--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

...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

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

Starbucks latest stardash for yours truly, beginning of supposed summer [however summer began May 1st], demanding I make a purchase BEFORE 11AM, when my café wasn't open until 5am and I needed to be half an hour away on the clock by 5am, forced me to head in even earlier, stopping at a café by work which had only just opened for the day at 4:30am, and when I ordered an espresso, they said they'd accidentally prepared eggbites--did I want those for free with my espresso? What a treat!



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMDCCLVII)

Mist's hazy essence likeas ghosts whose pale
Forms hulk and hunker down like sent'nals thence
In silence watching aught which pass fr'intents,
Detail morn even yet, as if to scale
Half loth to vacate, ling'ring in the hale
Eye of a Friday heat upon the dense
Yet distant massy trees the valley's sense
Of hidden joys boasts, as birds sweetly hail.
The kale and 'shroom bites fragrant,want as t'were
Bread with th'espresso, or else cream t'undo
Its sharpness, and if romance flirts in tour
Within mists' note, shall I say that all woo?
My elbows swelled as if that's normal, stir
Thyself to save us, LORD, for we need You.

21.Jun.24b

Ha, and THIS while "Dance of the Blessed Spirits" lilts*





(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXXXIX)


How sparrows cry in sweetest notes, t'avail
Me of such happy smiles! As if we thence
Might laugh instead of being, is't sober hence?
And blue heavns look so clean in sheer all hail,
Like feeling in our bones thet time of hale
Songs is upon us is not false, the sense
Of baited breath loosed whiles these blue skies fence
The hours in more expansive notes' detail.
I wrestle with that spirit which'd bestir
My soul to singing and 'non tripping through
These golden minutes all seems welcomes fer
Is't oh, the millionth time as wont?  I do
Not know which way to turn, am as it were
Now stifled on the threshold as all woo.

19Mar19b

Or...mebbe it does.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXXVI)


Tis Shostakovich.  As the trumpet thence
Seeps through my consciousness likeas t'would hail
With soothing strains I'd just as lief avail
Me of as not, in lieu of fretted sense,
What whispers to my soul to, "listen hence."?
I canna fix the nagging thought's detail
Which harps upon the ache naught salve in pale
Excuse; tis sweet to have that note fr'intents.
Men squirm if you talk babies, as it were.
I spose they want time in her *******, to
Effect whatever in themselves.  But her?
She wants to be a mother.  That won't do,
Now, lady.  So I shrug, feign like's not poor,
That I don't give a hoot.  But I do, too.

15Mar19c

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCLXVIII)


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

25Jan19b

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


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCLXV)


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

24Jan19a

Ahem.    Well, here's breach of rigidity, shall we say?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXVI)


If I'm too busy as sheer gloaming thence
Draws lo, the curtains on these frore scapes' tale,
How darkness cozens ere that dinner hail,
This piecemeal chance for sustnance in a sense
Half lonely, til I wander off fr'intents,
To flip through People magazine t'avail
Me of a picture, and why friends ere'd scale
My sweaters and tweed skirts as what from hence?!
"You allus wear such intresting clothes." Were
My choices strange when all don black, and to
A fault wear skinny jeans and leggings through
The week, nor ever touch tall boots?  Is't poor?
Am I thus slated to be odd in tour
Cuz my tastes are not like theirs?  What'd I do?
We're "social creatures."  I've no lover too.

16Feb19b

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCXXVI)


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

30Jan19a

What's disheartening about THIS stanza is the one that immediately follows it, which, as the site renders it, will appear above it in the listing...



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXV)


O let me not forget Thy mercies! Pale
Morn fraught with e'il, yet with such kindness thence
As we've toast, soft-boiled eggs and porridge hence,
With ah, such poor man's tea as shall avail
Aught who 'non cherish morning's cuppa--hale
To specs yet light as many like fr'intents--
The Scriptures answer 'til that coffee's sense
Culls listning to the radio--sparrows hail!
Watch steamy tendrils waft up in a tour
Of "coffee break," and try to be anew
Half meek, Thou givst my time wi' Dad as twere
Such kindness 'til we part, and lo, just who
Call from the kitchen window?  Sparrows!  We're
So fragile, yet Thou givst us to praise You.

