What stinks is how the first words teased yet every time I read this the first half makes absolutely NO sense.  Loth to alter it--



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXLV)


Likeas sea foam upon the beach, what frail
Erm vestige dries within heavn's keener sense?
Aught I had cherished--scattered bones' is't hence?
Lies at the grave's mouth.  Though blue skies prevail
And golden light 'non washes all t'avail
In April's warming hope of life fr'intents,
"Thou hast made des'late all my compny--" whence
I stand aghast; pray; nor know what to hail.
If I dare laugh, lo, I am guilty, poor
As any feigned attempts to shrug off to
Effect this haunting sense all's dead as twere,
Is't?  So I pray to Thee, yet what's to do?
Not hunt for violets to share sorrow's tour
With tiny flowrs, no.  Just lo, wait on You?

03Apr19a
"Wait on the LORD:  be of good courage, and He shall strengthen thine heart:  wait, I say, on the LORD." Ps 27:14

Come, does the title recall a more familiar admonition?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXLIV)


Sip coffee from espresso mugs for sense,
Yes, cradling that wee tazo in betrayl,
To sigh that tis perfection thus, t'exhale.
Feign I don't give a hoot in sheer defense,
And how my niece plays with me til pretense
'Most carries off the trick like't could avail.
Ya, watch as she eats all my grapefruit, frail
Joys juxtaposed 'gainst what? til I'm blind thence.
I told myself "three days..." a week 'go, poor
As thinking I'll do better now.  The crew
Of crimson buds wink from the distance fer
Reminders leaves shall soon be fluttring to
Capricious winds in lieu of trash.  Bestir
Me to see far off, yet alas, t'won't do.

02Apr19d

The LORD does.  But how my flesh is...everything the Scriptures declare.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXLIII)


Let's talk about things other than the scale
Of my affection for who cares.  How dense
Blue racks are in the lack of shadows hence,
Or how the sparrows gaily cry in pale
Excuse for my 'non feeling like what they'll
Call, erm, a "*****."  Yes of, for aught intents
The LORD's great mercies, though I can't see thence
Past this torn minute's burdens to avail.
Reschedule lo, my hours whiles I in poor
'Scuse think that someone's cruel and rouse me to
Um, foolish oh, complaints.  I've read as twere
How Israel'd oft complain, and thought I knew
Far better, yet I cry against Thee fer
The umpteenth time, O LORD.  Help me now too.

02Apr19c

Well, I mean, do guys who drive hot, fast cars like girls like...me?!  That either remains to be seen, or laughed to scorn.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXLII)


As if to what? my brother lo, fr'intents
Remembers what "his" name is, like'd avail,
Yes, all on "April Fools," and tells me, frail
Though any use is for that note, cuz sense
By dinner's revelation swears twas thence
Some bad joke I played on myself, sans bail,
Whiles how my brothers rate his car's detail
T'effect:  "fast, hot...stupid." O pretense!
So where I whispered that, "I'll know for sure
Tomorrow morning," sigh.  For was that true?
Go laugh at me, cuz I don't want in poor
'Scuse to lay dreams to rest.  I'm weary, to
Be certain, of this awful game; know fer
All that tis folly, but I want it too.

02Apr19b

My note on this reads:  "shoulda been 01Apr19--begun just after midnight turned"



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXLI)


The Cardnal called as twere for me in pale
Dawn's early light--just once--as if for sense.
And lo, that line I'd penned in tribute thence
Comes to the 'fore--"...I've got [in sheer betrayl?]
A scarlet lover--" which I swiftly hail
With prayrs of "O! please give me to from hence
A man, LORD!" and how April Fools is't? dense
Wi' import finds "him" where I cherish...bail?
"Say twas an April Fool's joke--" in a poor
'Scuse for my prayrs and hopes keeps rolling through
My mind, but I dare NOT write THAT down.  You're
Allowed to laugh. Nor Cardnal, sparrows to
Aught purpose cry...until "he's" gone.  I stir
Me to weak smiles, cuz my heart's weary too.

02Apr19a

Ah, aka JF suggesting I could pull off "4 or 5 sonnets"--I took that and this was the final in that half hour just before midnight.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXL)


Ya, we sipped tea where whitish tendrils thence
Drew up that airy note of yonder, pale
And ghostly, likeas spirits in betrayl
E'er non in sheer ascent, with toast fr'intents
Ne conversation but that hallowed sense
Of I don't know what, til my brother'd hail--
Then talk, and back to work upon that scale,
While I waltzed through a dream like's not pretense.
Now as the furnace growls, the Scriptures fer
All that in Revelation, nothing's new.
Yet I'm confused.  How midnight knocks in tour,
The myriad influence of all I knew
Half urging me to chase down sleep to cure
This madness.  But that's not Thy Scripture's cue.

