"...as scarlet they shall be as white as snow--"



(sonnet #MMMMMMCMXXX)


Snow-frosted boughs reply to dawn's clean sense
Of newness as how diamonds in betrayl
Half mesmerize upon thet canvas' hale
White 'neath the heavens' purer blue eye, whence
We drive upon these wetter lanes, glad hence
For cloudless skies and golden kisses' hail,
Cuz last night twas a bad dream sans avail,
The chatter of erm, happier ladies dense.
She cuts into my rev'ries with as twere
Is't half a note I should not really do
This now? her questions and discussion's tour
Fit to derail thin efforts, cuz we knew.
Some actor feigns he's Christ with lies in poor
'Scuse for the Scriptures, and snow winks at who?

06Feb18

Ahem.  There truly is no excuse for me.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCIX)


O for the silver foil winged cupids, frail
With arrows on the string, and shooting thence
At blood-red hearts!  Erst wont to trick out hence
My pages thus, I miss them now!  In pale
Excuse, where is the box of hearts t'avail
Our foolish dreams of romance? Ah, fr'intents
How I wish to lay candy hearts out, whence
I'll trade their speeches with you like's sweet bail.
These whitish racks which put the light as twere
Out til day is a fragile thing--I do
Not mind their surly cast.  No choclate to
Assuage fond, erm, desires, no.  I in poor
'Scuse yearn for childish candies wont to stir
My heart with dreams crashed every year now too.

14Feb19a

Or?



(sonnet #MMMMMMCMXVII)


O! How these clear blue heavns urge on the frail
Hope flowrs are just in tow, as April thence
With darling violets in the wings!  Clouds hence
Low on the golden hours' far edge, mists veil
My window pane as if to show ne bail
Exists, though how I feel it 'non fr'intents
Now in my very bones, my blood with sense
Enow to rouse a fever in betrayl.
You wish.  Yet what is't culls my soul as twere
From aught lit corner, like erst wont to do?
Yes, wherefore does the sunny vista stir
Sich dreams?  For lo's but Groundhog Day a few
Hours hence, nor shall his shadow make in poor
'Scuse any diff'rence.  Ah, what does now woo?

01Feb18a

Ya, that's the naked truth.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXL1)


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

10May19a

I 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

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

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

Me and apple cidar vinegar well, let's just say it's a long story when a bout of the flu for literally a fortnight, and Shakespeare's lines came to the 'fore...


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXIII)


Where Shakespeare would drink, sans complaint, t'avail
Lo, "...potions of [yes!] eysel 'gainst--" what thence?
"...My strong infection--" nor think that defense
Too much, I'm churning still from in betrayl
Erm, taking just that--not cuz I regale
The world with naughty plays as he did, whence
His closest friends chid Will, whereat he'd sense
That slight of character and yield--my bail?
Tis as he said, but oh! in truth, not fer
Some metaphor played out t'effect to do
His penance good--"do ye with fortune [to
Be sure it's tongue in cheek] chide--" cuz in poor
'Scuse paying the bills meant theatre as twere.
Yet my case is this fortnight flu I rue.

15Feb19c

"...Merrily, Merrily, Merrily, Merrily/Life is but a dream!"  (Row, Row, Row Your Boat)



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCL)


Wash dinner dishes after dark for sense,
To rise and wash the dishes 'gain, t'avail,
In such wee hours tis night still in betrayl,
The hellish nightmare I was jolted thence
From for this lukewarm taste of what fr'intents
I like to think is sweetest minutes' pale
Chance, hark to rain cuz traffic'd shush in frail
Notes by, to trundle off to work, ah whence?
It's like our sleep was but a nap in tour.
And I half cherish that vague sense we knew
Ere dawn, as blueish twilight warms, astir,
Not lost in slumber, freighted chances to--
What, eh?  I do not know.  Espressos fer
Time to just savour coffee are good too.

