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Jenny Gordon Mar 2019
"...because their deeds were evil."


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXVIII)


Lo, coffee just ere dinner, talking thence
Of I forget what now, and that detail
In passing of yes, "him" I in betrayl
Still have a crush on--what is real? and, whence?
So, pull up Instagram, to close it hence--
To find me snookered past erm, midnight, frail
As aught excuse, and O! Thy Scriptures hail
Me til I'd rather hear Thee, LORD, for sense.
What have I done, that lies cavort in tour
And feign they've substance like the Serpent too
Long ere used to thus ****** in truth her
That he deceived, and Adam?  What is new?
Thy mercies every morning.  Save me, poor
As asking from these lies' morass, won't You?

29Mar19d
"And this is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil." (Jn 3:19)
Jenny Gordon Mar 2019
Hint:  see his sonnet on his second wife Catherine, specifically the line--"...vested all in white--"



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXVII)


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

17Feb19a
"...all in white---" has such a sanctified sense, doesn't it?  I've wisht countless times to amend the text notes on that reference since even David M. Mains failed to realize whence Milton culled that idea.
Jenny Gordon Jan 19
(tongue in cheek)


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXXIV)


As if to freeze maunt thus suffice, what hence?!
Work in an office where all boast in frail
Excuse of fevers, and food pois'ning! They'll
Trade ghastly stories til I cringe from thence
Whilst trying to feign I don't give for intents
A hoot for that contagion, like'd avail
To be aloof or play the nurse' detail,
Cuz after all, my dear, what's not pretense?
Grab for my "lunch" oernight what turns out fer
All that to be...so green with mold t'won't do
But for the trash. Did I, like, take as t'were
The wrong turn somewhere back?!  Tell me's not true.
Yet wherefore does aught seem amiss? Bestir
Hope in the LORD our refuge: save us too!

08Jan25b
An MD explained years ago that what's commonly called the "flu" is actually food poisoning. It's fairly trendy lately. [Highly contagious, too.]
Jenny Gordon Mar 2018
...that is invisible.



(sonnet #MMMMMMXII)


So...we'll feign's not sae bitter as snow thence
Is gone with yesterday and skies t'avail
Are softly blue, like April waltzes, hale
Green nubbins of both tulips and ah hence
What Wordsworth knew as jonquils was't? now fence
These warmly golden hours with hopes' detail.
For daffodils' bright yellow shall soon hail
Again and purple violets wink fr'intents.
I do not long for summer's heat girls stir
Blog posts and comment for, because they do.
Yet O!  to wander in the shadows fer
Sweet ****** white-and-purple violets dew
Half lingers on in silver droplets were
What I could gasp to own 'til I see You.

14Mar13a
Yes, it's...March after all.  What's left to say?
Jenny Gordon Jul 2016
Don't ask me.



(sonnet #MMMMMDCCXCIV)


Not mine.  As if a stranger passing thence
From who-knows-where to whither, aught detail
Is like the accents you'll set to avail
Along with artwork for that ***** sense,
Just items in a world that's lost from hence
Its varnish.  His bare room decked on that scale
With table, chairs and knick-knacks, in betrayl
Wood toilet seat's in pieces for pretense.
Tis naked.  Yes, he's glad to see me fer
Old times--"Erm [smiling] what's your name 'gain?  You--
You're so familiar--"  I laugh, to assure
Him's fine, aye tease him.  Yet why does th'ado,
Though fun as ever, strip the dream as twere
Of all its trappings?  Robt, I love you too.

23Jul16c
This is the section where I elucidate is it?  Sorry.  Or wait...never underestimate the fuel every stinkin' bit of life provides when I is a sonneteer.  Haha.
Jenny Gordon Nov 2018
Yes, you can laugh in my face.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDII)


So Hollywood makes films of books, and hence
The De'il Wears Prada, or somesuch detail,
That purse I found at erm, Goodwill in pale
Excuse the thing itself, I guess.  Good sense
And taste, what Vogue swears by, oh sweet pretense!
It's leather, red and black with accents they'll
Approve of--buckles, rivets is't? t'avail
Hauteur in proper style.  Don't ask me whence.
I do not dress like some old frump as twere
Nor paint my face, although my nails would do
Some good if I could find some polish fer
Them.  It's a lie decked out as if's not true.
Yes, true.  But we put Trump in cuz it's poor
Nay, worse than poor:  cuz they are devils.  You?

