...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

...am I?!



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXXXIX)


Tis faintly golden on these fields white'd trail
Across til nothing's left but snow, as hence
Beethoven's ninth expresses that vague sense
We feel within our veins despite the tale
Of grandeur known as bunch, as if t'avail
Is naught before the face of what, fr'intents?
Say that we ARE, with an expectance thence
Beguiled and foiled, til hope seems far too frail.
I'd planned on Tuesday, but no, that was poor.
Called, and the scoundrels pleaded off, yet knew
Again, what eh?I was too busy fer
Whatever, so today? Why does e'il cue?
It's not my dolls I'm setting up in tour
For photos, it's just me.  Save me, won't You?

15Jan25a

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMIII)


Why do the Colorado prairies hail
When I think of "Thanksgiving Day" for sense?
Did life stop there, more than how many dense
Brief years 'go? thirty eight since that detail?
My photographic mind snapped all t'avail,
And shelved it 'gainst which future day fr'intents?
I wanted wine, though but a child, pretense
What drew up visions like more could own bail.
If now I'd rather work cuz all's lost to
The dogs and ravages of time, is't poor?
I've nothing left to cling to, as it were,
Except the Scriptures. Aught we ere then knew,
Like childhood, is long gone. Steak now in tour,
And deserts I ne'er dreamed of-- I'll seek You.

29Nov24b

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

...yet wherefore?!

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCVII)


Forget to watch the shadows as they trail
Across this sun-washed view, as if fr'intents
Too charmed with life, the page turned in a sense
Back,...or is't forward? Caught in which detail?
How can I know? Chagrined to find I fail
At all, or so it seems, resort to...whence?
Dost Thou, oh LORD, give me to see? For hence
Reminded oer and oer how I'd avail?!
I never was a grand soul, only her
Whom Thou wouldst ransom, all I have of You;
I'm but forgiv'n anon, and failing, poor
As all my protests and best efforts to
Be better than I am. Back here, bestir
In me to do Thy will, LORD, as I'd do.

13Mar25c
--By Dand

and you said:  "I hope you like chocolate."



(sonnet  #MMMMMMCCCLI)


I've not had choclate, nor a taste, in pale
Excuse, for that in days, perhaps cuz hence
You called yourself that, and my hunger thence
Was only for whom stole aught else, t'avail
Me of:  just you.  And oh! how that detail
In lieu of packaged squares, eats me and sense
Out of both home and hearth, ne crumb to fence
The **** is't? yet smudges in betrayl.
Oh, Adrian!  There I must leave off.  Were--
What?  Savour ah, minutest crumbs, roll too
Across your tongue that darkest morsel your
Soul yields itself up to, and ah, foil to
Glint, crinkle, tease, nor but in silver tour
Hold lo, exquisite heights:  what's I love you?

17May17a

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

I dunno.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXXXVIII)


Want danish for a month, to fin'lly thence
Indulge with fresh brewed coffee, aught detail
Likeas a gift to thank Thee for, LORD. Hale
Sweet golden light sifts through with half a sense
Of better days long since forgottn as hence
The fire department checks th'alarms, t'avail
Ostens'bly, yet's but piercing torture; frail
As all good claims of aught, tis sheer pretense.
No sleeping in on my day off, is't poor?
This cold which nags is. Refried beans craft through
The hours where I'm fatigued til ev'ning cure
Is't day of work? I don't know what to do,
LORD, save me please, won't You? Aught I bestir
Does not redeem me. Let me wait on You.

14Jan25

Reference Elizabeth Barrett Browning's Sonnets from the Portuguese.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXXV)


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

04Jul17a

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

Wonder which of my favourite kites I am?



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCLV)


Read antique sonnets, yet don't hear them, frail
As voicing David Grey oer coffee thence
Is, lost to western beaches' surf from hence
And which I almost listen to in pale
Excuse, while Illinois' blue skies detail
These moors and wasted prairies winds pass whence
I canna say oer, whispers in a sense
Where Or'gon's ist? tore up auld trees to scale.
Our houses wink to golden light as twere,
Whiles Andrew's feel the hurr'cane damage to
Effect.  Suppose I don't know what I stir
In asking, he swears I shan't know 'til through
What ist? the ache's root we unearth in tour:
All.  And I love each minute lost to you.