04Apr19c

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

Ah:  how to begin a new month, specifically the one which sees the seasonal changing of the guard.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXL)


Folk preach this "starting over;" talk fr'intents
Of "liberation," and I'm deaf in pale
Reply.  If marriage was that too, bewail
My hapless case, nor find I've aught defense.
"The bride weeps at her marriage bell--" for sense
Lo, Missus Browning wrote.  I cleave t'avail
To every bit I know, whileas "they" hail
Me wi' the call to erm, "let go."  Pretense.
"If any...be in Christ--" well, THAT is new.
I am just me.  Change is a horror, as poor
As aught good sense.  Years alter me in tour,
Not by my leave.  Oh no!  I yield unto
What I cannot resist, by halves, as twere.
And March culls Spring to 'gain:  renew.

01Mar19b

...old.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMLXVIII)

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

07Nov24b

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

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

...I tried M&M's that evening, and I dunno, they were tasty.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLII)


If languid hours trick out these wastes til hence
I feel within my bones that April'd hail
Soon, what's the diffrence now in sheer betrayl,
That March looks cold and grey, as if suspense
Was buried in deep slumber like fr'intents
Last May's old tulip bulbs?  Snow's weary scale
Of white is aged; no icicles detail
The silent eaves, and I feel dull sans whence.
Yes, poor man's tea with breakfast was good, fer
All that, but not inspiring.  Sparrows, too,
Cried sweetly as I passed the window, poor
As never feeling like it should be to
Effect worth half a note.  And soup in tour
Now warming as rolls rise, what's left to woo?

07Mar19b

Please, please tell me I'm not just dreaming.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCLIV)


O tell me that "he" thinks likewise from hence!
That all which keeps us distant is the frail
Excuse to break the wretched ice' detail--
I plead.  He'd smoke as if what, for intents?
My heart swears that twas all for me, our sense
Of what's afoot now mutual in betrayl.
If only I could prove that's not to scale
But dreams, that my desire was his--and whence?
How long the hours until we settle fer
All that the case!  Leave off this dance all through
The waking minutes life begins to stir,
And realize what I felt is not but two
Of course!  I pray and wrestle with as twere
Despair cuz I'm impatient.  Say he knew!

04Apr19g

"...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

Hmm?


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCLXXVIII)


Not Main's antholgy, nor as wont fr'intents
MY sanctum, that dear "corner" I'd avail
Me of for reading ancient poets' tale
Of what was then and beckons too for sense
To aught who'd listen, no.  Yet ah, from hence
Lo, Francis Palgrave"s auld collection--hale
With their sweet flavour--whom Main refrenced--bail
For blackest coffee til mine eyes saw...whence?
Haha.  Well, children, like the Scriptures fer
All that declare:  yes, nothing, nothing's new.
O! which sweet courtier inked the tale men cure
This "modern" day with, moaning folly to
The tune of "girls are fickle!" which in poor
Scuse Jane, um, Austen cried false?  Say we knew.

30Jan19c

No.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCLI)


Lo, having said (within my heart, t'avail)
I would not write of "him," twas in defense
Accomplished, 'spite ole Humpday's waltzing sense
"He" gave me just cause to ink lines; in frail
Excuse I altered that, in sheer betrayl
To find:  that I could not.  What is it hence?
Twas all a dream.  Vain hopes were not pretense
But lo, an outright lie methinks, sans bail.
If I was sick of dreams, or thought to stir
Me with far better than the twinkling crew
Of fantasies, alas, I'm prey as twere
On evry side, whilst all goes on anew
Without a backward glance.  Tis oh, sae poor
Is't? to be just myself, and that I...rue?

04Apr19d

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

..."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

Well, I must thank Mark S. for his piece this AM...



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXV)


Where dawn just tinges blackness with the frail
Note of first blushes on the East for sense,
I wake within the clutches of what thence?
O wherefore does my throat half whisper bail
Is gone as't burns?!  A cold?!  Again?!  Detail
Pink's softest murmurs on this grey suspense,
And promise me it's all a joke from hence,
Or grant my soul such mercies as avail.
So sparrows gaily cry when I deter
The tug which begs I write what'd roll 'non through
Those freighted minutes as I cleaned in tour
Twa bathrooms--while aught slept.  Now hungry to
Effect, what of the cruel suggestion?  Poor?
Is hope a thing with anchors?  Is it true?

