Dropping the line which struck me forcibly to my dad, he was intrigued and set on fire for the rest of the week:  "It's as if I've lived and died, and find I am alive."



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCXXVI)


I lived, and what? that fair world perished, whence?
Now in the golden eye of dawn t'avail,
As diamonds glitter on thet canvas, hale
Blue skies expansive, whileas snow from hence
In dazzling whiteness spreads 'round with a sense
Of ****** freshness, bitter cold's exhale
What drives us (IF we can) indoors to hail
Aught visions of beyond in warmth, ya, thence?
Dad urges I perhaps make what in tour
Lo, in a former life was sweetly to
Effect passe, yet he suggests I do
It like's some new frontier, though what he'd stir
Me to I did once all the time.  In poor
Scuse I've lived, died, and now lo, nothing's new.

30Jan19a

Forsooth.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCLXXV)


Lo, Gershwin--did I think to thus avail
Me with pure ambience for coffee's dense
Black notes? Tis quashed upon attempt, as thence
Thin hopes of drinking in good compny.  Pale
Blue skies own icy clouds, and on that scale
How golden light is rather ghastly hence,
Whileas I stoke the thought that for intents
I'm being a proper Swede sans cream's detail.
No danish could quite answer for as twere
Exactly what my instinct sought to do
This black elixir good.  No sugar, to
Be certain, either. Milk was allus poor
In that regard.  And now dead poets' tour
Of compny is as well?  Whose music too?

29Jan19

I do, seriously.  Problem is, I want to have babies...



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCLXXIV)


He said, "You don't need anything fr'intents
In there." as I picked up and flipped t'avail
Through Boden's latest catalogue.  In pale
Excuse I talked of this skirt, or from thence
Stared keenly at the models like their sense
Of perfect:  "you can't live without this" scale
Of being was tops.  Yes, studied aught detail
Like I was nonchalant oer sheer pretense.
If that earned me his lecture on how poor
My chances are of seeing him longer to
Effect are, guess I should have known as twere.
There was not anything I wanted.  You
Can argue that I'm wrong and that's fine too.
My wallet can't afford aught now in tour.

28Jan19b

...white AS snow. (Is 1:18)



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCLXXIII)


Snow.  That is all.  White.  Shovel it t'avail
Each day, nor look for colour.  Talk from hence
Of dreams for valentines day while good sense
Knows all's a lie.  Yes, think no further.  They'll
Announce this festival and that detail
You just can't miss, 'til spelling out: pretense
Is worthless.  Marriage is a joke fr'intents--
The "stars" are fallen, darkness swallwing bail.
He said we'd text this evning but that's poor.
I think I'll take a nap.  Write out the view,
But do not look it in the face as twere.
Tis best if you feign that you never knew.
Come back tomorrow.  All we have in tour
Is white, white, white.  Just say you like it, too.

28Jan19a

Ha.  I've too much stacked up on all accounts for your feeble dispute, if any, to be heard.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCLXXII)


He led me on a wild goose chase, to thence
Look was't half sheepish, 'fessing in betrayl
Twas all a ruse.  No kisses either, pale
Night bitter, though alive and listning hence
Mair keenly than I cared t'acknowledge, sense
Upon its honour as a watchman they'll
Arraign for sleeping on his post, t'avail
I had a ball despite was't ill intents?
What DOES "I love you" signify as twere?
Folk never knew what was afoot 'til to
Effect twas:  over.  He's most chummy fer
Good show now my heart's lost.  The weeks we two
Spent in a whirlwind romance are gone, poor
As his late overtures who can not woo.

27Jan19b

That fact is what troubles my men.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCLXXI)


Snow diamonds scintillate as wont in pale
And lonely lamplight, blacker depths just hence
On all sides in the wee hours where I thence
Look out the kitchen window to avail
Long after midnight.  Then where dawn's eye'd hail,
Blue shadows cozen that small corner whence
See in the winking shafts how lo, they fence
The view with dazzling sparkles like to scale.
Tis Sunday.  Noon haunts plans whiles O! in poor
'Scuse ne espressos for this morning to
Effect finds me half wandring like to stir
Aught else might well, um, cure me. What is new?
We're captives, sold unto which potion fer
Our souls?  The racking clouds leave snow blind too.