16Feb19a

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

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

I never yet fail to hop on the bandwagon, buying eggnog when it's very nearly out of stock, or actually is.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMII)


Thanksgiving meant a turkey, stuffing thence
Inside and out, with gravy too, the tale
Of green beans, mashies, cranb'rries cooked for bail
Until they popped, with cranb'rry velvet's sense
For aught else, sweet potatoes, olives dense
With finger fun, and rolls I baked t'avail,
The actual dinner late, with cass'role's hale
Solution for the end bits, sweet defense.
Yes, pumpkin pie was Grampa's rec'pe, pure
Home crafted whipped cream dolloped on it too,
With not much else but love, til twas as t'were
No more. And I've not known it since. The crew
Of styles since then are NOT Thanksgiving. Stir
But mem'ries in the wilderness, will you?

29Nov24a

Yo.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXXVII)


Roll words across my tongue as fog trims thence
The distance and rain pours in sheer betrayl
Down every window, like choice phrases' scale
Of what is beats out sheer real'ty hence,
How evning culls perspective in a sense:
Mists shroud the thought of yonder with a veil,
The clustered houses silent as, t'avail
I look out on the ghostly naught's pretense.
And oh! What do I try for in a poor
Attempt which falls upon its face anew?
Scroll through pics of stylish ladies' tour
Of lux'ry boots, and they'll still call my view,
Yes, outfits:  "intresting."  Mist woo as twere
My soul, and violets know my name, else, who?

23Feb19b

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXXXIV)


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

26Nov18b

Wonder what on earth THAT designation means, again?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCVII)


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

23Mar19c

Okay, okay.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXXVI)


Ah, listen to the Scriptures as fr'intents
All that was day's gone to the dogs, in pale
Excuse for wanting now to write.  What'd hail
When I was working, had no time, and thence
Thought to ink later?  Blue skies cleared, a sense
Of April winked back through pine shadows, frail
Upon the melted snow's erm, puddles' tale,
And sparrows called for half a minute, whence?
How first John answers all that'd muddle fer
The umpteenth time what I erst thought I knew.
This vain dream I had thought was living, poor
As aught excuse, is only that:  dreams.  Do
We hear what Thou set'st 'fore us in this tour
Of breathing?  O that we'd walk, LORD, with You.

22Feb19b

I can't believe it!



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXCII)


Spring's but twa weeks awa by now, a sense
Of sweeter haunting hill and snow-capped dale,
Favon'us breath upon the soft exhale
Which murmurs oer the leas, of hope, to fence
These coming hours with just enow fr'intents
To keep the fainting soul 'bove water, frail
Yet clinging still to life, if that t'avail
Before the shadows deepen, of defense.
Birds sing as if from ev'ry bush astir
With joy now waltzing, as both puddles to
Thinned snowy slopes seem half aware as twere
All's melting, where the fragile light would woo
With hope in ev'ry golden shaft. Demur
T'acknowledge and hide off--oh if ye knew!

17Jan25a

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXCI)


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

20Mar19a

I guess.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXV)


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

26Mar19a

Please.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXLVI)


If only what, eh?  Close the drapes ere thence
Tis gloaming, nary soft pink blushes' tale
For romance as we turn on lights t'avail,
And lose ourselves to dinner for intents,
Where I dash out the door as if from hence
She'd just arrived, the fragile hope's detail
Lost in that race to be elsewhere to scale,
'Til I don't see, like others, twilight's sense.
Discuss how men are jerks as we wait to
Pass through this intersection, cuz tis poor
To think he'd act the gentleman.  What?!  Do
You really cherish chivalry in tour?
It's dead.  Just like I weep when as it were
None look, all I had thought decays now too.

04Mar19b

Like Lot's wife, eh?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMDCCXLIX)


How Samuel Daniels' lines come to from hence
The 'fore, though nary Delia shall avail
Aught suit or break a heart, just that detail:
"...Ne'er let the rising sun approve [fr'intents]
You liars--" as dreams waltz through my noggin, dense
With mair chagrin in tow than joy, their frail
Sweet promise I knew ere what shall 'non fail
Before the light, although they dance. Ah, whence?
Dear youth so subtly fled! Though I bestir
Fond mem'ries of my father's house and rue
The loss of all we'd cherished, known and were
A part of then, I can't return. I threw
The pieces off, saying I'd come back. T'was poor.
All's lost. There's naught left. LORD, what did I do?!