09Apr17a

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

I am.  So there.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLIX)


What? as firs whisper hoarsely to th'exhale,
Winds howling down the chimney, sirens thence
Lo, chasing which or whom on Sunday?  Dense
Cloud racks are peach, grey-blue in tow, the pale
Eye of these empty hours with what detail
I feel now in my bones?  Don't ask me whence.
"*** off yer soapbox."  Silence culling sense
Unto the 'fore as I'd talk, where is bail?
She'd post th'espresso break with this note fer
That: "necessary." I said yes, I knew.
Post Raisin Bran for breakfast...I had two.
Ne fancy artwork on milk's foam in tour,
I'd savour that, and feel the boxes'd stir
My lecture 'til he...walked away.  What's new?

10Mar19a

I do.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCXIV)


Where dawn is not, for rain whose last detail
Is threat'ning snow, grind coffee like erst, whence
Fresh Thompson's Irish Tea in lo, what thence?:
A well-worn Barry's mug, and joe t'avail,
Both with a dash of half-n-half to scale,
How snow late fills the air with white for sense,
As forecast, and I dearly hope from hence
That March swears off such blankets and owns bail.
A blackbird wanders nigh til, how in tour
The plover cries. Geese next, he calls 'gain to
Distract me, and by afternoon tis pure
Spring wetness all 'round. Puddles blankly view
Whate'er is nigh and naught else seems astir.
I put the Scriptures on...LORD, save us too.

16Mar25a

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


(sonnet #MMMMMMDCXCV)


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

14Oct17c

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

Seriously, I don't know what is true.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXLIX)


While courtship has a flavour we'd avail
Ourselves of...ever, is't a hallmark thence
Of fond affection that he tells her hence,
And ever:  "you're not good enough"?!  Ne bail.
Go butter up wi' compliments to scale,
Then tear her down to less than nothing, whence
She is not...cuz you love her?!  THAT's good sense?
That's how ye cherish her, in sheer betrayl?
I do not understand.  Nor do I, fer
All that, believe aught flattry, though I rue
Its cruel effect.  Yet if I'm weary, poor
As thinking I have any say, of to
Whatever cause this "you're not good 'nough!"--stir
Thin hopes love might exist, that statement's...true.

04Apr19b

Shaken in a real sense by L.E.L. ie Letitia Elizabeth Landon/Mrs. Mclean's fate:  immensely popular



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXIV)


I'd boyfriends, even kissed until that sense
Of ecstasy was buried sans avail
With gradeschool's innocence, but never'd scale
The actual height of love 'til Nigel thence
Took me in hand to teach my soul from whence
It sprung, though all in vain; where TyKlee'd hail
Me at my mother's tomb to steal in frail
Excuse my shattered heart betrayed fr'intents.
And now that Les taught me French kissing fer
Sheer moments of keen passion, none yet "knew"
Lo, me:  I'm still a ******.  Thieves in tour
Stole off, what? bits and pieces.  Naught e'er woo
But they are false, yea, scoundrels.  Love is poor.
I, as a violet, fade with silver dew.

11Mar19d

...whence?  I know, I know, you've the florist's packet of preservative mixt for your cut flowrs don't you?  Good luck.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXV)


Lo, tulip capes so thickly clustered they'll
Ne'er blossom, like sardines is it from hence?
Wait greenly by the back stoop for a sense
Of April in the wings.  And jonquils' hale
Green tendrils wait likewise for that detail
I guess, as maids whose innocent suspense
We fail to notice, full of vain pretense'
Auld lies as if such might at last avail.
Girls have been known as flowrs, since oh, in tour
God's Scriptures told us that, I spose.  Aye, do
Men ink laments of this or that as twere
It's thus:  "...her virgins, pure, deflowrd--" they knew.
These latter days we are taught lies, (in poor
'Scuse know by instinct) and cut flowrs down too.

29Mar19a

As we very reluctantly parted, he queried whether he was just another of my whims.  Ignorantly, I replied I guessed so, provided we never saw each other again.  Erm.  Months later the fire is still burning brightly in the absence of any good reason.  Interesting eh?  Needing a topic as usual, and weary of nature tributes (hahaha, can you believe it?!) I tackled this beloved thread, writing it in the present tense as if from our first days then altering to the present in the second (linked) sonnet.