27Jan19a

...poor man's tea, the softest boiled eggs on toast, porridge too, ere running out the door.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCLXIX)


He's smoking when I slide in, as the pale
Eye of a ghastly dawn now fingers hence,
Where shafts pierce 'cross this whiter canvas thence
Half golden, to illumine flakes' detail
Piled up in vast heaps, yet in sheer betrayl
Stacked up like individual pieces, whence
Note how like furry mounds it winks back, sense
Thrilled though ne words frame up what'd non avail.
And oh! his open window yields in tour,
Despite the mad rush of these highways too,
Whose voices? Birds.  As if the sparrows fer
All that were singing gaily unto You.
Likeas they e'er do, LORD.  I need as twere
Aught little glimpse, Thy mercies ever new.

26Jan19a

[Thank You, O LORD, for Thy great mercies.]



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCLXVIII)


Say we girls walked three miles from parking, whence
The brisk temps gave us rosy cheeks t'avail,
My former beau is quite the **** in pale
Excuse, but that's how some men are fr'intents,
Nor am I sorry we are histry, thence
Too happy with a Friday night's detail,
From jazz to poets struttin' stuff to scale:
Just dandy, with the note of gay pretense.
No modern slang, however.  Sought in tour
By some dude for mair shows on her debut,
O how my friend and I had quite as twere
A ball tonight!  More in the wings now too,
What could top that fine news?! No coffee, poor
As saying, cept weak joe, but e'en that will do.

25Jan19b

Laughable, the worst part being our complete denial is it?




(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCLXVI)


So we discussed--I can't remember hence.
Snow falling through the hours likeas a veil
Beyond which naught 'cept white was in betrayl
Seen from this vantage.  Sip espresso thence
In silence those wee flakes knew for intents,
And oh! what did the minutes know?  In pale
Hours white, white, white half haunted, to avail
The Scriptures like a tete-a-tete for sense.
Dreams of tomorrow in my noggin tour,
'Non swirling like to crystallize the view
That will be done by now, I spose.  Tis poor
To thus rehearse, and lo, I lost all too
When, after dinner'd cull a hiccup fer
Our prayrs.  Our lives are what? a vapour.  Ooh.

24Jan19b

...but don't ask me WHY?--because I honestly don't know why, that's all.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCLXV)


Dawn warmed upon these frore white lands t'avail
With feeble notes the darkness fled from, thence
And with pink blushes like an olde maid hence
Erm, withring on the stalk as Wordsworth'd hail
Them in his sonnet on pure silence, pale
Hours all the more still with an ear whose sense
Of keener listning we'll catch if fr'intents
We stop to hark, snow dampning madness' tale.
Was't an espresso?  Or the dregs in tour?
I was too glad for that cup's steamy brew,
As if the very ghost of coffee were
Delicious on that scale.  We don't talk, to
Effect wrapt up in silence like to stir
Ourselves to speak is crimnal.  You call too.

24Jan19a

What are your eyes asking, then, reader?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCLXIII)


Snow.  Watch flakes like small children wander, hale
Nor but as if meandring down against mists thence
Composed of wee such as winds drive from hence
That whiteness 'cross this new world no detail
Blinks in, and brew dawn's *** of tea t'avail
Whilst juggling half a dozen things fr'intents;
Toast up two slices sourdough with a sense
Of "tea for two," to find my timing'd fail.
So, look out on this "wonderland" as twere
Half lost as those fat flakes I'd note, the view
Exquisite in pure white, trees frosted to
Effect, until the soul could rise in tour
If only, but I'm sipping tea in poor
'Scuse down here all alone.  O! to hear You.

23Jan19a

"...behind him--" is't? No.  "..AFTER him." (Ecc 7:14b)




(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCLXII)


Whenas magnolia petals fluttered, dense
In satin white 'non blushing pink, th'exhale
Of April breezes whispring through, I'd hail
The soft chartreuse of Maple leaves for sense,
To notice that romance for all intents
With half an eye while sipping coffee's tale.
And now the naked branches don't avail
Our souls of colour, coffee's black, and whence?
I listen to the Scriptures, wondring fer
All that oer how those empty boughs I knew
Once clothed in bridal trappings are left poor
Without a trace.  Months pass, the seasons too.
Nor is the coffee strong.  It's fine black.  We're
Stripped down to almost nothing is't? skies blue.

22Jan19b

Notice my play on words?!



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCLIX)


Roll Soren Kierkegaard (nor dare exhale
As if the mention culls a sheer suspense)
Across your tongue, and spell "philospher" thence
Out slowly, to learn we were taught lies they'll
Assure us was for good, to countervail
His wisdom, whiles you're piqued for aught intents
Upon that note:  "they" would acknowledge, sense
Demanded it?  But hide what might avail.
I know "they" swore that Shelley was in poor
Scuse mad.  And now find Kierkegaard was too?!
Yet Bysshe had keener sense than all as twere,
Which I learn Soren did as well?  and who
"They" classed as what, eh, for all that?!  Go stir
The burning coals, for ashes whisper 'new.