14.Jun.24b

Whatdya know?

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMIV)


Pink smudges on the East long after sense
Was on its toes and I upon, t'avail,
The clock, I'd NOT warm til three hours sans bail
Passed, frozen to my toes til in defense
The sun now blinds me. Nary telly hence
Tae drive sense out of count'nance, which detail?
Dark choc'late pieces, pie, dip, porridge'd hail,
With coffee from my birthday like what thence?
I am a wreck? The wind comes like as t'were
A guest, just as John Clare wrote ere, thin blue
Skies fraught with streaky clouds, trees naked fer
Effect as how November's last day, through
Ole Winter, looks as wont. Blue shadows cure
The golden light as, LORD, all wait on You.

30Nov24a

Hi.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXIV)


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

25Mar19c

...until Saturday morning. [Up at midnight November 1st for work, and not able to go to sleep until nearly 2100, having titled October 29th's sonnet "I've Lost Track Which Day Tis" who's surprised?]


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMLI)


November first is up to specs, t'avail,
Chill as we knew it best like Winter's sense
Delivers, golden light where naked, dense
Bare trees stand in blue heavn's eye, wrappers trail
Left on the floor like last night's féte' detail
Was as expected, and the thought fr'intents
Of yonder is ham, turkey, gifts pretense
Tricks out in style, and thinking you own bail.
Oh, tis a Friday too, where I've as t'were
Been granted so much to thank Thee for through
These hours, how could I fail to see, in poor
'Scuse? Robert visits and hangs out like to
Rekindle what once flourished, and leaves fer
All that as if he owns me...is that true?!

01Nov24b

I don't know what's left to do, if not that.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXXXV)


He was enamoured of her poems, to hail
My friend with highest praise lo, after thence
The Elgin Lit Fest's public reading, whence,
Next catching her behind him in betrayl
Upon the stairs in leaving, stopt t'avail
Her of his card and open invite hence
To read at their gigs each third Sunday's sense
Of joys, at some Batavia bookshop.  Bail?
I was too giddy oer the chance, not her.
She was quite stunned.  And now tis "that" day too,
Watch as blue skies half whisper I come tour
The naked forest in vain search flowrs cue.
We'd planned to go today, but that was poor.
I can't decide if wandring 'lone would do.

17Mar19c

Tis hereditary, I assure ye; the only question is whether the series of strokes which very nearly took Mum 8 years too early were from the aspirin she took for hers whereas she trained me to avoid drugs of any sort except Daddy taught me to love black tea and coffee.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMMX)


Frost twinkles in morn's golden eye, a sense
Of hope awak'ning in that keen detail,
Where soft blue heavns sport white fluffs gone on sail
Without a care, if only. How from hence
A headache nags like tis passé as thence
Is't true?! I drank a bunch of coffee, frail
As rarely drinking joe, like that'd avail,
Yet nothing seems to own, is it defense?
My colleague has twa plastic cups in tour
Frae Starbucks, so I tell him of stars to
Be gained in rather using your ain fer
Aught drink; tell him of "red cup day" next too,
Til by the time we'd part he'd quite concur.
Night watches as I leave. LORD, I need You.

03Dec24

Ya, JUST a moment, hahaha.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCX)


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

24Mar19b

That fact is what troubles my men.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCLXXI)


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

27Jan19a

What's left to add?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLVIII)


How odd rain looks now! dancing madly hence
Upon new puddles as snow watches (hale
Yet shrinking e'er so slightly 'fore the tale
Of actual water coming down!) a sense
As wont of silver mists half winking thence
Within the eye of languid minutes frail
Light haunts.  What whispers likeas twould avail
The soul as I see now lo, rain?  and whence?
I 'gin to feel a captive as it'd stir
Across these long dead wastes...like, to walk through
The naked woods might shew me in that tour
Mayhap the first hints of ist violets?!  Do
We yearn so much for fragile life as twere,
That e'en this note of warmth stirs in me too?