01Apr19d

just raises brows quizzically



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXXVIII)


Soft blue skies feign a note of what fr'intents
I thought to know at dawn, whilst in betrayl
"He's" finished and quite gone, me like to scale
'Non wondring if twas all in that joke's sense
Of "April Fools!" or but a dream from hence?
To rub my eyes as groc'ries, laundry hail
Me for attention, dinner too, in frail
Excuse now feeling like I've small kids thence.
O! How I long to go outside and fer
All that, just breathe!  Forget the day we knew,
Hark to the birds, and lose myself as twere
In that soft calm.  But oh! that will not do.
Watch golden light draw shadows up, each fir
A lacy doily, til that sunset cue.

01Apr19b

...and yet I do.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXXVII)


Don't tell me that it's April Fools, the pale
Eye of these region clouds as mockry thence
Upon my first thoughts, passing through, a sense
Of morning's pure hopes on my tongue to scale,
Where I caught sight of, likeas to avail,
Dawn's fragile blushes like a maiden's, whence
I rolled this line across my tongue fr'intents:
"Ere dawn, whenas pink skirts the West--" for bail.
To top it off..."he's" on the job, and fer
All that my heart swears that he likes me too.
Go laugh at me and cite off what day'd stir--
Sich lofty visions; yet please hear me to
Effect, O LORD.  Have mercy on me, poor
Though aught 'scuse, and say that he likes me's...true?

01Apr19a

Hopefully if you're unfamiliar with that song google will comply and locate it for you.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXXVI)


Blue skies out West look deeper in a sense
Than Illinois e'er knows, clouds in betrayl
'Non floating laz'ly in such vast seas they'll
Assure ye rare pools know, til I from thence
Half ache to be in those dear prairies hence
As childhood fondly knew, swept to avail
Clean of these houses clustered sans aught bail,
And where the Thunderbirds roar through fr'intents.
I said I'd join the Air Force, but Dad fer
All that said: No.  And that is better too.
Yet oh! the Rocky Mountains!  O those pure,
Unfathomed bluest skies!  What is't that'd woo
Me from their depths?  I feel it 'non bestir
My soul, just watching from afar.  And you?

31Mar19d

Ahem.  Rolling the first words of this sonnet over and over my tongue late Saturday afternoon--here it is finally



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXXV)


Trash sidles 'long the weedy curb's detail,
To waltz out 'pon the blacktop, turning thence
And flipping oer to trip back for a sense
Of sheer caprice, and gambols through the pale
Dead grass 'til coming to a halt t'avail
My observation of likewise fr'intents
Some vague finale is't?  Were dinner hence
Not keen on my attention, I'd have bail.
Yet come, are not we like this trash in tour?
So lifeless as the dead leaves Scripture to
Effect declares we are, forsooth.  Winds stir
Our hapless selves akin to our vast crew
Of, lo: iniquities; to take us fer
All that far from Thee, LORD.  O what's to do?

31Mar19c  
"Seek the Lord, and his strength: seek his face evermore." (Ps 105:4)

...and know that I am God."  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXXIV)


Some dog barks from the clustered houses' sense
Of sheer commun'ty, distant as th'all hail
As twere of sparrows and the Cardnal.  Pale
Warmth is a tender kiss we feel from hence
While frore winds drive last Fall's leaves sans suspense
Across the naked blacktop.  Donne's poems they'll
Assure us are good reading lies t'avail
Next me upon the stoop, and whither thence?
Hark! as the dove's soft coo wafts 'non in tour
Likeas a note from yonder.  Say we knew,
Yet would not dare acknowledge aught that'd stir
Except by halves, blind, deaf, and sorry to
A fault cuz we'd not praise Thee, LORD, in tour
Was it?  Nor give Thee thanks.  How firs call too.

31Mar19b

...um, silence?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXXIII)


Where blue skies like we used to know detail
This last, erm, calndar day for all intents
Of March, a Sunday whose sheer calm is thence
As sweet as milk's foam on th'espresso's hale
Breath of strong coffee, frore winds' soft exhale
That playful touch dead leaves 'non skitter hence
Unto, the silence we more feel and sense
Than know while sparrows chatter, lo'd prevail.
The rusty can's orange label glares as twere
From hiding in the bush' thin shadows through
These long months since October thought it poor
To scarf the leaves July was proud tae brew.
And tulip capes look scrawny is't? in tour,
While freighted what? nags at us to jist do.