21Jan19c

cough, cough*  



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCLIII)


Yes, I woke after one, as if t'avail
Myself of sleep ere tucking up has sense,
To find that notion snowplows were fr'intents
Upon the prowl in grinding form to scale
Long ere a Friday evning was past bail
Quite true, as snow filled that lone light's beams thence
With whiter mists, a blanket none could hence
Pierce on the blacker world in sheer betrayl.
If rolling phrases 'cross one's tongue in tour
Is grand, choice words the key 'fore their debut
On lo, this wrinkled notebook page, what were
They as I slipped into my nightie?  To
Effect:  "snow AFTER midnight--".  None too poor,
I spose.  And how winds craft dunes 'cross the view.

19Jan19a

Mebbe laugh at me?  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCLII)


Tis snowing lightly, like the fragile sense
Of steam too many hours ago, that pale
Dance of half ghostly tendrils as a veil,
Now white lies in the shoveled tracks fr'intents--
Some veil laid down for "I was here" ist?  whence
I'll try to not remember on that scale
It IS a Friday night with naught t'avail,
This cabin fever sans a cure from hence.
I should watch films tonight.  But that is poor.
Eat choc'late?  Mebbe that could thinly do.
What good were all my boyfriends as it were?
Girls half my age are married now.  Love's to
Effect a ***** joke played on me fer
Laughs I cannot enjoy.  Why is't not true?

18Jan19b

...unaware of gathering darkness.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCL)


If nightfall wore the softest slippers whence
Twas silent in approach, I could not hail
It on that note, as was the case, light pale
All day til others blinked on in suspense
None felt in all in our haste to be from hence
Wherever as lo, darkness seals the tale
Of aught we'd erstwhile known whileas t'avail
I finish warming soup in sheer defense.
But dinner's late.  Cuz we'll have pizza too.
Thus, biscuits/rolls rise to th'occasion, poor
As hot food going cold in Winter's tour
Of bitter duty.  We put off th'ado
Called dinner til that night is black.  Then stir
Ourselves to eat, and pepperoni'd cue.

17Jan19b

...we are.




(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCXLVIII)


How diamonds twinkle in morn's eye to scale!
Snow's whitest canvas icy, yet with hence
Those crystals dancing to heavn's glance, as thence
Blue seas smile on these landscapes to avail,
Clouds fragments of cold icebergs in betrayl,
And if I could but hark, the sparrows' sense
Of merry play in tow, while oh! fr'intents
We have a chance to sip tea like tis bail.
Dad sez his friend closed last night's phone call fer
All that with la, the note of what he'd do
For dinner: cheese, wine, and baguette in tour,
Our souls both wishing for some of that too,
The winking view afore us now as twere
Made poor by that suggestion, blind to You.

16Jan19a

Use a thousand words, resort to photographs, but never taste except in dreams what once was it...mundane?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCXLVI)


If ye look off into the distance hence,
Lo, see the woods' crew of tall pines in frail
Mists rising on all sides as Blue Jays hail
From somewhere just in sight, thet silence whence
Our souls half shiver to the holy sense
Of more than mere flesh' knowledge hear exhale
As winds pass oer the treetops whispring pale
Auld secrets that the ancients fingered thence.
How Dad's red sleeping bag is full as twere
Of camping in the Rocky Mountains, to
Wake sore frae slumbring on the hard ground, poor
Though my complaints the "pea" was too much through
Vain thoughts I am some princess.  Oh!  I stir
Sich notions now that childhood's long gone too.

14Jan19b

...for in Thee do I trust--"



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCXLV)


Ah, dismal hours in black and white! the pale
Eye of this languid dawn admits fr'intents
Ne colour on that scale, the cold from hence
Mair bitter cuz which note cries in betrayl?
The blacktop scraped in shovling to avail
Our passage looks the colder with a sense
We feel within our bones, to want from thence
Morn's *** of tea to hearten souls like's bail.
And yet we have Thy Scriptures, LORD.  This tour
Of snowy vistas to remind anew
That our souls shall be "white as snow--" more pure
Than my heart's yearnings as I think now too
Of three years ere when Mum's death was as twere
Made all the more stark by this icy view.

14Jan19a

How many days ago was it blizzard conditions?!