27Apr19a

Ya.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXLVII)


Blue heavns with clouds as fiberfill gone stale
Jist floating lazly in morn's vague suspense,
Where coffee scents the air with half a sense
Of yonder whilst mine owly eyes in pale
Excuse take note of aught reply t'avail
As wont, sans words to roll oer fer intents
My tongue, and silence shifts as twere from hence
Without a voice as I leave that detail.
So later, from the kichen window fer
Mair than whatever, watch a wolf chase to
Effect some shapeless form, which as it were
Is caught just as his mouth decays in blue
Seas no, erm, Jolly Roger haunts in tour,
And wonder if that signifies aught too.

05Mar19a

...LORD willing, that is.  After all, February was cancelled for other plans...



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLIV)


I said these stanzas are so full fr'intents
Of me, me, me that folk in sheer betrayl
Can't savour them, like ole Limburger's scale
Of cheese that's like a ***** toilet's scents;
But she was far too nice, and like friends thence,
Would contradict, to say I'm rather (frail
As aught excuse) lo, cream Havarti's bail:
"Deceptively [what?!] mild."  Is that pretense?
So we'll perhaps THIS month go check out fer
Good taste that bookshop's poe'try gig that who
Invited she'd submit her work unto?
Well, he gave her his card.  I'll go with her
To clap cuz that's what friends are for, in poor
Scuse for none liking MY work.  Fun for two.

07Mar19d

Like my name tag?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCLXXVIII)


Lo, all you see is lies.  I blink, fr'intents,
O ya, pretend I know and see t'avail
Past aught detail unto the truth, to scale,
But it's a nightmare, waking, sleeping--sense
Though half aware sees but this wasteland hence--
I laugh and jest with friends, yet joys are frail:
All's empty; hopes here corpses, and in pale
Excuse I keep on like it's not pretense.
Cling to the Scriptures as I drown in poor
Reply; forget, forget so I can smile on cue
And feign I'm not a shadow, not in tour
So empty.  Pray for dear love, failing to
See what I have.  LORD, if I weep, will't cure
What?  All I have is You, cuz Thou art true.

13Apr19d

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)

...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

...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

...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

...grasping water that sifts through my fingers.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXXX)


I sip espresso Dad pulls, foaming thence
The milk to sheer perfection til t'avail,
While not adorned with artistry, the frail
Notes on that white crown look sweet for intents,
As he talks on--oh!  I forget what hence--
Til he's pulled his; and though winds howl, th'exhale
Chill like twould send warmth packing, how to scale
Our minutes are as erst...philosphy dense?
Not Shakespeare, nor sweet Shelley to demur
This feigned attempt at glory we'd accrue
By dint of "home barista" now as twere,
Or my half stylish gear the ladies do
But offer kind words for:  he lectures poor
Me as wont 'pon that scale to seek, LORD, You.

24Feb19b

Spring's courting whom?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXIX)


We've been in rain's soft clutches to avail
Sae minny hours now, wet with kisses dense
Wi' import as ole Winter's grasp slides thence
Nigh off by sure degrees, this game of pale
Uncertain minutes which yield to the frail
Note of lo, golden shafts, until pretense
Is like a wrestling match that drives good sense
Up evry wall, on Fred Astaire's grand scale.
Yes, dance on which hotel's um ceiling fer
Dramatic flair and giddy joy is't?  Do
It up in style as droplets likewise tour
Mad puddles, to slip off as sunshine'd woo.
If we feel breathless from this waltz as twere,
Sink down in warmth's embrace, and smile anew.