09Mar19b

Hint:  if you can read between the lines this might make sense.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLI)


O to be again his baby! set to scale
Upon the countertop where lo, fr'intents
The blender shows how small I am as hence
They watch their little girl eat crackers; hail
That fun with oh, the camra's eye t'avail
Poster'ty (which ne'er came to be) and sense:
So quasi "innocent" and dumb, I thence
Wish, sipping that espresso pulled, t'exhale.
Ah, foolish thought!  No sooner do I stir
Fond visions, but to ope my lips--what to
Effect is?!  Laugh at me.  Yes, hold in tour
Your sides and guffaw:  I'm as dumb.  Dad knew,
And further, proves it.  I digest in poor
'Scuse that keen fact.  And really, what is new?

07Mar19a

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXXXI)


Hark to the sparrows' cries like whither hence
Might have a voice to guide me on the trail,
And wherefore now recall the sweet detail--
How ere small children's voices trimmed aught sense
Of being with happy notes, the hours sae dense
With their 'loved noises I'd hate rooms th'all hail
Could not be heard in, where keen silence'd veil
The shadowed places' lack with aching thence.
Why am I stuck here, left behind as t'were,
Right where I'd oft deplore the folk that knew
Cold silence as their norm? Why maunt I stir
Life 'cept in plants?! I hate this empty view!
Being all growed up was s'posed to be in tour
The ticket to that joy. But not for who?!

22Oct24a

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXXXV)


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

27Nov18a

...with Panera [hazelnut] coffee.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMLII)


Frost glitters likeas diamonds in the dense
Keen silence of black night, where to exhale
Is white clouds which just hang, suspended, frail
Naught list'ning closely for a voice to fence
The thought of yonder; but none answers hence
'Cept lo, the Scriptures. Lonely walk whose trail
None but one set of headlights 'llumes to scale
Ends wi' a plea to Thee, oh LORD: defense.
"What is yer life but lo, a breath that'd stir
For half a moment ere tis gone?" We knew
How to lisp off that like the alph'bet, poor
As nevir seeing, oh LORD, how it is true.
What have we here? What do we do? "In Yer
Light we see light--" Bring us with joy to You.

02Nov24a

...on love and romance.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCLII)


Frogs chorus in the darkness sweetest scents
Waft through as if romance owns aught detail
Now tis May first, oh me! Just to inhale
Is to cull swooning til I've no defense
Where night'd intox'cate in a trice, good sense
As wont in lover's trysts quite perished, frail
Though aught 'scuse when you've nary hope t'avail
Upon the clock--is't lilacs?! or what hence?
Eat salad after hours, "spring mix" as t'were
With olives, shrooms, tomatoes, onions, to
Effect a treat, potato chips to cure
Aught cravings, what I want is to yield 'new
Where romance tugs upon my sleeve: is't poor?
Were not sweet odours meant to thereby woo?

01May25b

...and him: what shall I do?


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMLIII)


Caprese...oh! Fragrant basil with, t'avail
Fresh mozzyrella and tomato hence
In tango waltzing, how I swoon! Defense
For dreaming lo, all summer, which detail
Could e'er suffice next? None. Aught else derail
Th'indulgence, yet the time was sweet fr'intents,
Corn on the cob not too bad, with pie thence
As our dessert; why still in love sans bail?
I was his once; he keeps me still, yet's poor
Cuz wherefore? He dates 'round behind me who
He does not want,  ergo what shall I do?
Brought me Panera coffee for, as t'were
Old time's sake, wore dark stubble to bestir
Me, ate half of the salad, and seems'd woo.

02Nov24b

Her gift delivered late morning ere I was off, to go straight to the grocery store would have made me too late to retrieve it until Monday, which she thought unwise, so I had a lot of driving to do...where gas is too expensive.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMVIII)


Race home just after nightfall, changing thence
From work clothes to me ain for that detail
Called groc'ry shopping, Starbucks to avail
Tomorrow, snapping photos of that, thence
For posting online, shy barista hence
Half hiding from the cam'ra, on the trail
To who cares what, my list and hopes for bail,
How friendly others were, like in defense!
The Xmas gift from Cynthia stowed in tour,
Our fridge holds all, despite the fear twas too
Much, as we've dinner late; tree lit as t'were
For flavour, how the pie* is now quite through
As our dessert, where how the morrow fer
All that seems'd come too soon. LORD, I need You.