31Mar19a

..."they" swear I'm NOT (awake)--as the world is waking on every side as wont.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXXII)


Green is astir, though yellow carpets hence
Look quite as if Death owns the grass' detail
Yet, and I know the violets nod t'avail
Now too.  If only I could finger thence
Those smiling faces!  Walk through all for sense,
Put off this nagging what? that dogs in pale
Excuse my waking hours, or be to scale
The saint I aught to be, in sheer defense.
So, Friday night I played the music fer
All that quite loudly, bobbed to it like'd do,
Stayed up past midnight, and slept like as twere
Some log, but can't shake off this sense that'd cue
Me.  I don't want aught music now.  Tis poor
I'm not asleep, but wish I was 'non too.

30Mar19d

Ah, sigh



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXXI)


Strain 'cross the distance to see (like t'avail)
Those crimson buds the oak puts forth fr'intents
Lo, evry Spring, their poignant note is't? thence
Sae dull in this oercast light that I fail
To ascertain but echoes of't in pale
Excuse, the Blue Jay chiding whom for sense
As we would breakfast late? me glad from hence
"He" is not here, but I'm what? in betrayl?
That "fly" caught in the web deceit wove fer
My capture, struggling, though I lisp off too,
The Scriptures evry hour.  To be is poor.
I miss the dove.  It's been days now.  I'm blue
So laugh oft to feign I don't give as twere
Aught hoot, though I'm ashamed.  And what is new?

30Mar19c

...but feel free to pelt me with rotten eggs.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXX)


It's been an awful week for all I'd thence
Tried extra hard to be mair wise.  In pale
Excuse I make mistakes each day and fail
At evrything.  To play the ther'pist hence
And make myself recite in sheer defense
The bald facts I threw out, ignored to scale,
Nor but let folly triumph oer, t'avail
Me, did no good it seems, "wise" was pretense.
He never cared that I exist, I'm sure,
Though I could prove he did and does still too.
Twas all a lie he liked me, but in poor
'Scuse my heart swears he did.  I know's not true.
So I trip oer my feet, distracted fer
No reason, cuz I "like" whom 'gain?...quite blue.

30Mar19b

"All this have I proved by wisdom: I said, I will be wise; but it was far from me." (Ecc 7:23)

Damning enough, that song was literally Saturday's theme from start to finish, into Sunday's wee hours.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXIX)


O that delicious sense of being to scale
Gone from this world!  Lost in the realms of thence
Fair dreams likeas our folly draws up hence
In heavn's keen eye, yet by sleep drugged, t'avail
So far beyond this mundane hour's detail
That I ne'er heard lo, his alarm, lost whence
I canna say, just that twas bliss good sense
Chides, whilst I relish that sans, erm, aught bail.
Why Ringo Starr's performance of in tour
"Act Natrally" haunts both my rising through
Th'ensuing hours til even now as twere,
I canna guess, but toasting breakfast to
Effect found me in serving it, in poor
'Scuse singing "..greatest fool you e'er saw--" too.

30Mar19a  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a6yWYO1vYms

"...because their deeds were evil."


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXVIII)


Lo, coffee just ere dinner, talking thence
Of I forget what now, and that detail
In passing of yes, "him" I in betrayl
Still have a crush on--what is real? and, whence?
So, pull up Instagram, to close it hence--
To find me snookered past erm, midnight, frail
As aught excuse, and O! Thy Scriptures hail
Me til I'd rather hear Thee, LORD, for sense.
What have I done, that lies cavort in tour
And feign they've substance like the Serpent too
Long ere used to thus ****** in truth her
That he deceived, and Adam?  What is new?
Thy mercies every morning.  Save me, poor
As asking from these lies' morass, won't You?

29Mar19d

What's more perhaps frightening is to begin to waken to the subtler fact I've embraced and cherish this "new era" which 2000 supposedly ushered in, is it?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXVII)


"That was a diffrent--" yes, what, in betrayl?
The sevnties had their time.  The eighties' sense
I quite abhor, though raised in them.  Pretense
Waltzed naked through the nineties.  What, oh they'll
Call since "the noughts" was that new era's frail
Excuse for "now," which is so diffrent hence
Let's say I knew it by sheer instinct, whence
Forsooth, what zactly when ye want detail?
O, tis "pastoral" now to watch what'd stir
Folk in the sevnties.  I was too young to
Know aught but early childhood's joys in tour.
And wherefore I deplore, ya HATE the crew
Of years known as "the eighties" I as twere
Don't know.  Yet, what's THIS time we now live through?