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXLV)


If warmth and rain conspired t'undo the hale
White blanket flung across these wastes, til hence
The silver puddles shine with ghastly thence
And wan miens like the moon, how in betrayl
Lawns late unmasked lie with an air of frail
Hopes violets soon shall wink, snow islands' sense
Of being alone upon that sea from whence
There's no return, forlorn like March'd prevail.
Blue skies for sweetest minutes peer in tour
Twixt greyer cloud racks like the waking view
Might have a softer breath in tow as twere,
While Daddy pulls espressos foamed milk to
Effect crowns with an April note.  Tis poor
Tae think December's gentle, but how'd woo.

02Dec18a

I could swear I miss Mum.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXLIV)


O languid hours whose weary rain falls hence
As if tis one with snow's fatigue, in pale
Excuse, the madness I'd known sans aught bail
Six years ere when my brother was fr'intents
Still badly drugged by doctors, sans defense
For their malpractice (trying to **** him, frail
Though that may seem; whose outright lies' detail
Remains upon the charts)--what's not pretense?
My painted nails in lavendar look poor
Now they've been through much cleaning, dishes--who
Cares 'cept myself that they wink 'non in tour?
YOU only text, tease me with what is to
Effect um, lies, or promises that were
Not ever meant to stand--do I miss YOU?

01Dec18

See Job 13:15.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXLIII)


Watch steam's half ghostly tendrils in the pale
Eye of dawn's golden touch, as tears stream hence
In one lone rivulet down my face, whence--
Mock on.  Tea for recure, I sip t'avail,
But it's nigh tasteless.  I'm slain in betrayl
Cuz I gave all for love and lo, twas thence
All lies.  My smiles in rising gone, a sense
Of being sliced up by words my meat sans bail.
No sparrows call, nor play.  Snow crumbles to
The blacktop and I think it's them as twere,
Yet how that chunk lies sans a spirit through
This ugly chance for...tea?!  O please, what's poor?
My purple nails?  My prayrs for love in tour?
Steam likeas ghosts fades while I weep sans you.

30Nov18b

It's what you call a "rhetorical question."



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXLII)


To see as through the tele-scopic lens
Of is't December?  Oh, I could avail
Me if, if only!  Sunken in betrayl
Upon the threshold of what is, pretense
Quite withered, lovers but old memries whence
I cull chagrin:  I am depressed sans bail.
Nor money I don't have, nor nudes in pale
Excuse, nor all I am yield aught defense.
He plies me for mair money likeas fer
All that the black holes outer space has to
Effect.  And now I've none, accuses poor
As saying, his promises all lies I knew
Ere now I should not have believed in tour.
O LORD, I cannot see afar...to You.

30Nov18a

...well, from my brother to my father, men seem to like a woman who listens to them, but...where's a man for me?!


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXLI)


Why does the basement air reek in betrayl
...Of turkey soup, til I hate that from hence,
Though dinner was a tasty thing fr'intents?!
Sleep early; and now midnight to avail
'Non tiptoes closer, yawn too loudly, frail
As aught excuse, the joys of which pretense
Gone stale?  Why kin I laugh, like's some defense,
Oer broken dreams, while that scent seems t'exhale?
I need to showr and go to bed.  What were
The right, erm, speeches that'd cull whom would woo
To be a true man?  Is all any stir
Some bad joke like the soup I'd caref'lly brew
From our Thanksgiving dinner?  Why's love poor?!
If I need to, um, listen...where are you???

29Nov18c

...with your beer-laden breath.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXL)


If owly-eyed is cute, then hug me hence.
But all I've got in suitors are in pale
Excuse, erm, rogues; these steal my kisses, frail
As aught retort, "you asked for it!" What thence?
Where did the fellows I knew for intents
Back in my youth go?  Why but scoundrels' scale
Of int'rest now?!  Why pray for love t'avail,
And find the LORD's forgotten me? oh whence?
Meet guys online???!  Yes, laugh so hard that your
Sides ache, and they are wicked like whom to
My face think having *** the fourth date'd cure
Our young relationship.  What shall I do?!
I pray, and rot away.  O LORD, why's poor
I ask for fruit, for children?  Hear me too?

29Nov18b

Prolly.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXXXVIII)


Those Sonnets From The Portuguese culled thence
From lo, a pure heart set on fire t'avail
His love who ransomed her from Death to scale
The heights of heavn on earth, I've read til hence--?
Forgotten like some reject none would sense
But with keen scorn for sins I in betrayl
Do not know I've committed--which detail
Could buy my ransom likeas hers, fr'intents?
Thieves, scoundrels have deceived me in vain tour
Of better than this thought of Hell we to
Effect think that we know on earth, til fer
All that I make "naive" look false.  None woo
Save to steal parts of me.  Dear hope is poor.
Love is a jew'l I'm not good 'nough for too.

