[My beloved Mum died 2 years ago today.]



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCCCLXXVI)


This wan light draws up shadows for pretense,
Their fragile shapes like ghosts in sheer betrayl
Upon dry lanes bleached ere for safety, pale
Blue skies with half an eye, winds piercing thence
Nor but too bitter as they scour from hence
The frore and stubbled fields none wander; frail
And icy clouds with grey battalions hail
Is't who'd observe in passing?, like's good sense.
I cherish naked trees' black forms in tour,
Now clustered by the graveyard, tombstones to
Effect 'non dotting hallowed ground is't? poor
As our fond notions, dim hours' greyer cue
Sae perfect as Death owns that space as twere,
While leering at souls through these minutes too.

12Jan18a

Nathan, aka Nateive Son, will probably make a point with me, come to think on't, cuz--



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCCCLXVII)


Yes, Shakespeare whileas fiddles seem t'avail
This warming chance to simply breathe; a sense
Not warranted of carefree joy's pretense
Half waltzes like these soft blue skies' detail
Mulls spring ere time, as if the thrilling scale
Of higher temps could waken for intents
The daffodils yet buried 'neath snow's dense
But melting whiter coverlid gone stale.
Piano too, for strings, ere that sweet tour
Of cherished lines is quite sufficient through
Long use is't?  How Will inks his love 'til we're
'Non prey to  black ink's breath just as he knew
We aught to be and swore was so, though's poor.
These frore hours we trudge through know what 'gain too?

08Jan18a

Well, and that doesn't even account for having been buried with Mum's remains.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCCCLXVI)


Rain...lo, the ditches were quite full cuz thence
All could but hardly drive, and in betrayl
Slid off the roads since ice was that detail
Upon all lanes, police too, for intents
Cast in such straits, ah we discussed it hence
To put my visions of that party's bail
Thus on its ear like plans are fragile, they'll
Assure me, "you might hafta find defense."
Therefore I pray, as she sends out in tour
Reminders "It's tomorrow!--" (yes, I knew)
And "...don't forget!" like Janry is not poor
For such things here in Lincoln's Land.  We do
So much, yet for what cause?  To sweetly stir
Souls is't?  Friends:  I'd forgotten joys' thin crew.

07Jan18b

...in more ways than you realize.



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCCCLIII)


Come, wherefore dredge up Tolkien's silly tale,
With that girabbit hard in tow, as hence
The Scriptures count off Ehud and how thence
He judged ya, Isr'el, killing in betrayl
That fat, fat king ole Eglon to avail,
Me seeing lost visions of the shire for sense,
And Mister Bliss' adventures rising whence
I canna say why, to trip 'long as bail?!
From movies of far distant climes in tour,
With savage ninjas, or the sixties too
And student riots, loss, *** as it were
Their capping triumph of that mixt-up view,
Have I a minute to drift off, all's poor--
Yet why see fables when I half hear You?

01Jan18b

Just leer at me and put your finger on my lips as I slip into the mists.



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCCCXLIX)


Tis New Year's Eve and one hour left t'avail,
The blueish shadows, tire tracks winding thence
From here to out of sight, and white snow dense
Upon the landscape are all buried, pale
Within night's blacker shroud, as no detail
Save distant, muffled shots is't? own a sense
Of what we thought to know, yea, that pretense
Mair hollow as the Scriptures tip the scale.
Ya, Revelation and the end in tour
Of Babylon sets all our fete as due
Now on its ear,  the festive note we stir
Less than its vaunted echo, listed to
Effect as burned up in a moment, poor
As freighted joys.  And what is left to do?

31Dec17a

FIRST:  the poem which inspired...oh, yes, laugh--it's reminiscent of, of, would that be the old "the house that jack built"? ie, Joshua Amos Graff/aka Graff1980's poem--

Graff1980
4h@18:04, 29Oct17
Untitled

The phone store
is closed,
but I can still see
the sharp blue glow
of those
bright screens
blinking out at me
from the window
to the streets
where I am walking slowly.
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2187429/untitled/

SECOND:  the comment his poem inspired and which he too generously told me I "should post."--

[He said Jenny Williams]--Like a ghost none sees, catching the lurid eye of those eyeless windows to the black hole of an eerie yonder, the speaker treads as if slippered through the darkness which itself is alive and aware, the scene commonplace, yet rendered thus with a poignant ghastliness, a delicacy. Thank you for sharing.

