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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXIX)


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

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

Smile, or?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCLXXX)


White.  Snow.  Sae del'cate that we feel it hence
Within our souls:  that hallowed silence they'll
Assure ye is what Sunday's due.  T'inhale
Is what we do, half stifled, til I thence
Am lo, some heathen, breaking in fr'intents
And shattring that fine calm as I exhale
My raptures with sheer glee words maught avail
Aught else, Dad chiding me like's sans defense.
So I pass through to breakfast:  late.  Yes, stir
Him 'spite all that to later say it too,
Whenas the dainty white is heavy--we're
Agreed tis verra wet, and will melt to
Effect ere we're aware, nor linger.  Pure
Sweet silence calls unto my soul as't woo.

14Apr19b

So get used to it.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCLXXVI)


"They" swear you should write at all hours, fr'intents,
But oh! what swore it wanted voice t'avail
At nearly midnight left me with, to scale,
Its acrid taste upon my tongue for sense
Ere dawn could settle on just whither hence,
The memry's chalkboard smudged, but NOT in pale
Excuse at all erased, alas.  Go hail
Some taxi to the edge of town, and whence?
I pick 'non through the rubble of as twere
Now oer a decade of romance I rue
Attempts at, sighing.  Dredge up hopes I'd bestir
Oer whom, was't? back then, cuz it all fell through.
Those kisses, dates--all soured.  I'm left in tour
Lo, an olde maid, where dawn won't even woo.

13Apr19b

...if nothing else.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXC)


Turns out I shoulda said lo, "shamrock" hence
Was it?  Aw, dearest me, how that detail
Called "leprechauns" had far more 'ppeal; and stale
As donning green to match me ein's green sense
Of hazel, la dee dah! the Duchess thence
Defined all in a darker pine tone's scale
'Til guess I lose for all I've Irish.  They'll
Not even care twas Barry's Tea fr'intents.
And I wore purple too, and blue, as poor
From thereon out that I donned green's fine hue.
O laugh at me!  I wanted violets too--
Tae go a huntin' fer them damsels we're
Sae sure to miss, hid e'er in shadows.  You're
Not pinked I tried to curtsy now, are you?

19Mar19c

cough, cough*


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXVIII)


Where gloaming's blueish note of darkness thence
Culls oh, electric lights, I close the tale
Of drapes and we hang out in sheer betrayl--
All four of us--whiles I wash dishes, whence
Sweet conversation, or reproof for sense
When I drop lo, a spatula.  Detail
Whatever, but twas sweet to thus avail
Ourselves of time together for intents.
Now it's so dark, and I have played with her
Til aught before is lost in how the crew
Of dolls cavorted to her fancies, poor
As aught excuses, I am blank.  What, to
Effect, teased for a line hours ere?  What'd bestir
While I was working?  Nothing's left that'd woo.

13Mar19b

The sales caught me off guard with early cries of St. Patrick's Day, kick me.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXXIV)


Lo, sparrows gaily chatter as I thence
Pass by the entry, and whiles rain t'avail
Is like some fragile yet persistent, hale
Sweet kiss that drives ole Winter's Death from hence
And rouses buds to pierce 'gain through those dense
Leaf mats knit months before and spread to scale
Across the sleeping flowrs last April'd hail
The world with once upon a time, ah whence?
I yearn to wander oer these wastes in tour,
If that I might now listen to the dew,
Hear all the little scurrying which'd bestir
As yellowed grasses shift to what? anew.
It is the Ides of March, the knife as twere
'Non twisting in dear Caesar's back from who?

15Mar19a

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXVI)


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

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

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCIV)


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

22Mar19d

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

or Notes From, erm, Sunday [AFTER MIDNIGHT]

(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCLXXXII)


So boot up, grab a coat, red scarf, and thence
Wade out to breathe afresh (like to inhale
Ole Winter is refreshing) and none hail
Save lo, the cardnal from a distant hence,
Erm, corner.  Ha, pretend in sheer defense
I don't care, though to roll upon that scale
Yes, "lonely" 'cross my tongue as each detail
Hangs frozen in keen silence haunts that sense.
The lake is as erst wont and still, grey fer
How very white all is!  Wee snowflakes to
Effect land in my hair I 'non in tour
Unloose and shake out whilst a robin, too,
Sans voice half stumbles to the Maple.  Poor
As talking when none answer, what's to do?

15Apr19a

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXVI)


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

26Mar19b

[the Japanese' term for women over 40 was it?]