(sonnet #'s CCCCXLVIII, CCCCXLIX)


You play my heartstrings like a puppeteer
Methinks.  Quite deftly pluck and gently twang
To immelod'ous strains whilst I half hang
'Twixt hope and fear, life's balance near
Precar'ous in that cur'ous dance.  By mere
Sweet words or grim I'm tossed, a boomerang
That can't be lost to you though ev'ry pang
Estranges reason in this game too dear.
All yours because those unseen chords have caught
My heart that like a harp you seem to use,
As sans my will, in strumming half distraught
Or with such ecstasies, howe'er you choose
You ply, in your winds varied whims 'non fraught,
This hapless leaf.  To what end?  Just t'amuse?

# II

To what end?  Just t'amuse, we tried romance?
Who fell in love?  I did.  Did you?  In vain?
Oh, why'd we play that game?  What now remains?
Behold:  a live coal, frosted black, whose stance
Seems quite the opposite; wherein the dance
Of Love's hot passion plays anon, aye reigns
Sans you, and any reason.  Its refrain
Nigh hopeless, sings your name where none supplants.
Because you knew it would.  You told me so.
And while I scoffed, that's how it goes, I see.
Who ******* that hopeful thread, oh sweetness Beau?
'Twas "love at first sight," a rare golden key.
That never quite died but e'er seems to glow.
At least that's how it 'pears in Love's debris.

08Jan12
D67a,b

I'd show you the black and white photographs of this allegedly cherubic 1 yr-old....



(sonnet #MMMMMCMXC)


Oh me!  How diamonds sparkle in th'exhale
As winds flirt on the lake's clear *****, whence
Blue skies thus mirrored  as erst wont, a sense
Of what? half wrestles in me on that scale
Cuz why aren't we together now, to hail
This bounty in each other's arms?  Leaves thence
All whispring as their boughs rock, yellow hence
Mocks joy as I see Mum in sheer betrayl.
We used to walk down to the valley, tour
The yard lost in whatever, and I knew
Our time was short.  But I don't weep for her
Today as yet, cuz who's distracted to
Effect is also quite obliv'ous.  Poor
As saying is:  I could wish you were here too.

23Oct16b

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

Haha,



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXXXIII)


Of leprechauns and clover, yes...t'avail
I've neither, am in green to match fr'intents
Mine hazel eyes, and how blue heavns wear thence
Such fresh-washed golden light in sweet all hail
O me!  I'd feign go down which wooded trail
To hunt the early violets?  Mushrooms dense
Wi' import are sought out and sold for sense
Or lurid dreams, but I want that detail.
Wee white-striped, purple faces none bestir
'Cept wildest breezes, whitest virgins too,
With purple stripes across their miens in tour--
I'd love to bend and finger them anew!
Sip twa espressos, joking of, in poor
'Scuse, "faux" things we oft cherish, as all woo.

17Mar19a

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

It's interesting being argued with to your face regarding getting your work on the market and published.  They are too kindly in my local poetry group at the library.



(sonnet #MMMMMCMXLIX)


La, to my face, ere from a distance' pale
Voice bits and bytes denote, some worry hence
I'll be like mousy Dickinson, as whence
They urge me publish these fraught lines' detail,
Lest after Death seals that font in betrayl,
What **! but shall these perish sans defense?!
Come, let us now observe a winking sense
Of hallowed silence, shall we?  Have I bail?
Where Shakespeare trusted he'd be loved ah, fer
Was that until this earth be done? He knew
Him cherished face to face.  Besides, in poor
'Scuse we but parse his lines or lisp the crew
Of them sans knowing Will.  I'm not loved.  You're
Appreci'tive, and my loves:  I  love y'all too.

05Oct16

...I lose.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXXX)


Lo:  men.  Do NOT tell him, "I don't care hence
About you--" for whatever cause.  In pale
Excuse it's back on track and we're to scale
What, eh?  Forget the little things fr'intents:
Th'espressos Dad enjoyed with me; that sense
Of ah, delicious rain! The sweet detail
Of coffee with a dear friend--you prevail.
It does not matter what I try.  Now whence?
I messaged YOU on Instagram.  What fer?!
I'd comment on YOUR YouTube vids, and too,
Left one on Twitter.  YOU ignore all, poor
As trying to uh, communicate with YOU.
It's face to face:  that's all.  YOU win.  Ya, stir
Me to those "nutty smiles" oer...YOU.  What's...new?