THIRD:  the sonnet which I told him I'd endeavour to compose from that same comment, yet which is a frustrating reminder why as Stella Armour was it? told me years ago she did NOT want to force thoughts into sonnets, and I heartily concur:  I'd far rather pour the unformed thought into that "most exquisite form of poetry" than try to squeeze a complete thought into that "gilded cage"--

...for Joshua Amos Graff's poem--



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCCXXII)


Likeas a ghost none sees where streetlamps fence
The blacker shroud of night, how in betrayl
'Non catching lo, the lurid eye's detail
Of those more eyeless windows harking thence
Unto the black hole of an eerie sense
Of yonder, how you tread as if t'avail
Now slippered through the darkness which in pale
'Scuse ah, itself's alive and 'ware.  What hence?
You only put down for the page as twere
That lonely walk through naked streets left to
None else.  Yet where dead cellphones look in poor
Excuse out, la, you render thus anew
What's common, but whose ghastliness in tour
Is poignant, delcacies I cherish.  You?

29Oct17a

hi.  [funny thing about chancing upon that particular title is my first boyfriend used to wrestle with my brothers and I]


(sonnet #MMMMMMDCXCV)


Ah, silver twilight! mists like to a veil
Down in the valley, maples nod from hence
Their greener boughs as rain 'non whispers thence--
That voice my soul harks unto, low and frail
Yet oh, how sweet!  If only in betrayl
I could 'gain lose me on that haunting sense
Which tugs at nary sleeve, yet knows fr'intents
What I sae yearn t'embrace, light waxing pale.
My brother sez thet all does change as twere,
Um, after we are one, though neither to
Effect know truly, 'cept by what, in poor
'Scuse, others say.  The Word of God is true.
I'm sick of waiting...yet.  Leaves dimly stir,
This half-light all I cherish, without you.

14Oct17c

...there's NO excuse for me.



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCXCIV)


Mists haunt the sodden valley with a sense
I only finger, and you don't know, pale
As mere words ever are, how much in frail
Excuse I love your loving me, and thence
How badly I want:  ALL.  You won't from hence
Believe me, 'til you own aught inch, who'd hail
My kissing with "so THIS is Jenny--" scale
What you kin have, clothes on, and where's defense?
I'm NOT "in love," though oddly as it were
All YOURS upon the very instant you
Desire, as putty in your hands.  But you're
So much a:  man, which term denotes why "woo"
Is such a pretty thing is't?  So then, stir
Me when you want, and whate'er shall I do?

14Oct17b

wow, wrote this in 12 minutes...*



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCXCIII)


My bad...it is semantics thet avail
You of the same affections I've lost, whence?
Oh dear!  How shall I ever own defense?
He's Russian' beat strains on whiles I in pale
'Scuse madly type that sonnet in betrayl
Up for you, and how shall I put it hence?
When we're apart I'm strong; together? sense
Is buried and I yield me up sans bail.
Thus leave me in cold silence and, though's poor,
Lo, I thought "curtains!" though my brother knew
Far better.  Now rain'd sweetly dance in tour
And I miss being where he is, lost thus to
My world in his, although's too short as twere.
Why can't a godly man want me...um, you?

14Oct17a

“...in good measure--”



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCLXVII)


I’m thirsty sans aught to, as twere, avail.
You turn the page now back and forth, a sense
Of all we tasted hours ‘go waltzing hence
As twould but trip now off my tongue in pale
Excuse, just begging for a voice as frail
Half silence chews its fingers for intents,
And you just make a small noise, like from thence
We know, yet feign an ignrance in betrayl.
Okay, the sigh’s collective as we stir
Our noggins oer that prompt of water—to
Leave off as time is called.  And you?  My poor
Thought vanquished, we all burst out laughing through
Your lines.  Will tears be salty water we’re
Left to ‘non drink because of “I love you.”?

02Oct17b

…mebbe not, cuz I’m not the only parched soul, apparently.


(sonnet # MMMMMMDCLXVI)


Of water, be it silver orbs which thence
Shine in dawn’s matin eye, dew resting, pale
Upon grass’ thicker carpets as the veil
Lifts oer night’s realms, the fluffy white whose sense
Of children jostling in sheer play fr’intents
Falls swiftly through grey’s mirky light t’avail
As snow ‘non blankets, or that which we hail
Where puddles shiver to soft footfalls,...whence?
Though we—our sins as scarlet—lie as twere
Sans help, how Thy salvation clothes us to
Effect, Thy people as the dew which fer
All that yet waits for none, and rain we knew
To cherish as Thy Word, what shall I stir
When boiling for tea all that speaks of You?

02Oct17a

What was that about ironic?


(sonnet #MMMMDCXLII)


They swore I should be published when my frail
Attempts proved that my alphabet was thence
Down pat, a couple verbs and nouns from whence
I made a twisted bit of nonsense, pale
And certain notes that I owned more than bail
For their now wasted cries of sheer pretense,
Nor would they quiet down 'til their defense
Was trounced when I could speak and **** the tale.
Yes.  Now that I trip off much less obscure
Lines, even sentences which march straight to
The point, I've lost my following as twere.
Come, did they like the early babble?  Few
Can make it past the toddling stage, whence fer
The grand achievement, I'm alone.  Boohoo.