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXII)


We're "friends," and so I penned of him fr'intents.
And likewise we discussed in sheer betrayl
Just how he liked erm, *******, to scale,
Til I found by degrees how it will thence
Go:  he's a man.  THAT said a mouthful.  Hence
It's NOT what I want, nor believe.  In frail
Excuse for girlish dreams, it's what he'll hail,
Despite all my um, protests.  It's his sense.
Sigh.  Thus we draw apart, cuz I won't do.
O if I'm as a fragile violet you're
Quite heedless of in passing, trampling fer
All that my petals, ah, tis nothing new.
I'm not a siren who is brazen, poor
As your hot passions.  Therefore none now woo?

26Apr19b

Or, the kind of page which you find buried out of sight cuz it wasn't fit to be seen.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCLV)


O let me roll his name in sheer betrayl
Across my tongue and savour that fr'intents.
"He" turns my storms to sunshine with a sense
Of happy songs in every step, t'avail--
With just that note "he" cares is't?  Swear I've bail.
I yearned to crawl off somewhere to weep thence,
But "he" stepped out to smoke, and all cleared, whence
Dear me!  I've nary tear to shed, to scale.
Don't tell me tis a dream I'll rue in tour--
Note how "he" called "his" fellow--was it to
See that "he'd" culled a smile by that as twere?
Go laugh at me, and give your lectures through
Experience and etcetra.  Though tis poor,
Nor sense:  I'm banking on "his" caring too.

05Apr19a

Ha, I neglected (despite my intentions when I began writing this) to spell out why exactly I ever took up my pen/cil to write.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXIV)


He asked if I've a book out (cuz tis sense),
And when I said "no," like in sheer betrayl
I did not care much, he knew that detail
Was not much to me, eh?  And thinking hence,
O wherefore did I ever write?  Why thence
Work over-time to fund a book t'avail
Ha! not the world cuz they don't care, in pale
Scuse--vanity?  when glory is pretense?
He's got a chapbook published is't?  In poor
Scuse I've a pile of mouldered dreams all do
But mock.  Yes, marriage and a book in tour
Of MY work; stanzas in the thousands too,
Done up to suit my taste--none'd buy as twere
'Cept one or two friends.  Laugh at me, will you?

26Apr19d

Correction:  When I finally asked her enroute to class, my friend said the information does not indicate a bar, but rather a bookshop.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCLXXIX)


He did not talk with me, but her.  T'avail
As we were coming slowly up from thence
The stairs to leave, she stopt for breath, and whence?
But he'd turn back to give his card to scale
To her with "Oh, you too--" as he'd regale
Me now with chances of beyond: events
We might attend and play in for intents,
Likeas this festval reading--oh sweet bail!
O yes, I was excited, envy her
And still mourn is't my folly oer th'ado?
I'll never learn, I fear.  Laugh at me fer
Fond dreams ne'er lost to biting sense will you?
We'll read in bars now is't?  Don't say that's poor.
Cuz after all, he looked at her.  What's new?

30Jan19d

Ahem.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCLII)


Or...mebbe not.  My "daisy" seems fr'intents
To still have petals:  "he's" been smoking, frail
As noting THAT, most plainly oft in pale
Excuse, today.  My heart--how't wishes thence
Tis cuz I'm not the only one whose sense
Is not asleep.  Yes, that's in sheer betrayl
A sweeter thought, though I maunt, to avail,
Put any stock in it, nor find defense.
Perchance he's feeling overburdened fer
Another cause, nor knows, nor cares I do.
O, does the Cardnal's distant voice bestir
The other morning, April Fool's, when to
Be certain I prayed for a man in tour
In lieu of that auld scarlet lover's cue?

04Apr19e

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

Well?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXLIV)


Blue skies lo, nary cloud blots for intents
Warm on these frozen wastes as trash' detail
Flirts 'cross the puddles like a bird in pale
Excuse who, washing up as wont, shakes thence
His wings, light flashing off them with a sense
Of summer's carefree minutes, whiles to scale
Ice glares more coldly from the corners frail
Ghosts of thin warmth ne'er touch but tis pretense.
Dad pulls espressos, foaming milk in tour
As all baristas, yet sans flourish, to
Leave that to sheer caprice I find as twere,
Whiles I feign then to ascertain a view
Of this or that, which he half tol'rates fer
The mystry is't? of all we sorta knew.

03Mar19b

(Here's where I fully intended to write about..."him" and couldn't.)  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXLVII)


So, as rain waits 'non in the wings t'avail
Sweet April of its antique phrase, as hence
How traffic lines up to disperse, and thence
Lo, rolls bake in the oven to detail
Our soup with now a chance for, in betrayl,
Orange marmalade to boot, as sparrows fence
The freighted calm with happy calls fr'intents
--A robin too--the dove flies 'round to scale.
Donne's erm, Selected Poems lies as it were
Hard by whiles I defer to scribble through
These minutes til the timer calls, in poor
'Scuse smiling at the birds like that is to
Effect passe, the light as fragile fer
All that as warmth.  And really, what is new?