29Mar19c
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RkWaHJyA2eY

Science claims a woman only "falls in love" once, and is irrevocably wreckt after that,



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXVI)


There was a reason Lagerfeld fr'intents
Did not waste aught on social media, frail
As which excuses for the same detail
Of foolish, erm, indulgence was't from thence?
And likewise why I'm dull without defense
For having lost me to renditions' tale
Was't? of my latest fav'rite: song; to scale--
Th'orignal that I love, and later's sense.
That taste of Cossack/Russian dancing fer
Dear memries of lo, Fiddler On what? to
Effect--The Roof--is gone, quite gone in poor
Reply for "Moskau" being the theme we knew,
Yes, ALL of us, was nashnalistic.  Were
Our joys in "disco" 'nough, that's "okay" too?

29Mar19b  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NvS351QKFV4

...whence?  I know, I know, you've the florist's packet of preservative mixt for your cut flowrs don't you?  Good luck.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXV)


Lo, tulip capes so thickly clustered they'll
Ne'er blossom, like sardines is it from hence?
Wait greenly by the back stoop for a sense
Of April in the wings.  And jonquils' hale
Green tendrils wait likewise for that detail
I guess, as maids whose innocent suspense
We fail to notice, full of vain pretense'
Auld lies as if such might at last avail.
Girls have been known as flowrs, since oh, in tour
God's Scriptures told us that, I spose.  Aye, do
Men ink laments of this or that as twere
It's thus:  "...her virgins, pure, deflowrd--" they knew.
These latter days we are taught lies, (in poor
'Scuse know by instinct) and cut flowrs down too.

29Mar19a

Nice, eh?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXIII)


Say coffee is a thing we brew t'avail
O, conversation with my dad fr'intents,
And little me.  Add tea in likewise hence,
For some occasions, is't?  Cream just to scale
Let's say for joe, while rosy lea's detail
Shall have it rarely--dawn needs more for sense
Than pretty drinks--and what's left for pretense?
The thought of what we're thus engaged in's bail.
Or let's hark to which plane oerhead in tour?
Perchance the wandring birds which passed on through
As if they were but pieces of what?  Yer
Allowed to say twas flotsam, though t'won't do.
And tell how um, the flight attendent's cue
Was one of those twa drinks...for one or two?

28Mar19c

...forever I'm certain.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXII)


Come, come, as sparrows chatter for intents,
How lo, the cardnal knows as twere to hail
With just one note, that ha! he's here, in pale
Excuse for watching is't?  I'll tell ye hence
What I wish:  that he'd come, yes, closer, thence
Be less reserved, and sit upon (to scale)
My shoulder--how I'd love to feel t'avail
His weight, although he'd deafen me for sense.
Dream on, and wish a thousand things in tour,
Cuz breathing sometimes weighs too heavy through
These hours we feel our vanity as twere.
Who warbles from the pine's top, as wont to
Effect some years back when I'd peg out fer
The soft airs all our linen?  Say who knew?

28Mar19b

...I'll tell you in a later stanza.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXI)


Swear that I don't know what to scribble, frail
As aught excuse--as traffic chases thence
Dear whither in the dull lacklustre sense
The region clouds (which Shakespeare to avail
Knew best to frame) drive forward, white so pale
We put our music on or yes! fr'intents
O me! the news, this time of breathing hence
Mair stale than praps the ancients knew to scale.
I've read not license plates for sense in tour,
But like the girl I am--just which or who
Made each car, truck, etcetra, like's not poor,
And relish evry bird's voice like tis to
Effect a ransom for my soul.  Geese fer
Good measure honk in passing, and what's new?

28Mar19a

Sometimes I hate myself, my voice....



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXX)


If sorrows dog my path, how storm clouds' dense
Rack tinged a deeper navy with a trail
Of peach hang low, and ah, the dove t'avail
Coos softly as the sparrows tease fr'intents,
And if we could forget, or laugh from hence
Without that being--a sin is't? which detail
Then would we notice?  How wind's exhale
Is just as tender, warmth a fragile sense?
If only in all we'd praise Thee in tour,
LORD, see afar off past these heavns' fraught blue,
Yea, know beyond our tongues' recital--You.
See all, e'en as the goldfinch merr'ly stir
Soft happiness, where ah, the dove flew fer
All that from hence, see thus as we should do.

27Mar19b

Even though, to my shame and chagrin I am sorrily indeed "the INCURABLE dreamer."