02May19b

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

No, we certainly shall not.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXXXVII)


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

10Jul17a

M'hm.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXXXIII)


Night sifts through sans aught fanfare til the frail
Light yields to gloaming, where I'm busied thence
In shuffling site to site, with no time hence
To spare, for all I'm scheduled, maps sans bail
Confusing me til I am late; then which detail?
How Cynth'ya calls when I can't pick up, whence
Spin off the weary hours in sweet talk, sense
Half unaware time's passing, like'd avail.
Oh! how Thy mercies, LORD, prevail in tour,
For I could not have done aught sans Thee, Who
Has kept and keeps us ever. Back home, stir
Hot cocoa up for our dessert, cuz betime to
Effect seems better with warm milk as t'were,
And let us praise Thee 'lone, oh LORD, as due.

11Jan25b

Meow?

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXII)


Come 'gain?! How Robert would surprise me, whence?
We hang out and he tells me in betrayl
Of his most recent girlfriend, whose detail
Yes, of divorce, at last comes out for sense;
And I'm disgusted with her rudeness, thence
To laugh, yet lo, remind him I'd ne'er hail
Him thus: she's like a Hallmark lover, frail
As lying and using him, like she'd defense.
Then off to bed with me cuz third shift's tour
Of duty needs more rest, so that will do.
He teases that he'll marry me, but's poor.
I know now we're just friends.  Naught else is true.
Did she know of me? YES. But, what? For her
He bent oer backwards. Not my style. None woo.

04Dec24b

...he asked to see this...like he so often does.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMCCCXIII)


O how mists clothe the valley like a veil
Which swallows aught in dawn's first light! trees hence
Peer vaguely through that ghostly whiteness, whence
My soul thrills to its haunting touch' detail
In waking; nary voice to stir, winds stale
As Maple leaves hang limply in suspense
Mair keen cuz yonder is quite buried, dense
Naught owns an eye we feel in sheer betrayl.
Did I search out the distant hours as twere,
Or grapple for a vision past this view,
We cannot but acknowledge, lo in tour
Tis hid from our mair "owly eyes" anew.
Fog on the heels of night as darkness stir
To light's tread, how I long anon for YOU.

03Aug18a

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

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMDXLII)  


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

06Aug17b

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

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


(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCXCVIII)


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

15Jul17a

Or what?  



(sonnet #MMMMMMCMXXXIV)


White answers on all sides as twere, til hence
My purple kilt and pink checked skirt's detail
Look just as wont for Winter:  what'd avail
This bleaker lack of colour we feel thence
Within our very bones, or as fr'intents
The Boden slogan was in sheer betrayl,
An ex'llent motto "squeeze the day!"  Light pale
With more snow in the wings, shall we ask whence?
Come, how soup's warming on the stove as fer
All that the grinder's voice means flour anew
For biscuits.  Where did darker colours' tour
Become too deep of late?  Why does that hue
Seem dismal is't?  Do I want Spring to stir
More than I realize that soft shades 'non woo?

08Feb18c

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


(sonnet # MMMMMMDCLXVI)


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

02Oct17a

...for love.
(sonnet #MMMMMDXXXIX)


He jested that he'd write a book whose tale
Was "I forgot to cry" as twas mine thence
For his love drying the endless tears' vain sense
Oer losing Mum, my best friend, and prevail
As bashert where I've never known to hail
Aught soulmate; loved me more than life, to fence
The twinkling hours with him in sheer defense,
And aye, eclipsed my grief oer her, t'avail.
Thus where Death called his lease, or ours as twere,
His last speech mine, he prayed another'd do
That for his Baby.  Yet aught else is poor.
I weep sans comfort, maddened while I rue
Whatever sin brought our demise, or fer
What took his life.  Cuz I'll e'er love him too.

22Mar16b
He said in closing [giving his full name]that he is mine affectionately forever in love for eternity.