03Apr19c

So there.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCVIII)


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

23Mar19d

THIS: see note below



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXXXVI)


Salve, then, thy wounded disposition's sense
Of loss, where hitherto what joys' detail
I'd thought to know! in music first, t'avail:
Bach's lute piece I've long cherished; and from thence
Lo, Medelssohn's fourth Symphny for intents,
While reading up on Tristram Shandy's tale,
And then an essay on um, friendship they'll
Assure us is a lost art, like...pretense?
The funniest thing is how old tis as twere:
...From my last year of highschool.  That should do?
Next, that first summer lo, in college' tour
Of guy/girl friendships and romance, cuz two
Can't long be simply friends.  Or what?  Is't poor?
I still have guy friends, with no lover too.

17Mar19d

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXCVIII)


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

21Mar19d

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

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

Ah, sigh



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXXI)


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

30Mar19c

Do NOT enquire regarding the title.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXI)


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

24Mar19c

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXLIII)


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

02Apr19c

Um, I blamed it on having read my friend's dark piece.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXCVI)


Likeas a small child standing naked thence
Within the charred bits of a doorway, frail
As lo, thin wisps of smoke 'non drifting, pale
And silent twards grey heavns, where no voice hence
Replies but tis the shrieking call fr'intents
Of nary hawk nor gull, but whom avail
Them of burnt wreckage--lost upon that scale
Wi' but a des'late wilderness 'fore, whence?
They talk of some "new start."  I laugh in tour,
Yea, smile as if I'm ver'ly happy too,
Can fool myself like such is true, yet's poor.
I'm that wee child left 'fore this desert view,
Pretending all's sae fine as Death stalks fer
All that whate'er I'd cherished.  And what's new?

20Apr19b

The camera's eye is perhaps more effective than words, or?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLVI)


I've watched the velvet roses blush fr'intents,
To see how crimson darkly fades, the tale
Of daffodils and tulips sweetly hail
Each "...dew-empearled morn--" and bow with sense
Of age; mine own locks gathring silver thence
As months tripped by sans backward glance, and pale
Though keen chagrin now I'm as cheese t'avail
And ver'ly aged, I mourn which loss from hence?
The minutes that would tiptoe as rain'd stir
While frogs crooned love songs whenas gloaming'd woo
I relished, dreaming of this man in poor
Excuse, or that.  Lo, now I beg of You,
LORD, to please give me marriage and in tour
Mine own sweet children.  Death laughs oer the view.

08Mar19b

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

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

...relieves stress.



(sonnet  #MMMMMMMDCCLXXV)


"Beware the Ides of March!" is't on the exhale
As lo, a silence hangs oer this calm sense
Of what? a null we never knew? suspense
Chews on its painted nails with eyes that hail
This fragile light likeas a rat's is't?! pale
And wan as Philip Sydney's moon fr'intents,
The notice that "it's Friday...--sans from hence
A date." not quite a knife, but THAT detail.
If fashion bloggers write of style and tour
Milan, etcet'ra, I'll look on, nor rue
No date tonight.  But let them have in poor
'Scuse lo, a baby, talk of their ado
With erm, "post-partum," how kids now as twere
"Change ME!" I eat my heart out.  Laugh, won't you?

15Mar19b

Sometimes I hate myself, my voice....



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXX)


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

27Mar19b

Yo.  Or, what am I supposed to put here, again?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXXX)


O!  I could swear May yawns at me from hence,
Now that snow's curse is gone, as if the tale
Of slaughtered yards 'non waking to th'all hail
As twere of sweet Favon'us are but thence
Slain in that heat dear Shakespeare knew fr'intents,
Likeas to murmur that the violets pale
Ere I've had chance to finger them t'avail,
And laughs now in my face like hope's pretense.
Where are the dandelions nodding through
That oven breath if such things are so true?
Why do the windows fog up still in tour
Before the day is old?  And wherefore, fer
All that, is evry bough yet naked?  Poor
As blue skies' teases, I'm mixt up now too.

16Mar19b

Laugh at me.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXIV)


Soft blue skies put erst naked trees and thence
These yellowed lawns since dead, as if to scale,
In April's gentler light, though snow detail
The southern regions in that cold white sense
Of frozen Death, eaves dripping in suspense
While ice shrinks 'fore that ghostly breath's exhale
We once thought was Favonious', to avail
Hearts fainting on the threshold of sheer whence.
I canna think, although I sorr'ly do,
This world of mine a mess I wade through fer
So long now I've forgotten what it was as twere
To breathe.  Take notes of what we cherished to
Effect back when all half made sense, in poor
Scuse blind is't, LORD? whilst crying sans voice to You.