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXIX)


Hark! ere I've breakfast how the cardnal'd hail
With sweetest notes, like last night's tryst fr'intents
Forgot his age-old suit.  And sparrows thence
Sing for my smiles e'en when in sheer betrayl
"The chips are down," whereat I play t'avail
By sorry halves and pray for Thy defense--
'Til lo, delivered 'gain, how we from hence
Half caper through work, happy on that scale.
Dead leaves yet skitter to the winds, astir
At their capricious touch as if the cue
Is flirting games.  Blue heavns thin clouds obscure
Leave fragile warmth to do the honours to
Effect; and though I beg for love, why's poor
To hope or think that any man would woo?

27Mar19a

Mmm?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXVIII)


Pink gathers on the East and subtly thence
Creeps westward as I watch the orange light's tail
With lo, fir shadows drawn up, til it fail
As robins call for silence, scolding hence
Most vigrously, whilst hark! now in a sense
How sparrows buck at that, to in betrayl
'Non settle; doves yet coo; and winds exhale
So softly as calm sifts oer all fr'intents.
Dogs bark 'non from a distance, people too
Talk, as I strain to hear the dove in tour,
Whilst traffic rushes on its way and blue
Skies yield to gathring darkness.  I strain fer
That voice, to feel the chill nip at me, poor
As nary sweater--to go in 'non too.

26Mar19d

Please?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXVII)


As lo, how sparrows call, whileas the frail
Warmth stirs 'gain daffodils to rise from hence
To "the occasion"--shadows drawn up thence
By those green, hopeful clusters light to scale
'Non dapples sweetly, robins scold in pale
Excuse likeas their wont...as I fr'intents
Want to hark for the mourning doves for sense--
What's left?  For ah, I hear them coo, t'avail.
If only Mum were with me now, as twere!
She'd want a coat or heavy card'gan too,
I spose talk of the Scriptures; praps a tour
Of world events... How doves yet sweetly coo
While robins sing, um, Mavis' song in poor
'Scuse, early:  shadows lengthen 'cross the view.

26Mar19c

...?  I mean, I was aware a week ago that this was a freighted opportunity, but was too inclined to swoon instead.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXVI)


So we made eggnog after dinner, whence
The kitchen warmly lit and to avail
Alive with jests, loud laughter, and to scale
Keen conversation, should have kept good sense
Upon its honour--but alas!  What thence?
I was too busy swooning in betrayl
To give but half an ear to aught, and frail
As aught excuse for crushes, wandered hence.
O let us laugh, if only that could cure
The folly from these vistas was it?  To
A fault those priceless minutes gone as twere--
Yes, eggnog long gone too, what have I?  Who
Can measure all we throw away in poor
'Scuse for our cherished lies?  And how few knew?

26Mar19b

I guess.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXV)


Come, let's begin thus, "while blue heavns" t'avail,
Songs part of dawn's sweet quire for all intents,
Lawns still in yellowed Death e'en as a sense
Of what? now as in Gen'sis moves to scale
Across the surface like God's Spirit--frail
Though aught compare--which ah, the ancients thence
Called by another name or varied, whence
We said "Favonious--" trips through in betrayl.
I only miss the mourning doves' soft coo
In evning's calm, or where the silver dew
Yet waits upon each blade of grass none stir--
Their subtle voice as if unto as twere
My breathless soul the call I yearn in tour
To hearken to...as if tis unto...You?

26Mar19a

Hi.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXIV)


O tender blue skies!  How I yearned fr'intents
To sit out on the back stoop, listning, frail
As aught excuse, to breathe again, inhale
That fresher air and simply be.  Tis hence
Gone with the madder hours of work, that sense
I'd yet escape outdoors lost with the hale
Eye of sweet minutes I looked oer t'avail
Me of, sans that recure in poor defense.
Alas.  How I forgot to roll as twere
Whichever words across my tongue to do
The vision up now, is't?  Like, is't in poor
Reply for saying "...the Maple--" lo, um to
Effect an oak whose crimson buds 'gain stir
Now in the breeze?  Bet violets smile now too.

25Mar19c

Or?  Go figure.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXIII)


What? as night's blackness is passe in frail
Excuse, the hours now merely for good sense
Um, stacking up whiles I close down from hence
This slim machine for lack of aught else' tale,
And this where Twitter promised to avail
Itself of all my minutes--all's fr'intents
Too dead, dull, boring--I've moved on, pretense
Worn to a frazzle in aught that I'd hail.
Remember:  "I should write more--" to bestir
Me, yet ideas have flown off unto
Is't nether regions?  cuz I "watched in tour"
Who cares who?  Fashions.  "Follow her--what you
Should wear is...THIS."  I've MY own style, in poor
'Scuse, am ergo at odds with all, cool too?