(sonnet #MMMMDCXLIII)


Please don't say either that I was from hence
Givn this quite fair, though transient gift's detail
To hone its more exquisite sense in pale
Excuse for being alone, nor that twas thence
Deemed fit cuz twould be yet destroyed (whose sense
Of worth was fragile in sheer truth's betrayl),
But grant me something more, as if for bail,
And say that love will pay for my intents.
Walk through the library amassed as twere;
Yea, listen as my spirit filters through
The tapestry of lines, until in poor
Reply its voice half alters subtly too.
Did I leave innocence behind?  Twas your
Fault who taught me what life is:  loving you.

06Mar15e,f

sigh* a day later, when Saturday's mad pile of work was a memory, it literally tasted like water.  Now, how did that happen?  



(sonnet #MMMMDCXLIV)


Mists waft with curious fragrance' odd detail
Upon the creamy surface of those scents'
Brown claim of coffee in my mug, to fence
Thin hope with old chagrin as morning's pale
Light watches from its cloudy vantage' scale
Of truth, where ghostly layers shift oer pretense
And grey asks white to call it blue from thence,
My breakfast:  ***** dishes 'hind th'exhale.
It's nat'nal cereal day, so in a poor
Excuse I added Malt-O-Meal to do
The favours with our wonted pancakes, fer
A whopping stack of edibles.  Yes, two
Eggs, bacon, and a touch of fruit.  If you're
Still hungry, there's no coffee.  I love you.

07Mar15a

I don't know what sprouted this mischief, the first 2 lines teased.



(sonnet #MCMLXVIII)


I'll have me fun in solitude as where
No supercilious frown may cast a pall
Upon my gaity, if't must be.  You all,
Who sniff at silliness, can with an air
Of sensible hauteur drink your despair
In prim tea cups, but as for me, grey's shawl
Cast off as t'were, for brief fun, why sip gall
If laughter tickles sans grim reason's glare?
Its in my blood, I think they said, that sense
Of jolly merriment a thread which'd run
From old to young 'mongst relatives, though whence
It came I can't quite guess.  And when 'tis done
I'll sit with you and be too glum, pretense
Of better ways a front.  Don't you have fun??

10Feb13d

I suppose it was a foolish thought to broach the topic?



(sonnet #MCMLXX)


'Tis those who read between the lines with care
And canny insight who best know.  But let
The same beware, for what is hidden's set
Not for mere show and at a touch may flare
Up with the violence of the wound just there
Beneath the surface' thinness, eas'ly fret
Though held as under guard lest it forget
And give a voice to what sense would not share.
Then we shall argue whether 'tis unwise
To keep such secrets, do you say?  Well, who
Shall profit by disclosure that the prize
Kept thus unspoken's worth the interview?
I move 'tis not so needful for our eyes
To see the e'il, as to restore what it'd undo.

11Feb13b

Composed while I worked, it is choppier than my mental version, sadly.  (My pet desire...)



(sonnet #MCMLXIX)


I've wanted to nourish love within these lines,
That thence the beauty of the mind, if't be
Such excellence to prove, yet how few see
Who say, "her coy reserve but half aligns
With that pink mini skirt--" as who divines
I actually think? might herein shine while we
Delve those far deeper wells my modesty
Or flirting glance, my pretty face, none mines?
Hence, Dearest, know that I write truly, nor
Am merely bandying words your touch would feign
Get thus the better of, when I adore
The way you think, the subtle cords that gain
My heart and set on fire, which I'd deplore
To outright say.  And still, I want that strain.

11Feb13a

Okay, okay, cut me some slack, and...then?



(sonnet #MCMLXXI)


Those fairy beings whose visions animate
By their ethereal essence, which we thrill
To sans a second thought, my Dearest, 'til
The end do they not but deceive?  Inflate
My dreams to satisfy me.  And I'll hate
It when they turn to ashes.  Yet what will
You say?  For you are sensible.  Aye, ****
Them all and live in "now" content sans bait?
But, Love, these are what set us burning were
They not?  No, you will argue that was true
Though merely sensed, the kindling harbinger
Of happiness which could not but ensue?
Then hold me close and kiss away what'd stir
Grim fears.  Your love's more than enough.  Just you.

11Feb13c

You know, this journal does not even contain half of what we know.  I hope we never forget.  


(sonnet #MMMMMMDCLV)


Now, while cicadas drone 'neath blue skies' pale
Glance, or to deeper shades of that, what hence?
Remember Starbucks' "Friends Day" for intents,
The prompt last night, as yesterday's detail:
We rode the bike path 'gain whose wildflowrs hail
As wont in clover's pink, and yellows thence
With brown eyes, thistles' purple, grasses dense
On either side, while goldfinch laughed t'avail.
I'd hated these auld trails we knew, as poor
Since Mum's death, but now I belong to you,
Oh! all's sae sweet like ne'er before as twere.
My car'mel fru-fru drink was tasty too:
Cuz I am yours.  That means I can't write fer
All that cuz evry minute's yours who woo.