28Nov18b

Is it pure coincidence my brother had called for my birthday four nights earlier, and instructed me regarding how to know whether a man loves me?  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXXXVII)


I thought of sipping wine, and, to avail
O, nibbling choc'late after hours for sense,
Until YOUR text confirmed the dream which thence
YOUR lies had stoked:  was false.  Now in the hale
Eye of a Winter's dawn where snow to scale
Is piled so whitely 'round, I think fr'intents
Of how but thieves and scoundrels rouse pretense
To mock me e'er anon, and whither's bail?!
We sip the lighter Barry's tea in tour
And talk of sourdough since he makes bread to
Feed all of us cuz my late schedule, poor
As saying, is far too busy.  And I do
Not watch those whitish tendrils waft as twere
Upon my rosy lea, now.  Ah, what's new?

28Nov18a

--Now I AM an olde maid--



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXXXVI)


Some violin whines as a harp from thence
Plods softly in the rear, and that detail
Is met by keyboard clicks, whileas in pale
Excuse I almost trim my nails fr'intents
Cuz tis too early yet to paint them, whence
Cull what frae that as twere, in sheer betrayl?
How breakfast's coffee in my veins t'avail
Half drives me bonkers waiting.  And what hence?
Dreams trick out what was sposed to be in tour
Real'ty, cuz YOU said ere now we two
Would celebrate my birthday grandly fer
All that:  together.  Yes, it was not true.
But I can't help still wishing in a poor
Reply that YOU weren't jesting.  Ah, what's new?

27Nov18b

On that note, shall we break into some hearty yodelling?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXXXV)


O winder wonderland, erst naked trees t'avail
Stand robed in state with lingerie which hence
Marks them as almost sanctified fr'intents
In ****** white, or how in each detail
God's ministers and servants show to scale,
The firs most lovely decked thus, grander thence
Than all th'electric lights of xmas' sense
Of fin'ry, which I should stand awed to hail.
Twa icicles hung likeas fangs, demure
In morning's eye, by noon were perished through
As twere the brazen heat of that in tour,
Black puddles waiting nightfall's seal to do
Them up as treach'rous ice, ah, what is poor?
If only, LORD, I'd praise Thee as but due.

27Nov18a

cough, cough* my brother jested that if I keep this up I'll resemble General Mattis (sp?) soon was not entirely a joke, I suspect.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXXXIV)


Fatigue.  What 'zactly is't?  My birthday thence
Mere hours from now (I text YOU), work in pale
Excuse leaves me too zonkered in betrayl
To even...finish?!  Yes.  Three pieces hence
Of dainty purple lingerie for sense
Lie in the laundry basket, cold, sans bail
Quite wrinkled where lo, midnight'd tiptoe: hail
Me with my sorry failings sans defense?
From washing floors, I vacuum in a tour
Through Monday's tasks, with turkey soup to do
As twere me in, was that? The fresh-cleaned crew
Of clothes saw how what is't again?  Tis poor
I could not pull that off.  And then to stir
Old cries for babies augurs what, think you?

26Nov18b

...just arrive at your own perverse conclusion sith that's what academia and its ilk forever do with artists' work.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXXXIII)


If I note that he shoveled in (t'avail)
His pj's, like the man whose showr from thence
Would cleanse all to effect, and thought fr'intents
For lo, the umpteenth year, of how (in pale
Excuse) this exercise can cull to scale
Erm, cardiac arrest, tae think from hence
In looking on that ****** landscape--whence?!
To die in shovling could be sweet...is't frail?
Or rather, I am, mebbe.  Dawn's breath pure
And crisp; to shovel heartning; lonely too,
Why did that eerie thought rise up as twere
Upon the heels of vague concern, to do
Was that a caper in morn's eye?!  And YOUR
Thin protest I'd not die soon...was it true?

26Nov18a

...but I'm so lost I've completely forgotten to quote John Greenleaf Whittier was it?


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXXXII)


Winds howl as blizzard snow flies whitely hence
While traffic becomes rare; the blanket's hale
And covers all until there is no trail
Left.  If the powr blinks out lo, for intents
Our internet does also, whiles for sense
They now discuss the future--how to scale
T'will be worse in the wild, and that'd avail.
But I?  Well, pray; be thankful...for what hence?
O, that the Scriptures are restored.  And fer
The lack of online access, with the cue
It might be gone forever now? eat through
Some choc'late bar I'd saved, like tis not poor
To stuff your face with choc'late when in tour
Joys fail.  Cuz after all--um...where are YOU?!