21Feb19b

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXIX)


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

27Mar19a

...or did, as I madly scribbled this hotly down.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCLXXIV)


Dear Friday night, could you arrange fr'intents
Some date for souls that draw the short straw?  Bail
Is sleep cuz I've no better cue t'avail
Me of, not even stars in black depths' sense
Of that which Abraham saw maunt be thence
E'en counted, cuz it's TOO COLD.  Wake in pale
Excuse to oh, the dregs of that wine they'll
Grant might have made me drunk, and whither hence?
My friend was too sweet, and aught hope was poor.
I'm sick of being the **** of jokes, yet to
Nobody's credit, dawn finds me as twere:
Ambiv'lent.  Yes, I realize that won't do.
What's left when I've spent all?  What, to bestir
More than this bitter taste of all I rue?

12Apr19d

...those who could and were watching me knew by halves



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCLXIX)


Tis all about pretending, in betrayl.
O yes, a thousand things, for aught intents.
Until that fateful hour when all pretense
Is stripped off, where th empror's clothes t'avail
Are seen for what they truly are to scale:
In other words, are NOT, and galling sense
(Which has been leering at us in defense
Of wisdom all this time) reigns sans aught bail.
Quoth Shakespeare "...all the world's a stage--" and, poor
As our excuses, twas forsooth THAT to
Effect.  Don't let me, please, forget in tour
My lines.  We socialize as trained, on cue
Recite the proper speeches, smile and fer
Brief moments...fool ourselves.  Dear me, what's new?

11Apr19b

I will, seriously.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXII)


It musta been a west wind that curved thence
The dripping stream as lo, in sheer betrayl
An icicle likeas a dagger'd hail--
Some scimitar hung from the eaves for sense
Replies at blueish gloaming as I hence
Glance up to notice that cold thing's detail
Which arcs in layered fashion as the pale
Light dwindles on a Friday evning, whence?
Swear refried beans are NOT enough, as fer
Good measure we down Little Caesar's to
Effect, the pepperoni pizza cure
For fevered appetites, with play to do
That treat in style as I am dragged off, poor
Though my cries, "I have dishes--!" And what's new?

15Feb19b

...anything?!



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXCII)


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

20Mar19b

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXCV)


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

21Mar19a

...cuz a nagging bladder isn't cool.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCLXXX)


From Rimsky-Korskov's strains wi' half a sense
Of "magic" in Sheher'zade's fervid tale,
To Kenny Chesney's singing in betrayl
Was it of being kind to some soul fr'intents?
To class'cal notes which yield me lo, from thence
Fair visions of huge columned courts' detail,
To ah, the Scriptures--Romans to avail
Sense past all foolish thoughts and vain pretense.
So drift off on that, eh?  No.  Yes, tis poor,
But THIS wee stanza tugged at me, or to
Effect the first lines rolled across in tour
My silent tongue, til sleep feigned it would do.
Yet earbuds in, hard rock came blasting fer
Good taste in and, I'd rather sleep anew.

31Jan19a

Please?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXVII)


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

26Mar19c

Mebbe later I'll understand.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLV)


Ploughs scrape through morning's sullen eye in hail,
As lo, white answers from the pavement hence,
Eaves dripping like it's not sae bitter thence,
Til oh! whose lines trip off my tongue to scale?
Is't William Caldwell Roscoe's? in betrayl:
"Lo, on the ground, white snow--" and ah, fr'intents
I know he said twas Febry daybreak, whence
He'd say her love raised him from Death, t'avail.
Love is a thing since buried with as twere,
My mother, as watch how snow melts anew
In slower fashion whiles a sense in tour
Of all erst wont to be familiar through
The years now rises to the 'fore.   We stir
Talk of old 'puter games oer breakfast, too.

08Mar19a

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXCIII)


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

20Mar19c

...every morning, great is Thy faithfulness."  (Lam 3:22-23)



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXXXVII)


O hark now as the train's voice rumbles! Pale
Night else is dead asleep til ah, from hence
That warning whistle pierces through suspense;
And I just listen, rolling to avail
Those words across my silent tongue to scale,
Half seeing that mighty being which passes thence
As wont through woods none save the beasts fr'intents
Troll, wondring dimly over which detail?
Ha, I dunno.  Like, since I canna stir
Good slumber now, should I erm, rise and *****
That effort, to ink down this thought?  Tis poor.
Thus roll oer and exhale.  If morn debut
Sans fanfare, say a chance to write in tour
Shall yield that note a voice?  And what is new?

28Feb19a

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXVII)


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

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

--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

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

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXLV)


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

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