08Aug17

It's funny how I actually love how you reason with me, instructing me and turning me back where I belong.


(sonnet #MMMMMMDXLIV)


Friends.  While soft blue skies gently fade, peach thence
Upon the heels of all we knew t'avail,
Ne wind now but a whisper that'd exhale
Twixt silent leaves ah, search the keener sense
Of:  that.  From Jonathan and David whence
We see lives traded cuz of that detail,
To what I knew with Mum, to in betrayl
My darling brothers, to yes, you, come hence.
The LORD called us His friends if we'd ah, fer
All that, keep His commands, yea told us too
What He shall do within this world as twere,
And love, forsooth, is crucial in that cue.
So then?  We love, and yield our lives in tour:
For friends, as skies turn now a deeper blue.

07Aug17b

This just 30 hours after that initial "Hello, I'm--"...and I can hardly think straight to even compose.
L14 is an inside joke.


(sonnet #MMMMMMDXLIII)


I never had a sister, that detail
Of best friend whom your clothes and secrets thence
Shares ah, my mother.  Yet for our defense
She taught my brothers and I to avail
Ourselves of aye, each other for that bail
As dearest friends than else.  Now for good sense
Whileas you turn my world for aught intents
Quite upside-down--you say we're friends to scale.
I love my friends from poetry as twere,
My brothers dearest as Mum taught, but you?
"What do you mean 'I love you.'?" like tis poor.
Sure, we don't share um, clothes nor lines, but to
A fault you turn me to the LORD.  Love's fer
All that what friends do, and I like you too.

07Aug17a

Um, um, don't let me parse that out yet.



(sonnet #MMMMMMDXLII)  


What of the two espressos long gone hence?
Perfection, as lunch' fine spread was t'avail.
Eclipsed in ya, one phone call, aught detail
Was likewise, 'cept our dinner, or the sense
Of fleeting time I grapple for now, whence
Oh me!  Now Texas winks at me like's bail,
Ten-gallon hats with crueler heat to scale
Than Lincoln's Land, and lo, a man fr'intents.
It's wonderful to be encouraged fer
All that to fear the LORD. I've missed it too
Long now.  To talk together like's not poor--
Of Scriptures--ah, and with a man.  I do
But fear now losing what's sae precious, were
It mine to have.  Ne coffee's like this brew.

06Aug17b

You do, over and over, tell me how it happened, and it still makes absolutely no sense.  Why are YOU so perfect?


(sonnet #MMMMMMDXLI)


The moon was here to splash a glance' detail
Upon my legs whileas we talked.  Gone hence
Just as the hours we spent in talking, whence?
Tis aye, more heartning with a Christian, frail
Though aught excuse be dating to avail
Erm, UNbelievers.  Twilight's blue suspense
'Hind Maples' silent boughs, thet eye peered thence
Twixt slumbring leaves, a golden orb to scale.
And in a blink I'm what?  Dare I aver
We are--yes, friends?  You said that note would do.
Let me rest there nor draw up visions fer
Chagrin.  Night's blacker touch knows stars and dew
While crickets fiddle 'cross the teeming moor.
I'm scared, not of aught monsters, loving you.

06Aug17a

Okay, it's wild how "we" happened...this sonnet and the one that directly follows akin to black and white, and literally mere hours apart in that about 15 hours after this below was composed, my world suddenly turned upside-down by what I only dreamed could happen and had given up on, as these lines attest.



(sonnet #MMMMMMDXL)


Blue twilight.  After dark, scroll for intents
Down through the pictures of erm, fellows they'll
Assure you are a catch.  But I'm not, pale
As all my howling.  Stamp yes, "sheltered" hence
Upon the intro of me.  For good sense
Read what each wants.  Divorced will do for bail.
And only men my dad's age think t'avail
Them of a view of me.  Now don't ask whence.
Learn men aren't intrested.  To howl is poor.
They want used women.  I'm a *****?!  I do
Not put down money to subscribe.  Th'obscure
Chance one will brook that stubborn choice and woo
Is not worth hoping for.  Nah.  None shall stir
Romance save whom I shrink from.  Nothing's new.

05Aug17b

Chancing to look through an old file, I'd forgotten the pleasures of matching wits with an intelligent man who actually has working brain cells, not just these "primal urges" 99% of men own.  I'm sick and tired of all these monkeys.  Go tell some other woman she is ****.  I wasn't dressing to please you, but me.