Kick me?  Kiss me.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCLIII)


As greyish twilight's pink clouds on the pale
East haunt lo, the first note of dawn, blue thence
Mair ghostly oh!  I think "how calm tis hence--"
Like ninety-mile winds had been here, the frail
Peace breathless nor but waiting to avail.
And where the golden shafts draw fir trees' dense
Forms on dead houses' silence, know that sense
Is odd, cuz our electric'ty ne'er went stale.
Oh Andrew!  My heart's on the West coast, poor
Though just friends augurs, where th'uprooted crew
Of ancient trees and battered houses that your
Eyes know too keenly mar the waking view.
And your heart grieves to note all, whiles mine fer
Just having you okay, gives thanks oer you.

08Apr17a

"...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

I am certain they DID bury me with Mum.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCLXXVI)

Memor'al weekend's here, and summer thence
In tow as wont:  my stockings in betrayl
Hang limply, needing to be washed, and stale
Cuz warmth is now a constant, with those scents
I had forgot:  that sour note haunting sense,
As to perspire is what we'll do sans bail
The next four months, erm straight, t'exhale
Nor think of sweaters, chill our sweet defense.
Watch golden shafts, while Maple leaves half stir
To fragile whispers, tricking shadows to
Shift vaguely 'cross grass' carpet, skies deep blue
And moody, clouds mair grey, light ghastly, poor
As listning to the kitchen sounds in tour,
The music gone, how static mocks which cue?

26May18b

Yes?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCI)


What is't about the train's voice, that th'all hail
Um, piques my soul, which harks unto its dense
Low rumble like tis...what?  O dear suspense!
How "nibelung" half winks at me in hale
Dawn's golden warmth as if it knows in pale
Excuse my name, like these elf ears I've thence
Had from conception argue in a sense
Now with my height, while mists haunt with their veil.
I'd feign lose me in fog's embrace as twere;
Go wandring like I canna see unto
The fairer realms beyond is't?  Silver dew.
I cherish its sheer blanket waiting fer
Heavn's burning glance, a violet none bestir,
Hid in the darker shadows trains pass through.

22Mar19a

You are allowed to be disgusted and denounce these early hours.  


(sonnet #MMMMMCMLXXXII)


Let's talk of scarlet vines which boldly trail
Across this wasteland yellows own from hence,
Orange like a note what'd gaily trim the sense
Of changing leaves, where purple winks in frail
Touch deep maroon knows best, while blues detail
Tinged with ist lavendar?  Green maples thence
On fire that slowly burns their staid pretense,
Ah me, still let us talk of scarlet's tale.
I can do nothing right.  The weekend, fer
Aught hope of dating's here, and I shall do
Time like I dinna care, cuz in a poor
Excuse I'm hard to get.  Swoon over who
Does not but tease whileas he cares, and you're
All wiser.  Shaun.  Why wake me?  I liked you.

21Oct16c

Yep, I'm pretty certain that's what it is.



(sonnet # MMMMMMMMMLXXX)


Snow, likeas Winter knows to dish out, whence
With dread go forth, Thy mercies all t'avail
I know, the "white stuff" crunching subtly, trail
With ice below, and that keen silence hence,
We are alone, yet not, the lonely path fr'intents
By fellow trav'lers littered, aught detail
Lost to this purest white, afraid t'inhale,
Yet trusting in Thee, LORD, all our defense.
The hol'days oer til next month, eggnog's tour
Long since, unless I craft some, what's to do?
Where movies used to trick the hours as twere
Out of their substance, hanging out anew
Is nicer. I post, nap, or work. Bestir
Us to sing Thy praise, LORD, as we wait You.

10Jan25a

"...minutes hasten to their close"



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXXIX)


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

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

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCDLII)


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

11Oct18b

...I spose you musta appreciated that.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXXIII)


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

03Jul17d

(if not worse)



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLV)


How shadows sweep across the corn in pale
Grey silence, swathes of golden warmth from hence
Askance, whileas tree clusters dimly thence
Wait.  Crows ist? like unto torpedoes scale
Descent, wings folded; cloud battalions, hale
In fluffy white, amass with half a sense
Of what's in tow.  And June for all intents
Wears age as if twas naught in each detail.
Another week yet, firewerks wink as twere
Now, cuz I had to play the fool and do
What my friends thought sae good.  Suppose twas poor,
We shall say it worked out, shall we?  Nah, to
Effect Joe was too nice.  Yet I maunt fer
All that be satisfied.  We'll swear I knew?

27Jun17a

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMDIV)


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

17Jul17b

(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