06Dec24b

So there. [What's with a gigantic motorhome the other day, and today a semi, literally driving out of their lane to push me off the road when I speed ahead on the ramp, then going back into their lane on the interstate as I try to figure out who's trying to **** me????? I didn't believe in PTSD until now.]

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLV)


From semis with an urge to **** sans bail,
To nary sleep 'cept two nights all week, whence?
No less than three sites Friday:  if my sense
Is badly *******, thank all the madness.  Frail,
Yet trying to stay atop, oh LORD, avail
Me, for despite my efforts, all's pretense.
I'm begging for dear sleep, recov'ry hence
In mind, if only, fearing to ask'd fail.
Thanks, thanks for all Thy mercies which in tour,
New ev'ry morning, never fail.  I knew
Ere this week t'would be tough, and feared for sure,
Yet Thou art my God and all is of You.
Tis Saturday; I'm fragile.  Come, bestir
Thy mercies, save me now.  I wait anew.

28Dec24

I knew the actual recipe would be different when my first attempt used up cabbage gone south. What I forgot, until three days later, was that flavors need time to meld.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXCIX)


The twa big heads at least chopped up, t'avail
We've canteloupe and breakfast hash fr'intents;
With cabbage, sausage and potatoes, dense
With flavour, saurkraut would be better; frail
As making that first batch with old, t'was bail
For heightened tastes. How fix that, eh? save thence
Til's aged? the rest will rot. Alas. What hence?
Be teased to death cuz that's the best detail.
Online suggests lo: vin'gar, as in tour
He tells me 'gain how to craft saurkraut--do
That later, mebbe? Sparrows gaily stir
A happy sense where milder temps now woo,
Like Summer's not far off. Come, come, what were
We thinking? LORD, restore us: we wait You.

11Mar25b

....it disappeared, I guess.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXI)


Roll "chauv'nist" oer yer tongue to savour frail
Who knows what, as you know just why fr'intents
She said what she did when exchanging thence
Our "Happy New Year's" greetings, that detail
Mine to keep safe where nothing could avail
The happy thought I'd watch the year turn hence
In style to next, the drama sans defense
What tricks out all we knew as what'd derail.
No time to scribble, no time 'lone as t'were,
Nor cuz it should be, just because.  We two
Held down the fort and had a ball in tour
Despite aught else contrariwise, and knew
E'en fun, I half suspect, at that.  Bestir
Thy mercies, LORD, new ev'ry morning too.

01Jan25a

Ha, you weren't really wondering, now, were you?


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCLXXVIII)


A headache nags for lack of coffee hence,
Is that? Or fer the sun? My breakfast's tale
But finished by mere halves, nor lunch' detail
Worth aught til's done, how skies are blue, a sense
I canna pin down in that pure note, thence
Quite out of words cuz wherefore? Naught'd avail
Yet what else do I need 'cept sleep? Derail
That for my crazy schedule, and pretense.
Clouds which would sail like huge battalions through
These freighted seas are gone. The snow which'd tour
On schedule but a jest as March first to
Be certain is quite chilly yet as t'were
Not adding feathers to ole Winter. Stir
Hope in these warming hours, oh LORD, of You.

01Mar25a

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




(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCLXVI)


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

24Jan19b

...don't look at me.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCXIII)


Too many years ago the talk to scale
Of "cell phones" owned but Blackb'rrys for intents,
And was a dream of yonder not all thence
Could realize, where the "cold war" swore the trail
To any future would be sans aught bail
'Cept freedom was derailed, the "commies" hence
Keen spies who'd access to our land lines, whence
The talk was of which speeches to avail?
They killed off Kenn'dy cuz he swore in tour
To tell us all, yea, ****** McCarthy too.
But that was 'fore my time. Now all that's poor,
I'll post online, to find me barred sans cue
Cuz wherefore, eh? Go "clear yer cache"?! We were
Such fools to cast off fears. LORD, I'll wait You.