25Nov18b

Forsooth.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXXXI)


Snow.  White flakes jostle like small children, veil
This fragile twilight in descent as thence,
Where rain waltzed gaily on these puddles, hence
O me!  How white tricks out what's left t'avail
Our fainting souls of colour, as to scale
It blankets all we knew ere in what sense
Calls Winter; and I spose tis ne pretense,
For lo, November closes soon, gone stale.
So crank up class'cal strains to salve as twere
The galling note of Death, is't?  Ergo, to
Effect how xmas lights now twinkle through
Nights gone so black, while sales fly; none demur
To put up trees for festive gifts' grand tour,
And I've forgotten what, LORD?  say not...You.

25Nov18a

...never ends since Mum died.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXXX)


O languid hours whose weeping softens thence
These greyer twilight minutes, which detail
Is sweet by dint of that, likeas t'avail?
What of our conversation last night, whence
I cull as wont a vision in defense?
We talked into the wee hours, til in pale
Excuse my heart yearns for my brother.  Stale
As dreams false suitors drew up, whither hence?
T'will snow ere dawn shall shift the veil in tour,
And aught that now is Autumn, buried to
Effect in Winter, will be lost anew.
Sip coffee with Dad (on the phone) yet fer
All that content to be, and what is poor?
I'm as a sailor floundring til with You.

24Nov18b  
*Note:  again finishing with an address to the LORD.  The difference in stanzas addressed to men or to the LORD God is whether whom is addressed is in all caps or with only one.

"...minutes hasten to their close"



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXXIX)


Ah me! rain's subtle voice upon the tale
Of fallen leaves where dusk, late perished thence,
'Most haunts our passage with a deeper sense
I push aside, to hearken in betrayl
To those delicious footfalls like t'avail,
Small conversation lost to keen suspense
As lo, more fragile notes half trip from hence
So near, and yet in ghostly fashion'd hail.
As if my soul yields to feigned sense as twere,
Which swears tis but the wind whose passing through
'Non teases longings, how the windshield fer
All that shows tiny droplets clustring to
Effect; what is't that I'm allowed in poor
'Scuse to hear what I've yearned for?  Is it...You?

24Nov18a  
*NOTE:  that final individual addressed is:  the LORD.

...sigh



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXXVIII)


Mists gird the skeletons of woods as hence
Dawn blushes pink in fragile twilight, pale
Gold clouds above, the highways now to scale
Half empty as how traffic speeds fr'intents
Upon its way, the ghostly veil which thence
Leaves yonder as a question we'll avail
Ourselves in finding later, oh! sweet frail
And silent minutes we drive through: what's whence?
If only I could linger here, nor stir
For aught save p'raps YOUR soft caress!  the dew
Which last night's pure moon wrought with as it were
Such careful fingers as that lace we view
As "frost," tis hoary white as lo, in tour
Our very breath which now we bate--how'd woo!

23Nov18b

...on my head --that should do us both good since YOU're not keen on aught knowing YOU love me too.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXXVII)


O madness of these dolls my niece'd avail
Herself of cuz they're popular and thence
What aught who'd buy her favour purchase hence,
(Where I was far too poor to dream in frail
Excuse of any such things in betrayl,
When I was just a child)! The vid'os' sense
Of, well erm, foolish joy in these--pretense,
I cannot even like the dolls to scale.
Nor did adulthood change my view as twere.
Goodwill in lieu of e'en the mall MY cue,
They all look now askance at me in tour,
My peers thus none too blind.  What did I do?
Or wherefore is't I'm on the fringe, 'til YOUR
Love is a marvel none explain, O YOU?

23Nov18a

Yes, that should do.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDX)


What happened to long summer hours' dim sense
Of leisure, where I pined for chill t'avail,
And stoked the thought of misty twilight's pale
Eye while gaunt skeletons of trees skulked thence,
Dreamed of 'gain donning plaid and tweed fr'intents,
Yea of lo, nestling in such minutes' scale
Praps of "my niche"--that oh! tis ah, the frail
Note as it were of late November hence?
Why did warmth skip out on the last train to
Was't Mexico? um, was just days 'go fer
All that?  Where did the musty hours I knew
Depart to, eh?  and when?  December'd tour
Upon the heels of late October, poor
As saying, and I search for my bearings...too.