(sonnet #MMMMMMDXIV)


As blue skies, shadows 'non cavort from hence
Beheath the watchful eye of, own a tale
Of cloud battalions floating like to scale
Upon that purest sea frame what? I thence
Bewail Jean Yves and O! his wiser sense--
Lost on the wings of hours gone ere we'd hail
More than keen matching wits when time'd avail
Us, yes, a man with intellect's defense.
"God's gift to women," ah, I laughed as twere
Oer what he swore is merely truth, 'til who
Shall now console me, eh?  Most men in poor
'Scuse are dull blockheads, never thinking, to
A fault such beasts that only want to stir
Yes, "primal urges" oh! what shall I do?

24Jul17a

The drama is Korean and called "Save The Last Dance For Me."  I loved it until the final episode.


(sonnet #MMMMMMDXIII)


I watched those silver curtains whose thin veil
Down in the valley blotted trees with thence
But ghostly figures 'hind thet rainy sense
Of nowhere, while the greener Maples' tale
Just whispered on this hilltop like to scale,
And thought dreams were too pretty hence
Wrapt up with love in those refrains, til whence?
But how we punished these in sheer betrayl.
La.  Why must even dramas skew in poor
Excuse the heroine?  She suffered to
Effect and then some, 'til when fin'lly fer
All that they had all, she was crippled through
The villain.  Wherefore must we ruin as twere
E'en that?  The rain gone, midnight glowrs, deep blue.

23Jul17

He told me flat out that he owns me.  Some later date I'll parse that happiness out, I guess.



(sonnet #MMMMMMDIV)


These faded blue skies like to denim, whence
I cull a refrence to "old glory," t'hail
That pick-up with the flag 'non waving, hale
Against whichever backdrop in defense
Of liberty, look placid in a sense;
My voice hoarse from oh, singing's tale,
Cuz Joey plays the drums and when in frail
'Scuse I said I'd sing while he did--what hence?
He said I could sing anytime as twere
For him, and being late worried oer him too,
Cuz he'd download some virus, I sang fer
Relief, oer dinner dishes 'til nigh through;
And lo, when done and listless, what in pure
Yes, mercy?! but he'd call.  I love him too.

17Jul17b

He said I'm a good kisser.  ducks head



(sonnet #MMMMMMDI)


His.  O, I wanted Joe to call me his, in pale
Excuse, and yes, to call him MINE.  What hence?
But lo, I am.  He's like a dream come true, a sense
Of all a girl wants in his sweetness, frail
As fancies ever were.  Why, in betrayl?
To top it off, yes...what?  but kissing thence
Is nat'ral, being in his arms like ah, whence?
Two puzzle pieces fitting in detail.
If I said "he is home to me as twere,"
Would all I've tasted then dissolve unto
Some naked shore the waves crash into fer
An endless washing of all that we knew?
He sez that love (in all caps) is too poor.
My legs and lips are what he wants.  What's new?

16Jul17a

Haha, it's funny looking at this now.  L8:  that little email, oh my.


(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCXCVIII)


Where midnight'd feign a silence 'til I'd thence
Roll back the covers to at last avail
Me of lying down for good, ah how the pale
Eye of that moon rose twixt those treetops' dense
Black lacework, shivring in a keener sense.
Although we knew twas folly to detail
Aught, how I sent my Joey, like to scale,
Notes on whatever, to shrink from it hence.
Or, no.  I squinted as it peered as twere
At me, the ghastly calm fit for sweet dew,
And rose when dawn's first shafts began to stir.
What are the dreams long since forgot as due?
For if I shrink from building castles your
Sweet intrest culls, will that make all come true?

15Jul17a

Now that this is merely the winking first piece of a heady whatever....



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCXCVI)


Let's put it down for who cares what:  as thence
A folded piece of notebook paper'd hail--
Joe left that in my door's erm, handle, frail
As aught excuse, signed "always your--" and hence
I've wrestled with...is't "friend" or "Joey"? sense
Knots up itself and he knows how t'avail
Himself of my heart, that is what.  Detail
How last week when he'd--ah, he has defense.
Two fun'rals in one week's enough, nor poor.
Say I'm not worthy notice 'gainst that, who
Shall cut whom slack?  Just when I'd give up fer
All that, he does not let me go.  I do
Not want to let go, but be Joey's, were
My prayrs heard.  Say's too early?  Say we knew?

13Jul17b

....mebbe cuz I have no lover.  [Wait, Dad oddly did too.]


(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCXC)


Soft mists down in the valley ere dawn thence
But twinkle oer these massy treetops, pale
White's fragile ghost waits thinly like a veil
Which masks the greener figures waiting hence,
Whileas we shovel on our ways, that sense
Of romance waltzing off ere I avail
Me of more than sheer notice on that scale,
And ah, who listens for those songs? or whence?
How maple boughs wait sans aught whisper too,
Leaves shifting or half murmring as it were.
You're not allowed to say the flowrs look poor,
Cuz daffodils yet nod where planted to
Be sunshine through July.  I'm losing fer
All that what was it? what few joys I knew?

11Jul17a

My brothers were remarking I've had more beaus than most...  