14Mar19a

What my men lament, I suppose.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCXCIV)


Lo, how mists shroud the world til aught fr'intents
Quite disappears!  The clustered houses tale
Lost to that fragile whiteness, firs detail
The edge of haunting yonder likeas thence
I knew high in the Rocky Mountains, whence
My soul takes off on that note, like the veil
Hides steeper ledges and ravines, this pale
Eye of thin warmth with puddles in suspense.
An essay on erm, Samuel Johnson fer
Is't thus another angle on just who?
I thought our lit'rature taught us in tour
His name at least.  Perhaps I'm wrong.  He knew
So much tis reckoned better he as twere
Was NOT a lawyer, brilliant.  Is't fog's cue?

06Feb19b

What?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCDXXXIII)


So, listen to the furnace, rain t'avail
Beyond, where dark night shrouds what I'd from thence
Feign nestle in, just marching with a sense
Of all we cherished for a minute, pale
Sheer lamplight glaring on the weeds' detail
As if I was but dreaming, sleepers hence
Half paused to hear me rustling for intents
Through darkened rooms, and I can't e'en exhale.
They're all tucked up where last night I as twere
Was first in bed cuz they came back late, to
Be up into the wee hours, I in tour
As late as wont, like tis my schedule through
The years, and crazy as tis rather poor;
And dawn will come when I'm at work.  What's new?

07Oct18b

Oh, let's us sigh and swoon, shall we?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXIII)


I swear these blue heavns look like June's detail
Back when we'd ***** through grassy trails, a sense
Of lazy hours in tow; pluck mullb'rries dense
With juicy sweetness til our lips to scale
Were purple as our tell-tale fingers, hale
Warmth like a pass'nate kiss we'd revel thence
In, naked arms free as the birds fr'intents,
Hearts as our limbs cavorting down aught trail.
But he pulls me up short to note how poor
The shadows are for such a thought.  These blue
Skies are expansive, that is true; winds stir
Wee Maple leaves to whispring on that cue,
Yet ah, tis nary as warm as our tour
Of forest glades once knew.  I feel what'd woo?

26Apr19c

...the saint he ever is:  with a twisted halo.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCMXI)


Yes, Shakespeare loved SouthHampton.  Likeas they'll
Flout in these twisted days?  No.  Like fr'intents
As David cherished Jon'than.  With a sense
"...Beyond the love of women," on that scale
E'en wonderful (if I'm correct), t'avail
What drove black ink to cry anon that hence
Lo, "...single thou'lt prove none."  and weep from thence
Because his "lover" lacked a child for bail.
Friends closer than aught brothers as it were,
Which gave his jealous erm, contention, through
That, just cause for the notes prefixed in tour
To those long poems, and also therefore, to
His lines about that mistress who'd bestir
Such mincing lies in love's name.  Or, what's new?

29Jan18a

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

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

Nah.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCLXX)


Charles (Tennyson) um, Turner wrote for sense
Of April's playful hours, but who t'avail
Set down those languished moments chill'd exhale
Through til we hugged that cuppa in defense,
And looked out on the misty hours pretense
Tricked out to suit our fancy, sweaters bail,
Nor thought it but delightful as the pale
Eye of these region clouds forswore what hence?
Perchance the fragile warmth we cherished too
Much, was it?  Em'ly Dickinson in poor
Scuse was not thankful of soft joys, cuz her
Dear longing for--was't romance far more true
Than zephyr whispers? chilled her soul as twere.
I can't decide if she was right 'non, too.

11Apr19c

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


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXLII)


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

27Oct24a

We had a jolly good time at the Elgin Literary Festival's 2018 publick poetry reading.  sigh we did.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMCMX)


Ah, gloaming roosts in greyer hours' suspense,
Where naked trees down in the valley hail
Is't colder silence no voice would avail?
And lo, I cherish, as erst wont, the sense
Culled by that fragile eye which yields from hence
To night's sheer blackness, as upon thet scale
Lights 'gin to twinkle from both houses' tale
To streets cars drive in haste through for intents.
The furnace clicks on, growling whiles I stir
Our refried beans, rice cooked, snack on chips too,
As, table set, how dinner warms anew.
What is't to hang out with my fellows fer
Sweet hours?  The lecture fine, class dry in poor
'Scuse, what I loved was them and theirs:  what's new?