15Mar25c

Mayhap, ridiculously.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXC)


Patchouli-scented goat's milk lotion dense
With that dear fragrance as I 'non avail
Me of a steamy, huge Italian' scale
Of soup mugs, full of lo, beef ramen, scents
Aught til I half expect to taste mair hence
Than just the ramen. Mouth with that detail
Full, how lo, my companion'd shortly hail
Patchouli likewise with a query thence.
Explain my paws were dry, wherefore as t'were
I used a lotion from years 'go whose cue
Was Daddy's fave scent but I don't know fer
All that why we're imbibing it, like to
Effect for lunch.  Oh well, eat up in tour
And don't do that again. Too funny too?

15Jan25b

...I'm all mixt up, am I?!



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCXXXI)


Sweet blue skies with soft gilded clouds t'avail,
Red Maples' baby leaves now flutter hence
So lightly, and how dandelions thence
With sunny yellow heads dot green lawns' trail
To yonder as songs flit and call like bail
From every bush, tree, covert, nook, a sense
Of all we cherished in that note, no scents
Of pine, fresh grass nor clover to inhale.
But how the lake now ripples as winds stir
Across its face, the sparrows gaily too
'Non calling as geese rest. If plovers cure
Night's blackness, how frogs chorus through
The welcome touch of chill. And Shakespeare, poor
As subterfuge, remains cloaked. What is new?

23Apr25e

He's my peer, too sigh



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXXXV)


Of handsome men whose cars have died sans bail,
Let us now not enquire; the naughty sense
We'd flirt leave quite asleep, for's sans defense.
Swear I am old and blind nor could avail
Me, if I even had a chance. Detail
What, after that? I'm only fifty, whence
No chances could exist; tis cruel pretense
To cast one's eyes upon fair beauty's trail.
Besides, imagine if you were his: stir
Hope when he's driving that?! Don't ask me to
Be sens'ble in the face of that.  Tis poor
To mention aught for hope's not here.  Pass through;
Let him be friendly, and dream as it were
Of life without.  Redeem me, LORD, won't You?

12Jan25b

...you know?


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCIV)


The card'nal's voice from naked trees I thence
Reply to in his style, like that detail
Of courtship is a game? How plovers hail
Now after dark, keen mem'ries of Mum hence
In tow, cuz that's when I saw them fr'intents,
On her last walk with me, like that t'avail
Is no more from lo, Col'rado, the trail
To yonder is't? within their call for sense?
As if they call unto my soul in tour,
Oh LORD, I hear, yet what's anon to do?
My brother texts 'bout tuna salad--her
Um rec'pe, and we realize thereby too
That she ne'er wrote it down. Remember fer
Him, and he says it sounds right, LORD, of You.

12Mar25c

please oh LORD, have mercy on me and forgive me all my sins--I don't know what I've done.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXIV)


What happened to the home I knew fr'intents?
Why do these fam'lies which are strict, in pale
Excuse have naughty kids? Is't Shakespeare's frail
And mocking answer I use in defense?!
"Do ye with fortune chide, the guilty [thence
Erm,] goddess of my harmful deeds--" I hail
Necess'ty for what 'zactly in betrayl?
Is aught we'd answer but a feigned pretense?
I swear I've been a good girl, mean in poor
'Scuse that I'm still a ******, yet stalk through
The world in tall boots.  Is that naughty?! Sure,
Mum looked grieved at which feature one night? Do
These--? Or what is't twould **** me as it were
Despite my good intents?  Don't swear I knew.

15Feb19d

...how I miss all we erst knew.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXXXVII)


Ask, while the kettle boils wherefore, in pale
'Scuse, brew morn's *** of tea again?  And thence,
As whitish tendrils waft up, up--why hence
Jot down the soothing dance of steam's detail?
If tis yet worth the effort in betrayl?
This cuppa I have yearned to sip, defense
Enow when oh, my fainting heart's suspense
Cried for its bracing note likeas'd avail?
Tis gone ere I've a chance to notice fer
All that the minute to half breathe anew.
Work nags and tugs upon my sleeve as twere,
While "conversation" drives aught peace unto
Another planet, til all I'd bestir,
Held in dawn's cuppa, is not.  Ah, what's new?

18Mar19