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXXXVIII)


La, how Vivaldi trills and capers thence
When I am on the run, like to avail
Me is a chancy thing for all he'd hail
In, erm, my absence.  And oh! these skies wear hence
Long faces since rain swore off dawn, a sense
Of sheer foreboding in racks' blue detail,
The scanner crackling with a weary tale
My brother knew would be, and "jail" fr'intents.
Dad swears I am "subjective" as it were,
That list of boyfriends I once tripped on through
(Whereof I say "I don't know how to stir
Aught man, but I kin sure ditch lovers") to
A fault against my dearest hopes, a poor
Reminder of I can't say what.  Why, too?

10Jul17b

No, we certainly shall not.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXXXVII)


O Wordsworth!  La, but how his spirit's hale
Pride sifts anon twixt every stanza, whence
My soul congeals, as left like bones from hence
To dry and bleach in heavn's bald eye; joys fail
Whileas he waxes eloquent, to hail
Aught note of twinkling life with that cold sense
Which calculates the breath out of all thence
Caught in his lines, til I can't breathe t'avail.
He takes up passion like's unknown as twere,
Despite the fact he is just that, yet to
A fault upon a bloodless scale, who'd stir
The whitened ashes of aught fire to do
It up as if's a specimen:  dead.  Poor
As all that, he extolled much...sans life's dew.

10Jul17a

Being fatigued has its benefits: I don't give a hoot.


(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXXXVI)


Talk to the silence as a train growls thence
Through wooded stretches, 'neath the bridge detail,
Sans more than rumbling deeply on that scale,
And think of how wee cricket voices fence
These ghastly plains with fiddling oer suspense,
Nor listen cuz--those days are gone and fail,
At least my solace in their joys does, pale
Expanses washed in moonlight not mine hence.
Or not the maple's knobby roots as twere,
Its canopy of shadow lace I knew
Last year, that freedom of the lake in tour
Gone, I remember, as tinnitus to
Effect half waltzes with the clock's demure
Tread, ticking, whilst...what is't that no man woo?

09Jul17b

...might as well be?


(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXXXV)


Lo, now the moon peers in to splash a pale
Glance 'cross Mum's carpet, up my legs and thence
Upon these silent hands sans voice, a sense
Thet silver eye just watches, what'd avail?
The Scriptures.  As tree silhouettes detail
Nigh ghastly clouds with blackened figures, hence
Recall "...one glory of the sun--" fr'intents:
"...Another of the moon--" what, in betrayl?
Forsooth.  I am not Mum, nor shall in poor
Scuse ever match up.  Yet what should I do?
My aunt sez God has me still here as twere
To do His will.  I can't but own tis true.
Dreams, prayrs, half mock what is.  Whatever, fer
All that is my work?  Someday swear I knew?

09Jul17a

Whateffer.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXXXIV)


Smoke like a haunting veil the greener sense
Of trees now sifts through, what are blue skies' hale
Note as how fire licks up the trimmings' tale
Whiles maple boughs just nod, leaves whispring thence
In concert to winds' playful touch as hence
What traffic is speeds past like that'd avail?
Should I dream of gone camping in betrayl?
I'm sold to Joe, where fishing chases whence.
Don't tell me twas a sorry joke he'd stir,
This whiter smoke at intervals some cue
Or screen I should consider as it were.
His eyes lost their mystique when I'd yield to
Those overtures.  Tell me that patience'd cure
The fishy sense whose ghost belies he'd woo.

08Jul17c

The perhaps freaky thing is from the first occasion to the last, the affair leaves me disillusioned.


(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXXXIIII)


They pulled shots on more fancy presses' scale
Of lo, espresso, than we know, tae thence
Pass 'round the little porc'lain mug for sense
And comment.  Bells and whistles to avail
Whomever of sheer grandeur was't? would hail
Their newr machines as ultmate for intents,
Dad sez.  And we rolled 'cross our tongues th'intense
Black tazos, sip by sip, til such'd wax stale.
Fire up the grill, next:  play the epicure,
As now mein host two diffrent cuts put to
Our palates and good taste.  Wine to assure
Souls twas the height of whocareswhat, we knew
Such conversations, laughter, and for sure:
Philosphy.  Problem's:  I can't think what's new.

08Jul17b

08Jun17:  probably Joe is done with me, Adrian assessed; my brother sez it is too fishy: "just forget it/him."



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXXXII)


How piquant notes of car'mel waft thin scents
Across this hollow silence like t'avail,
'Cept there's none to be had in sheer betrayl;
And blue skies wear soft white clouds with a sense
Of lazy calm winds flirt 'non through from hence,
Boughs nodding lightly as leaves whisper frail
Auld secrets to the listning ear, as pale
Light eyes these shadows which cavort, and whence?
Forsooth.  They talk of la, the wedding, fer
Our questions:  groom was "bro-force."  Hope th'ado
Lasts until death, though couples think that poor
These days.  And I cannot be sick of who
Just toy with me, cuz I'm forever your
Fool who oft use me thus.  Yes, what is new?

