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

....it disappeared, I guess.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXI)


Roll "chauv'nist" oer yer tongue to savour frail
Who knows what, as you know just why fr'intents
She said what she did when exchanging thence
Our "Happy New Year's" greetings, that detail
Mine to keep safe where nothing could avail
The happy thought I'd watch the year turn hence
In style to next, the drama sans defense
What tricks out all we knew as what'd derail.
No time to scribble, no time 'lone as t'were,
Nor cuz it should be, just because.  We two
Held down the fort and had a ball in tour
Despite aught else contrariwise, and knew
E'en fun, I half suspect, at that.  Bestir
Thy mercies, LORD, new ev'ry morning too.

01Jan25a

...at last. [My cousin's chihuahua is named Marzipan, and was the star of the show while I visited since well, you know chihuahuas....]

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLX)


Cream gravy of the maple sausage dense
With flavour--Jimmy Dean's! and biscuits tale
...For New Year's eh? Dunno.  The dishes trail
Frae baking in the kitchen Monday thence
Washed, dried, and stowed, craft omelet, porridge hence
With clem'tines and Chobani--brunch' detail,
Bake scallops, boil potatoes to avail
Us with a salad for lunch and ah, whence?
Quick! Scuttle off afresh to work in tour,
Sweet mem'ries of last night a dream I knew
Which fades, th'attack ch'huahua's bite as t'were
But figments of the vision--Marz'pan to
Shy cats--the laughter and dear fun bestir
Lost days since past.  Oh LORD, that we'd see You.

31Dec24

Not me, certainly.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLIX)


As if a spell's been broken when t'avail
We'd had our visit, I am free fr'intents,
And happy too, the sweet hours like defense
For long lost joys I'd quite forgot in frail
'Scuse, like what? Griefs were buried, no detail
Remembered lest I too be lost from thence
In joys' destruction.  Grandma Drysdale's sense
The dining room, yes, I'd obliv'on's bail.
Twas so good, we were up late in a tour
Of such discussions only fam'ly knew.
Back home, with eggnog in Mum's glasses, her
Sense oer us kids, twas all a whirl, yet true.
Thy mercies, LORD, prevail: I thank Thee fer
All and rejoice.  Come.  For we wait for You.

30Dec24b

Congratulate me?!

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLVIII)


Let morning trickle in sans voice to fence
The light of day, if only to avail
Me of dear rest, the circles whose detail
Does NOT enhance my hazel orbs what thence
Abet that hopeful thought, likeas defense,
Unless, of course, being death warmed oer is bail
For 'bove ground life whose plans stress shall derail,
Or curse with notes to highlight sheer pretense.
I'll feign tis cool being off on Monday, fer
The first time in a week of sev'n which threw
My mind out by their madness I'll demur
To yield to, til twas nigh complete.  Calm to
Effect upon noon's finish, LORD, bestir
Thy mercies and redeem me now, won't You?

30Dec24a

...won't you trip?

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLVII)


So, dream of crafting eggnog, like'd avail
If only I did.  Shortbread too, from hence,
But Scottish shortbread, as the re'pe thence
I used within my father's house.  In frail
Reply, though, seems I've lost all that and fail.
They swear the latter's served with tea for sense,
Which I have yet to try, since brie fr'intents
Is all I'll take with Barry's--oh bewail?
I've ***, ne bourbon nor the money fer
Th'expense, and all the rest 'cept nutmeg to
Grate up, else I misguess.  I'll try in tour
Twa rec'pes for each, likeas that will do,
If Thou will't, LORD.  Please give me in lo, Your
Grace to be faithful in all things, won't You?

29Dec24b

A thousand things, frankly.  After that, while tempted with the thought of picking out Mr. Mouse by his long tail, I left him to scramble while choosing what I needed, and he proved he could jump straight up and out, saving me the trouble.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLVI)


Rain pours like t'would be sweet to bide fr'intents
Safe tucked awa' indoors.  I maunt avail
Me, sadly, yet what after that detail?
How Grampa's fruitcake's fin'lly baking hence,
My cousin liking that suggestion, whence
I had to make this treat, as if twas bail
For her, the fun we've planned, if Thou will't, frail
As lo, the wreck of mine, tomorrow's sense.
A mouse. An actual grey, live, fluffy fer
The chill, erm: mouse. He's in my food like to
Partake is thus allowed, out on in tour
My deck, until I come, that is.  In poor
'Scuse, now he's had some mango, left tae rue
His feast now I want foodstuffs.  Jump as t'were
Three feet straight up and I'm left with the view.

29Dec24a

So there. [What's with a gigantic motorhome the other day, and today a semi, literally driving out of their lane to push me off the road when I speed ahead on the ramp, then going back into their lane on the interstate as I try to figure out who's trying to **** me????? I didn't believe in PTSD until now.]

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLV)


From semis with an urge to **** sans bail,
To nary sleep 'cept two nights all week, whence?
No less than three sites Friday:  if my sense
Is badly *******, thank all the madness.  Frail,
Yet trying to stay atop, oh LORD, avail
Me, for despite my efforts, all's pretense.
I'm begging for dear sleep, recov'ry hence
In mind, if only, fearing to ask'd fail.
Thanks, thanks for all Thy mercies which in tour,
New ev'ry morning, never fail.  I knew
Ere this week t'would be tough, and feared for sure,
Yet Thou art my God and all is of You.
Tis Saturday; I'm fragile.  Come, bestir
Thy mercies, save me now.  I wait anew.

28Dec24

Walker's shortbread cookies, to be precise; then memories of the Scottich cookbook my parents had resurfaced, whose recipe for shortbread sported a long essay the upshot of which ****** me as "...only a BAD COOK will add things: shortbread ONLY HAS 3 INGREDIENTS." or somesuch. And I used to make that recipe way too many years ago.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLIV)

Mull groc'ry shopping til I'm wanting thence
Lo, Sco'ish shortbread.  Craft it to avail
Me, all myself?! The antique cookbook, frail
As dreams, is not mine to use 'gin fr'intents,
So Google rec'pes with the ling'ring sense
Of that page whose keen warning yet'd detail
Aught finds: "...bad cooks will add stuff." t'will derail
Some, but I know where I am headed hence.
I knew twas only three ingred'ents fer
All that, or maybe four, no more, else rue
Thy folly, "bad" cook.  I'll need butter.  Were
There else, I have't.  "Have with tea," is that true?
Me wants to try that.  Sco'ish, known as poor
Back in the day, what's new? LORD, save me too.

27Dec24b

...for half a day, at least, haha.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLIII)


Rain lightly dances, where in that detail
An om'nous note seems lurks, til driving hence
Oh, how the highway's white, with tracks cut thence
Through by our passage, as ice or snow'd avail.
Work, as wont, turns all 'round til we'd 'most fail
To see ahead straight, yet Thy mercies, our defense,
Ne'er fail, and, new each morning, leave pretense
Aside to give us hope while dreams ask bail.
When all is oer we'll see again in tour
It wasna so bad after all.  We knew
E'en fun in measure, if to smile's not poor.
Likeas Thy psalmist wrote, to count maunt do
For they're more than be numbered.  Come, bestir
In us to sing Thy praise as we wait You.

27Dec24a

...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