLVII)


And now a breath bestirs the leaves t'avail.
Boughs rock sae gently as the whisper hence
Flirts through, whileas I strain to see fr'intents,
Then dies away when I 'gin writing frail
Hope's fragile tread, planes' voices all to scale
As trees stand clustered far as eye frae thence
Can see.  Twigs nod sae lightly wi' a sense
Of yonder jist in tow, beyond this veil.
I'm here because we've said too long now fer
All that lo, "Mum and Dad's dream will not do.
We MUST join step with whom we thought too poor
In their path through this world, and follow too,
What I deplored."  The LORD God, what as twere
Did I blieve 'bout His Word?  The Scriptures knew.

11May19c

Not love as previously wont.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXLVI)


Lo, how the woods are silent! whiles from hence
The leaves all hang in soft chartreuse, th'exhale
Fast slumbring in its den, this calm to scale
Half breathless while all waits with half a sense
Of utter expectation I 'non finger thence,
No voice to break this patient null's detail.
And la, the clock just ticks, each second frail
As all the rest.  A Blue Jay'd scold, and whence?
Work nags at me but canna tug in poor
'Scuse at my sleeve as erst wont, cuz I'm to
Effect...cut off.  The rift is huge in tour,
Likeas a canyon whose steep walls loom through
That freighted, creeping mist I can't bestir
To find a glimpse of light for how to do.

11May19b

Ya, that's the naked truth.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXL1)


In case ye wondered: it is true...in pale
'Scuse deepest streams are almost silent hence.
The small do chatter--petty griefs howl thence
Most loudly.  And if "**** or be killed" hail
Yer soul, decide right now if ye to scale
Want THEIR blood on yer hands for aught intents,
In lieu of yours on theirs.  There's no defense,
Whatever folk claimed, there is not aught bail.
O yes, my soul.  Weep sore in silence fer
What you do not resist, or what you do.
You thought tea sans your dad (who would in tour
Tear you to pieces as his wont)--that brew
Was gonna satisfy?!  I swear, tis poor
I'm sich a ****** fool.  Love and hate both woo.

10May19a

...I lose.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXXX)


Lo:  men.  Do NOT tell him, "I don't care hence
About you--" for whatever cause.  In pale
Excuse it's back on track and we're to scale
What, eh?  Forget the little things fr'intents:
Th'espressos Dad enjoyed with me; that sense
Of ah, delicious rain! The sweet detail
Of coffee with a dear friend--you prevail.
It does not matter what I try.  Now whence?
I messaged YOU on Instagram.  What fer?!
I'd comment on YOUR YouTube vids, and too,
Left one on Twitter.  YOU ignore all, poor
As trying to uh, communicate with YOU.
It's face to face:  that's all.  YOU win.  Ya, stir
Me to those "nutty smiles" oer...YOU.  What's...new?

02May19b

Oh yes.  You ARE jealous--



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXXVIII)


Thou and thy hangdog airs!  In sheer betrayl,
You started it.  My brother told me thence
Who left?  and I said "...I don't care from hence
Cuz--(nevermind)."  So who is now to scale
'Non showing off that, erm, I do?!  In frail
Excuse for all this foolishness, whose sense
Has fueled this madness?!  Yours, for all intents.
Yet wherefore do we thus go on sans bail?
I swear, no sooner do I throw as twere
The towel in on this game, but lo, twon't do.
You're back in gear to circumvent my poor
Attempts at moving on.  You like me too?
No, that can't be.  But oh!  Tomorrow.  You're
What, eh?  Not jealous of my smiles, are you?

01May19b

Pretending, feigning.  I said that was the rule of the day.  cough,cough  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXXVII)


If we forgot the merry dance erst thence
Wont to ring in this month which Shakespeare's scale
Of notice put down as not lo, t'avail
As perfect as whom he thus cherished, whence?
The winds are ghostly with a teasing sense
In tour of fragile warmth as sparrows hail.
Then ah, the Goldfinch seems to laugh, th'exhale
Likeas a whisper who maunt love from hence?
Did I swear I was "done pretending" fer
Which moment?  Yet who shall not smile now through
Th'effect of these sweet songsters?  I am blue
And would far rather weep, but tears as twere
Won't come.  A robin scolds and scents astir
Upon the wind's suggestion say twon't do.

01May19a