08Jul17a

L14:  No, *****, but...enjoy the moment.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXXVIII)


The mourning dove ere twilight yield calls, whence
Orange winks upon thet waking thought's detail,
And lo, I hear it softly coo.  Grey mists in frail
Nigh ghostly touch a thin suggestion, thence
Do maples faintly shiver in suspense?
I thank the LORD for that voice on the pale
First notes of whither, erst wont to avail
My soul, and dawn sifts through to crown that sense.
How Joey worked "each day this week," yet fer
All that's forever on my mind.    What, to
Effect, now does the culver's song as twere
Mean?  How I used to know.  Or thought I knew.
Now like a memry of sweet days lost, poor
Though what be?  Does it bless our hopeful dew?

05Jul17b

Barnabe Barnes--right up my alley, man.


(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXXVI)


How Barnes sings of my--what? til I see thence
Tis folly to writhe on this dainty scale,
Love's net a golden one, I might avail
Me of content if I forget this hence.
These weary heavns, fatigued as I, wear sense
In blank white's ***** racks, the hours to pale
Light givn, how maples own vague silence, frail
Winds tickling 'non the leaves to whisper.  Whence?
I have begged Joe for more.  He listened fer
All that.  I've emailed, called him twice, and do
Ya know, e'en texted him.  But that was poor.
It's "see you Thursday."  That is all.  Go to.
The minutes wasting, dunno what he'd stir.
Nor have I yet another to think'd woo.

04Jul17b

Reference Elizabeth Barrett Browning's Sonnets from the Portuguese.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXXV)


What days are these that lo, we just avail
Us of a look or two, handshake, for sense
You kiss my hand, yet no more, like tis thence
Too rich to be...what, eh?  O! in betrayl
I'm sorely tempted to leave off this frail
Charade and kiss you too, in sheer defense,
To waltz off like it does not matter hence,
Yes, mebbe that will do.  Think you tis bail?
None, darling, now exists.  These games are poor.
I'm sick of playing around like that will do.
There is no upper hand to take.  You stir
Hot coals as if their whiteness meant Death knew
No fires could rouse a light.  No.  You as twere
Half tiptoe, daring me to be more too.

04Jul17a

...I spose you musta appreciated that.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXXIII)


You sign out "Joey," and say Thursday.  Frail
Pink like those bars thet Wordsworth noted thence
Stretch 'cross fatigued blue skies as for good sense
I tap to Russian strains; and we drive.  Pale
Heavns wear grey twilight, greens in that detail
Dark, shaggy trees with vast lawns, fields in dense
Green, row on row forever, and what hence
Twill be like in the car with YOU t'avail?
I wonder, itching for the chance, in poor
'Scuse for how slow you're being.  O me!  how you
Write "I don't do this often--" swears as twere
That caution's in the air, though you kiss to
Effect my hand these days.  Firewerks 'non stir,
Ah yes, they do.  And you're a dream come true.

03Jul17d

Prolly.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXIX)


O me!  Fatigued light watches through a veil
Of thinner clouds as maples rock from hence,
And whisper oer the glances flirting thence
In golden warmth twixt feebler shadows' pale
Games, blue skies haunted by the fragile tale,
Whilst I yearn to be lost and licked fr'intents
By those rough murmurs sweeping 'cross these dense
Vast lawns of fresh-mown greenness, like'd avail.
I wanted to just listen as rain'd stir
The quiet evning with that silver dew--
Was it three nights ago?  But all's sae poor.
You feel too much, on fire sans aught to cue
That soothing touch on fevered brow as twere.
I maunt tell Joe.  For if I did... he knew?

02Jul17c

Don't know what good it'll do.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXVIII)


I don't observe the holiday, as whence
Joe's calling oer this weekend in detail
Meant just that, but did not.  Four days t'avail
Us, lo I see now, signifies good sense
Where Monday is a work day, Tuesday thence
As wont likewise, for me--haha on frail
Complaints of silence.  All 'non waxes pale,
Nor can I figure what, for all intents.
Winds turn the Maple leaves backside in tour
Til white blinks at the gathring clouds thin blue
Drowns warmly in, and I am dull as twere.
My brother's touring Europe now, to do
Whatever good.  I dreamt of fishing, poor
As thinking I'll be yours, Joe: ya, what's new?

02Jul17b

Give up waiting, ******.  It's so much easier when you don't give a hoot and nothing's happening anywho.