25Mar19b

Do NOT enquire regarding the title.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXI)


O rain!  I'd plans lo, in the werks--t'avail
Me of the naked woods in tour fr'intents
Of violets.  That is lost as I mull thence
The joys of sitting on the stoop's detail
Jist to, erm, breathe.  And lo, in sheer betrayl
To write THAT kills the chance as twere, as hence
Those priceless minutes are most strangely whence
I canna say, lost--more in tow--sans bail.
Yes.  It is freaky.  Why'd my earring, fer
All that, fly off?!  Just where I'd rush out to
That spot and settle me to breathe in tour,
Lo, how I spent it praying, and searching too.
Rain slipped off on the wings of gloaming, poor
As all MY dreams.  And I was laughing.  You?

24Mar19c

Ya, JUST a moment, hahaha.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCX)


Lo, dinna argue thoughts or words are hence
As light as we prefer to think.  In pale
Excuse, I wrote "tell him that he [t'avail]
Can laugh at her who nursed a crush"--and thence
Could swear that someone surely did fr'intents.
Whiles lo, write down "none woo" t'erase that.  Frail
Praps as the mention, lo, how sparrows hail
Me with such happy cries--what of that sense?!
E'en further, write "...IF I could breathe--" to stir
Complete loss of the twinkling 'ssurance who
Was gone?  Now what is there to do, in poor
'Scuse for these stanzas which seem are sans cue
Put up just by suggestion to, in tour,
Be held against me is't?  Oh, what is new?!

24Mar19b

I was, too.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCIX)


Let's see...rain draws up silver puddles' tale
Of being upon the blacktop, where suspense
Is fast asleep cuz Sunday augured thence
Mair calm than it could e'er endure, the pale
Eye of uncertain hours with half a frail
Thought dawn played hooky for all that, a sense
None can e'en yawn worn out as sheer pretense
Was quite arraigned in morn's half light:  sans bail.
I roll words 'cross my tongue at lunch as twere,
And sparrows take the chance to gaily cue
Fond smiles til conversation rules in tour.
Now's time to put on rice to boil anew,
Warm refried beans for dinner, lo, bestir
Me fin'lly to jot down a note...where to?

24Mar19a

So there.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCVIII)


How black night's swallowed all whenas fr'intents
My back was turned, lost in the search t'avail
Me of the Beatles' first whole concert they'll
Assure aught therein had McCartney's thence
Um first rendition of that song which hence
Has been playing on repeat in sheer betrayl
For how long now?  Whiles oh, dear me!  in frail
Excuse I see more clearly hope's pretense.
Watch, not dear Paul nor John to see as twere
He is:  a man.  No.  Him just talking to
An older gent.  If I'd forgot in poor
'Scuse I'm a very silly girl, I knew
It slowly in a blink.  What folly'd stir
Days ere I canna rue enough.  Laugh too?

23Mar19d

Wonder what on earth THAT designation means, again?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCVII)


O do the violets peer ere yet March fail?
For how the Goldfinch merr'ly sing from hence
While lo, which sparrows woo as Mavis thence,
And robins knew to lilt?  Ere shadows trail
Across the blacktop, doilies to avail,
As blue heavns seem so warm, 'til I fr'intents
Maunt bear to stay indoors, how sweet tis! whence
Read through th'antholgy which auld flowrs detail.
Now I've a taste of Andrew Marvel fer
All he's been touted for his sonnets through
Suggestion I leave off the rules in poor
'Scuse, likeas he did with an extra two
Lines for whatever, I maunt yet bestir
Me to be naughty, tho' I wish he'd woo.

23Mar19c

I can't EVEN breathe



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCVI)


There's some conspiracy, I'm sure.  Good sense
Was feigning to be mine, likeas t'avail.
But now I've had to pull up Queen's detail:
Put on "We Are The Champions" in defense--
Cuz folly has the upper hand from hence.
I had rehearsed that "nothing happened--they'll
Ne'er know--I was a fool--" and in betrayl
As King Saul said, "I've played the fool." O whence?!
Dear reason, now I beg of thee, be pure.
Stop letting false joys caper 'bout and woo.
Tis Saturday.  I'd meant to own as twere--
Oh!  I give up.  My hands are shaky too.
Will some one tell him he can laugh at her
Who nursed a crush, til now, what is to do?!

23Mar19b

...of the world."