28Jan18b

...but here I am:  Miss Oscar the Grouch.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCLXXIII)


So pull your cat out of your bag to scale,
And I'll watch "*****" foot it, for a sense
Of all the tricks you like to show off thence,
Disgust you culled mine likewise in betrayl,
Cuz that's 'most what is left.  Her blonde detail
Crimped to effect, (and girls know girls from hence)
This sordid game two play sans tickets, whence
Let's play it to the hilt, swords drawn, t'avail.
If only I could listen to frogs' cure
For fevered brows, but it's TOO COLD.  Did you
Call in the weather to draw up as twere
What I should feel, playing me the fool anew
For love; or come, what gives?  Meow Mix poor,
I'm barking up no trees--um, are we through?

12Apr19c

...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)

Hint:  see his sonnet on his second wife Catherine, specifically the line--"...vested all in white--"



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXVII)


Snow.  Was last summer traipsing through a tale
Of mirey puddles?  Ah.  Tis wet fr'intents,
But with frore air presiding all's white hence
Or icy, like the curving claws that hail
From silent eaves, no scimiter--in pale
Excuse for fancied heights--but fringing thence
The void twixt roof and far below, a sense
Perchance of grasping in their scope's detail.
I look out half surprised all's buried fer
The umpteenth time, as flakes cavort now through
Unnumbered hours likeas soft mists in tour,
Sip that espresso foamed milk crowns anew
In thoughtful silence, not unlike that pure
Calm listning as snow falls in silence too.

17Feb19a

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

You know whence that statement is, don't you?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXXVIII)


Watch Instagram for flavour, will ya hence?
They'll talk of how their day was, and t'avail
Which styles they purchase, Starbucks like to scale
In hands well-manicured, for all good sense.
I won't remember to take photos whence
Lo, "cheeky missy" could prove she in pale
Excuse might have a life too, no.  Detail
Whatever in these sonnets none read thence.
Talk to my friends and fam'ly in a tour
Of living, NOT my phone.  NO vid'oes to
Show, um, the world I have good dishes fer
Consumption, that my style is grand and "you
Should follow me."  No.  I just live, in poor
'Scuse.  Dream of yonder, and fade slowly through.

15Mar19e

...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

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

...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

too much internal rhyming--oops! it was an accident, Sir Philip Sydney.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXX)


O! cloud brigades in white-tinged grey sail hence
With sluggish speed across blue heavns' detail,
As winds don't howl, yet batter by th'exhale
Aught fragile limb; and blue seas cleared fr'intents
Are full again with more such ships, as sense
Now wrestles with the thought war is, t'avail,
Both fearsome, and alas, romanced in pale
Excuse by this auld struggle in defense.
Death's icy clasp is loosed as puddles fer
Effect replace snow piles and don heavns' blue,
Winds battling is't sheer warmth? and roughly too,
Whiles oh! I look now oer the distance.  Were
The Maple's boughs untrimmed this late in tour,
I ask?  They'll soon flaunt crimson in debut.

14Mar19b

...well, I neglected to stir the refried beans as I wrote this...



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXLII)


Snow flurries past the window for a sense
Of what's beyond these bathroom tiles in pale
Morn's eye, where lo, in lieu of dawn, a veil
As twere of white tricks out the cracks from hence
Likeas some veins filled 'gainst um, surgry, whence
Aught thinnest fissure stands out in betrayl
Now I've a chance to take one look t'avail,
We'd see our breath if we exhale, fr'intents.
If cleaning house ere any rose as twere
Was worth the effort, we'll play dolls anew
"Fore breakfast, cuz a Saturday is fer
O, sleeping-in for her, and fun to do
This opportun'ty good.  And coffee.  Stir
Me to make toast while sipping Daddy's brew.

02Mar19