(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXVI)


I've been reciting for--was that--intents?
How lo, my cousins' kids are in betrayl
Nigh grown, who were so little on that scale
Ten years agone, when I last for good sense
Saw these, or pictures of the same to fence
Some fam'ly shindig with all to avail
Whatever, me an old maid yet sans bail,
Til hopes look quite askance without defense.
Joe is attractive ah, beyond as twere
The dreams I've known, a dream anon come true.
If only now we could be all we stir,
Have children of our own, lo that would do.
Well, be together in  yes, love, endure
To death thus, and have kids:  what's I love you?

01Jul17b

...the old classic "I'm forever trying to keep ahead of that freight train--"



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXIV)


Lo, peach-kissed fluffy white clouds sailing thence
In bluest seas oer greener Maples frail
Winds softly ply to soto voce's scale
Of whispers on a Friday evning's calmer sense,
And I'm too zonkered to but note from hence
What nudges memries long since past t'avail,
As if Mum still was waiting in betrayl
To talk and laugh while sunset yawns oer whence.
Now but's an hour 'til midnight, hark! in poor
'Scuse an explosion rocks the silence, to
Lapse into nothing.  Is't July astir
Upon suggestion?  O, what matters?  Do
We feel the changes tugging, what's as twere
To do?  Perhaps Joe shan't call.  Say I knew.  

30Jun17c

Telling one of my older brothers about it all, from last Fall's shenanigans to now, he said, "it's sad."



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXIII)


Not when a summer's lengthy hours avail,
But now the blackness of night's cooler sense
Culls crickets to play serenades frogs thence
Reply in bass notes to, write in betrayl.
As Mozart's timeless strains lend that detail
Of class I did not feel ere, and lo, hence
A notion of too many years 'go, whence
I nestle like I"m twenty' gain, what's bail?
Joe's contact info.  Ha.  What is that fer,
Eh?  I've called twice, to tell him of it to
His face ("yes, if I'm gone to bed--") and were
La, texting useful, I have done that too.
Oh silence!  Friday evening's late, and's poor
To harp on that.  But how I miss who'd woo.

30Jun17b

Funny...less that two weeks later how foreign this is.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXII)


Lo, ****** white tinged purple, for a sense
Of sorrows' keenest wailing, and so frail
To boot, lies now in state, as drying t'avail
The first petunia Joe gave me, what hence?
I wonder what the weekend shall from thence
Be, eh?  He's sposed to call.  Nor in betrayl
Does he know I'm a ******?  That detail
Waits chance to take its bow in sheer defense.
This white tank, pink-bowed floral skirt as twere
Ah, party clothes last summer when we'd brew
Espressos over beef, with wine to do
Our seance good in mid-July, was't poor
For groc'ry shopping?  I forgot.  His pure
Choice in a flowr--I can't help loving too.

30Jun17a

Dream on, Baby.  Waking up won't be fun, but whatever.


(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXI)


Those bubbles on my tea, as kisses' pale
Touch augur that according to the sense
Of ist tradition? and both cuppas thence
Wear crowns of...what Joe gives me--in betrayl?
I'd rather his dear lips than froth's detail,
And we're off to a start, for all intents.
Ist funny now I"m his these bubbles fence
Dawn's waking note as breakfast 'non avail?
Or how we've jumped from playful to as twere
The thing itself, 'til Dad knows what we do,
To say "you think you've got a boyfriend fer
All that, eh?"  Ya, which part is odd.  He'd woo.
It's been well-nigh two months since Joe would stir
My sheer complaisance.  And I'd love him too.

29Jun17c

(Well, I was sitting in the car that time.)



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLIX)


Orange Tiger Lilies in a cluster, frail
Yet nodding to soft whispers' vagrant sense
Wink as we slowly gain on whither hence,
Some tractor's clearing space for which detail?
Along the field thet prairie grasses hail
From, and when Joe has time, he calls me thence
A "doll," to net "I love you" fr'intents,
To say he'll try to call this weekend:  bail.
It's so--yes, what?  For now he'd notice fer
Whatever what I'm wearing--"is it new?"
No, what I'd worn the day he 'gan to stir
My heart with that petunia's purple.  To
That lo, he must go pick another.  Were
Fun ah, passe, I'm loving all he'd do.

29Jun17a

La dee....his eyes tantalized me with mysterious looks until the day I yielded.


(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLVIII)


Lo, yesterday 'bout now...we talked, from whence
What, eh?  I've dreamed of what in sheer betrayl
We might, erm, name our daughters.  Sons?  oh, they'll
Have yes, their father's name, I hope.  Ya, thence
Laugh oer my folly when Joe's not fr'intents
Yet even called or answered emails, pale
As hopes built on his kisses ist?  Detail
I dunno what, and patience is good sense.
Ah, Joe.  I love...his eyes, how frankly fer
Aught he looks into mine.  His face dear too,
Those kisses to my hand my lips as twere
Are jealous of, I'd cherish each inch to
Etern'ty if the LORD grants us.  Is't poor?
If only I could tell Joe:  I love you.

28Jun17b