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCV)


"Alas, poor Yorick!"  echoes down the tale
O' centries since that Tristram Shandy thence
Was published, and familiar too, though whence
I ne'er could say 'til now, in sheer betrayl--
Love-sick being cause for seeking to avail
Me of some cure from false hopes' keen pretense--
To succour me at THAT font was for sense
Jist what the Doctor ordered:  pretty bail.
Now Corp'ral Trim reads Yorick's sermon fer
Ole Shandy's intrest ere that Tristram's through
The birth canal, I've highr ground as it were.
Not cuz the antique novel is a crew
Of nonsense.  No.  It sets off this e'er poor
'Scuse for "real'ty"...IF I can breathe too.

23Mar19a

...just sitting out there on the back stoop.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCIV)


What gives?  While twilight haunts the fragile sense
The minutes linger, and soft blue heavns pale
Lo, e'er so subtly, traffic on its way t'avail
This start of ya, the weekend, whither hence?
Hark! as the robins (distant) scold fr'intents,
And sparrows' eager cries half calm to scale,
Where now suspense half rises in a frail
Excuse upon its elbow, ask me whence.
Erst wont to sit at gathring twilight fer
These little calls and noises trickling through
The madder haste to be elsewhere in tour,
To listen once again is sweet.  I knew
All this when Mum was back indoors, when her
Face welcomed my return.  What's changed?  What's new?

22Mar19d

"...nothing really matters [anymore]--"


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCIII)


Where blue heavns softly yield to orange' detail
And robins 'gain renew dear Mavis' sense
Of April gloaming with that song fr'intents,
E'en breaking off to scold as wont, the frail
Warmth sifted out while lo, a plane t'avail
'Non passes over, sparrows gaily fence
This calm with chatter, traffic likeas thence
Wont: I would sleep; yes, laugh, in sheer betrayl.
Don't let me cull to mind what tis as twere.
Who gives a hoot tis Friday night?  I do
Not care so much if I could just, in poor
Excuse, forget, and breathe.  Pink 'gins tae woo,
Now gathring on the East, and Nigel's tour
Of music oddly plays, the Scriptures too.

22Mar19c

THIS:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jCHL9b6nBXA



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCII)


Watch Paul McCartney's erm, debut of thence
That soulful number "Yesterday." and they'll
What, eh?  If's not the song itself t'avail,
How 'bout John Lennon's snide remark for sense
To Ringo, was't?  As if there was fr'intents
This rivalry which could not in betrayl
Be satisfied to have Paul up (sans bail?)
Alone on stage where all the girls cooed hence.
As if they did not cry for John in tour,
And that by name, he must begrudge it too?
I'm just a child in sheer compare as twere,
Yet "all grown-up" now to effect, see through
Their boyish ways and fall in love, though's poor.
While "Yesterday's" notes never fail to woo.

22Mar19b

Yes?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCI)


What is't about the train's voice, that th'all hail
Um, piques my soul, which harks unto its dense
Low rumble like tis...what?  O dear suspense!
How "nibelung" half winks at me in hale
Dawn's golden warmth as if it knows in pale
Excuse my name, like these elf ears I've thence
Had from conception argue in a sense
Now with my height, while mists haunt with their veil.
I'd feign lose me in fog's embrace as twere;
Go wandring like I canna see unto
The fairer realms beyond is't?  Silver dew.
I cherish its sheer blanket waiting fer
Heavn's burning glance, a violet none bestir,
Hid in the darker shadows trains pass through.

22Mar19a

Mmm...mebbe I'll manage a sonnet about what followed.  Prolly won't.  But, you never can tell.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXCVIII)


Where golden shafts flirt with the fainting sense
Of clearing skies sae purely blue, til hale
Warmth looks upon my naked arms' detail
As sparrows sing like all is games from hence,
O let my soul, if poss'ble, vanish thence
To higher realms likeas twas mine t'avail.
And whilst the frore breath sifts through, to exhale
With softest measures plying wisps, I'll breathe.  Whence?
Don't ask unless ye've lo, the Scriptures fer
Just whither.  Now's a thin chance to see through,
Although I canna pierce the mists in tour.
Let my soul hear the sparrows as they woo
Us from beyond this wasteland I've as twere
Been wandring years now, til that I see...You.

21Mar19d

Dunno why, but I've wanted to write this for days...the first lines, that is.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXCVII)


Macbeth's wife wrung her hands, to then bewail
The blood which nary washing could fr'intents
Clean of that stain.  I've wondered lately whence?
That's all.  The coven's three hags' shrill detail
In howling incantations like to scale,
Erst wont to ring thus in mine ears for sense
And eerie visions of wild spectres thence
Too ghastly for my taste, could haunt sans bail.
Tis just her cries naught can assuage which stir
Vague questions I maunt pin down.  If I do,
Where will they end?  Her failure as it were
To cleanse the clinging bloodstains, if we knew,
Could we find aught forgivness?  If in tour
I do not preach the Scriptures, I'll e'er rue?