11Nov18b

Um, so...?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDVII)


Say coffee, no, dark choclate whose pretense
Falls short of that, or lo, a cuppa they'll
Assure you is quite good for health, t'avail
Dad's late exper'ments--coc'nut oil dropped thence
In favour of now Hershey's cocoa--whence
I sip half wondring at the ***** scale
Of "coffee," swirling sludge 'til that detail
Unmasks this "Special Dark" hot choclate hence.
And all he'd brew me ere is not sae poor
Now I am forty, as put off in lieu
As twere of, well, concoctions in grand tour
Mayhap of more than just good coffee.  Who
Shall say but that is...better?!  O what were
You thinking, Girl, when you spelled out what'd do?

10Nov18b

...past my waist as her-- "to my foot's glee--"



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDVIII)


I wanted coffee, with auld sonnets thence
As erst wont, Missus Browning's sweet detail
From lo, "the Portuguese," as I sipped stale
Last ounces from four nights 'go like's good sense,
With mair than I'd known ere for all intents,
And laden praps as Roscoe was't? thought, frail
Erm, as my seeing more clearly to avail
Just how much we've in common is't? from hence.
One friend some years back said I'd be as her--
Was't cuz I begged for romance? or through
These diary pages shewed I had as twere
That lonely life Miss Barrett ere me knew?
Where now, since losing Mum I feel in poor
'Scuse kinship like my friend claimed, sold to YOU?

09Nov18d

Yes, snow.  Mebbe take my face in your hands and shake me?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDIII)


It's...snowing.  Hug yourself within the pale
Eye of these naked hours whose ghastly sense
Of Winter sits triumphant oer pretense,
As tiny flakes 'non filter down t'avail
The soul of that keen silence--cherished bail
We relished in forgotten days like thence
Twas fit to sanctify us, wandring hence
To finger cotton-candy whiteness' tale.
Don't ask me why my heart sank in a poor
'Scuse when my owly eyes first caught the view.
Nor if I loved morn's cuppa like twas fer
My soul's recure, Assam just what we knew
It should be if you taste it, no.  We were
Too fond of lies, I think, was't?  I miss YOU.

09Nov18a

Yes, you can laugh in my face.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDII)


So Hollywood makes films of books, and hence
The De'il Wears Prada, or somesuch detail,
That purse I found at erm, Goodwill in pale
Excuse the thing itself, I guess.  Good sense
And taste, what Vogue swears by, oh sweet pretense!
It's leather, red and black with accents they'll
Approve of--buckles, rivets is't? t'avail
Hauteur in proper style.  Don't ask me whence.
I do not dress like some old frump as twere
Nor paint my face, although my nails would do
Some good if I could find some polish fer
Them.  It's a lie decked out as if's not true.
Yes, true.  But we put Trump in cuz it's poor
Nay, worse than poor:  cuz they are devils.  You?

08Nov18b

II Pet 1:9 coming to mind as I finished, lo, the complexity of this piece, and this:  "...lacketh these things is blind and cannot see afar off--"



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCDXCIX)


How Shakespeare's lines 'non haunt the flag's detail
As't waves to bitter winds' capricious sense
Of play, with memries of late rallies thence
In tow, as all we'd grandly strut through'd pale
Before the empty eye of hours that scale
Down what we said was living, as pretense
Leers through the smoky limelight fading hence
Where leaves pile up too thickly for aught bail.
Is't cuz I've tried 'gain to be stylish fer
What fashion and say Vogue mag swore was due,
Tae learn my peers yet scorn attempts in tour?
Cuz even when I did succeed and do
All that "they" said should be, or called too poor
What we thought tops, Death mocks as ere we knew?

07Nov18a

...say--whatever, nor how to say "ghastly" with another word.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCDXCVII)


O how the gutter drools in morning's pale
And ghastly eye, leaves fluttring down from hence
In lonely ones or twos, so yellow, whence
Look how November lays a carpet, hale
Aye golden, thick and musty, whose detail
Glows dimly under grey racks' twilight, dense
Calm is't? mair bitter than our souls fr'intents
Like, while Death stares us in the face sans bail.
Trees' naked boughs stretch upward as winds stir
The fallen with a careless hand.  We do
Not look, but with faint shivring as it were,
Pull sweaters closer, hang up lights to woo
Warm feelings as the strands blink through this poor
Light, and rain weeps sans consolation, blue.