21Mar19c

Nope.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXCVI)


I lick my finger slowly, with a sense
In closing as of stealing frosting, pale
As aught compare, th'espresso's foam detail
Tinged subtly with milk's sweetness for intents,
Like that finale suited for it hence,
The rainy blacktop half dried in betrayl,
While minutes tiptoe by on wings more frail
Than insects' glassy touch we note from thence.
Prepare their lunch with baggies for as twere
Thin cleanliness, cuz honey's sticky to
A fault; cube our potato like in tour
What, eh?  I tossed my brother's typed note, knew
Not that twas worth aught, and discuss how poor
Tis that all's typed, not writ by hand.  And you?

21Mar19b

Let's not pin down WHY I've cherished rain and somber oboe concertos, shall we?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXCV)


There are ne puddles, just that drooling trail
Left by the gutter's mouth as I look hence
For any small detail to augur thence
E'en half a note of whither in this pale
Eye of forgotten dawn, moist on that scale
With fragile rain.  Naught quivers in suspense,
No, not my soul now either.  All fr'intents
Is quite foresworn as I feign what, t'avail?
If nonchalance is pretty, let's bestir
It to cavort across the stage anew.
I'd feign lose me to rain's soft calm as twere,
Yea, fly away upon those wings we knew
By instinct, though we could not see them, poor
As saying.  No sparrow calls, and what would woo?

21Mar19a

...couldn't arrive at a decent title, sorry.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXCIV)


While lo, the eaves drip with a fragile sense
As of a leaky faucet, sparrows hail
With sweetest cries, and oh! now which detail?
Tis frore, yet with the dishes washed fr'intents
I'm warm enow for half a minute's dense
Chance of mere seconds just to breathe, as pale
Hours trim their painted nails to traffic's scale
As twere of passage ere we've dinner hence.
Too soon flown, even as the birds in tour,
Just overhead whiles I am scribbling, blue
Is not so much heavn's glance but clouds as twere,
Though how that piercing eye burns hotly through
Where we are settling down to soup.  Was't poor
I'd only minutes on the stoop?  What's new?

20Mar19d

Ya, I'll say everything, except all I know about...him.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXCIII)


Dear rain whose mincing footfalls but avail
The fellow working in thy moist kiss hence,
High in the scaffold where that silence thence
Does not quite cozen him, as he could hail
Each little noise if he desires, the pale
Eye of this first new day of Spring fr'intents
Is tender in its frore note, with a sense
Of all we cherished just in tow, to scale.
And like this season of auld loves we were
Taught was keen on romance, I wish he knew,
Nor was as now a fragile dream roused fer
My sheer distraction cuz chance thought to do
Me in by circumstance.  I pray in tour,
Yet am afraid to ask if he does...woo.

20Mar19c

...anything?!



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXCII)


So, blue heavns hid 'non by a veil fr'intents
Of stringy clouds, I rolled that to avail
Across my tongue thus:  "cirrus clouds to scale--
Lo, change of weather scheduled..." like twas sense,
And checked the forecast to see what from thence;
Watched how the golden light cast firs' detail
Upon the blacktop likeas doilies' tale,
Yet plumb forgot to ink whate'er was.  Whence?
Sip tea in morning's weepy note as twere,
While rain just tiptoes 'cross the silent view;
Hark yet in vain for sparrows' playful cure;
Want cream to no avail as if that'd do,
'Til oh!  What's left to jot down?  All's not poor,
But I'm half tongue-tied, like's not vain.  What's new?

20Mar19b

I have no excuse for myself, I know [ducks head]*  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXCI)


Oh! I'd forgotten wherefore aught that'd hail
Was never inked, why Tristram Shandy thence
Seemed cure enow, and why I slept fr'intents
In lieu of posting la, my work t'avail.
Yes, sleep was that fine drug which in betrayl
Washed clean the mental chalkboard in defense
Of some remote attempt at fragile sense,
Until he chose to be where--what?! tis stale.
I 'fessed at one weak moment, "I've in poor
'Scuse lo, a crush on...him."  Alas.  That'd do
Me in for keeps, left swooning as it were
When night 'gain cozened all, and whispring to
Myself, "I wish he missed me too!"  Rain's tour
Is sweet, but I'm a mess because of who?

20Mar19a