06Nov18a

...penned sleepily, my my! the title was illegible when I looked at it in the morning...sigh



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCDLII)


Blue skies are fragile twixt these icy, dense
White clouds, morn's eye uncertain in betrayl,
That glimpse half peering keenly through as pale
As Febry, though leaves dance for all intents
On maples tinged by ghostly yellow's sense
Of yonder, and they're trimming bushes, frail
Hours stacked like to those clustered houses, bail
The navy racks in tow where warmth's gone hence.
Tweed kilt in purple herringbone and fer
All that tights and a hooded shirt will do--
In grey, with nigh fluorescent yellow's cure
For lack of colour, I watch shadows to
Effect on golden washed green lawns in tour,
And sunset smoulders where dusk swallows blue.

11Oct18b

I have no idea why that first line came to mind while I was indeed cleaning.  I've not read Austen in years, nor watched movies in months.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCDXLI)


Jane Austen's drawing rooms I'd feign avail
Me of, whose wainscot's polished oak is dense
With import as the papered walls from hence
Look smug; yes, take a turn in sheer betrayl
Across those gleaming floors, dressed ah, to scale
In empire-waist' floor-length is it pretense?
And for the *** of tea I'll sip for sense,
The dainty patterns on those walls' sweet bail.
Don't ask me why.  In scrubbing bathrooms' tour,
I could not settle on just whither to
Until that note piqued languid thoughts as twere.
I've been there so oft for discussions through
Each novel, t'would be quite refreshing, poor
As fiction's vain suggestion, if'd could do.

11Oct18a

...the last of three for national poetry day when writing one's become a chore.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMCDXL)


Tis nash'nal po'try day, and I've from thence
Ne words for aught.  To be suffices.  Pale
Hours watch rain trip on puddles to avail,
As I wish to be out there listning, whence
Do not take notes; thet silver eye suspense
Just trims its nails through, sans a voice, is frail.
And when those navy racks glowr in betrayl,
I note orange bushes, yet hopes are pretense.
We have our dinner now as gloaming'd stir.
Wash dishes after, while the dark night to
Effect is black, so very black.  Who tour
Upon these roads are like the fireflies through
Warm August twilight.  Oh!  What is't as twere?
Why's writing such a chore?  Will being just do?

10Oct18c

Or to clarify:  I'm a carved out Honeydew melon, empty since my mother's passing.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCDXXXVII)


Pink tinges gloaming as we walk in pale
Last minutes to the car, as if fr'intents
Dusk feign would swallow aught we'd known from thence,
And lo, how naked trees lined up to scale
Wait gauntly in the fading light, boughs frail
Sans vestige of that leafy cover's dense
Mass, orange piles at the curb and sidewalk hence
While red wars green for rights to erm, detail.
Subdued, I've lost the heart to play as twere,
My niece sad I'll not voice the captain who
I thence respond to in our sailing tour
Of distant realms; and yellow flutters through
This grey eye of last minutes, half astir,
Game Over haunting all we had or knew.

09Oct18

Oh! the title is--oh my! Vaguely reminiscent of Keat's sonnet...."O solitude, if I must with thee dwell/"[https://www.bartleby.com/126/20.html]



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCDXXXVI)


Watch yellow rags just flutter on boughs thence
Sae black with rain; the naked trees' detail
Now haunted by sheer mists look ghastly, pale
White's shroud their coverlet, Death's kiss from hence
Upon the massy groves as reds tinge whence;
As if some painter's brush splashed aught t'avail
In careless fashion, orange glares through the veil,
And my soul'd cherish that mystique's vague sense.
I'd love to wander through this fog as twere,
Just where none else dare tread, as if what'd woo
Is ghostly spirits I'd commune with, poor
Though that suggestion is.  But that won't do,
Of course.  Ergo, I watch, nor have a minute fer
All that, to dream or be, just pass on through.

08Oct18b

NOTE:  L4 and on was tricky since you can't very well dictate what the sonnet shall say, but I wanted to note that down for posterity.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMCDXXXV)


Mists shroud the thought of yonder, ghostly, pale
White none pierce 'cept by halves, a keen suspense
In tow as traffic rushes on fr'intents
These rain-wet highways; one sports car'd derail
Ere we are out of town, left in betrayl
'Non facing all who'd been in his wake thence,
While box-trucks, dump trucks join the race from hence
As cars, vans, pick-ups and ourselves chase bail.
My niece declares she wants to touch as twere
Thet fragile thing called mists, whose haunting cue
Blots out all we'd known heretofore in tour.
Yet likeas spirits none can finger to
Aught satisfaction, we tell her "That's poor--"
And how our souls maunt see, LORD, 'til with You.

08Oct18a