08Nov18b
Vogue magazine...the article on Emily Blunt found me securely lost at long last in that famous movie.  Kick me for being too pinked with this review of the same...though penned at such a late hour you can criticize it for--??
Jenny Gordon Nov 2018
...past my waist as her-- "to my foot's glee--"



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDVIII)


I wanted coffee, with auld sonnets thence
As erst wont, Missus Browning's sweet detail
From lo, "the Portuguese," as I sipped stale
Last ounces from four nights 'go like's good sense,
With mair than I'd known ere for all intents,
And laden praps as Roscoe was't? thought, frail
Erm, as my seeing more clearly to avail
Just how much we've in common is't? from hence.
One friend some years back said I'd be as her--
Was't cuz I begged for romance? or through
These diary pages shewed I had as twere
That lonely life Miss Barrett ere me knew?
Where now, since losing Mum I feel in poor
'Scuse kinship like my friend claimed, sold to YOU?

09Nov18d
Okay, so pick me to pieces, especially cuz I have this thing for laying me out naked on the page and then thinking that's too cute.
Jenny Gordon Nov 2018
Um, so...?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDVII)


Say coffee, no, dark choclate whose pretense
Falls short of that, or lo, a cuppa they'll
Assure you is quite good for health, t'avail
Dad's late exper'ments--coc'nut oil dropped thence
In favour of now Hershey's cocoa--whence
I sip half wondring at the ***** scale
Of "coffee," swirling sludge 'til that detail
Unmasks this "Special Dark" hot choclate hence.
And all he'd brew me ere is not sae poor
Now I am forty, as put off in lieu
As twere of, well, concoctions in grand tour
Mayhap of more than just good coffee.  Who
Shall say but that is...better?!  O what were
You thinking, Girl, when you spelled out what'd do?

10Nov18b
Ya, kick me to Timbuktu.
Jenny Gordon May 2019
Well, in discussions since, I'm torn only because I cherish socializing, though I abhor the city.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMLXXII)


Out where twa rivers meet, or rather thence
Lo, at the top of that peninsla's tail,
In Calhoun County where farm houses hail
At scattered intervals, with half a sense
Of sheer depression hard in tow fr'intents,
They show me where folk lived sans plumbing's scale
As twere of "civ'lized," cell phone service frail,
Point out the pump:  an outhouse their defense.
I ask how long they lived thus, and that's poor,
Cuz "all their lives!" (the answer) sez what? to
Me in effect?  I canna say.  We tour
Their property by A.T.V., the view
Romantic in its backwoods' fashion.  Were
I thinking what, that all half seems tae woo?

18May19d
The mental image which culled this particular title was jesters' silky clown suit divided by two opposing colours....like purple and yellow or something.
Jenny Gordon Apr 2019
[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
Oh, but to his credit, he kept telling me it was all about "choice," and "freedom,"--men like to say the opposite of what they mean, don't they?
Jenny Gordon Feb 2019
...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
*NOTE:  as ever "You" signifies the LORD.
Jenny Gordon Oct 2024
I only let my trainee use the computer--did I unconsciously lean too much on the desk?

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXV)


Say "road construction" nice and slow, til sense
Wakes up to realize "parked" upon the trail
To yonder is no jest at all. Avail
Me of the wilder flowrs as we sit thence
Upon the highway, driving some pretense
Stoked by whom thought it meant to travel. Frail
As aught excuse, I find no means of bail.
And "late to work" revives its image. Whence?
Have baby back pork ribs, pork egg rolls too
For lunch, and breakfast's omelet'd languish, poor
Though aught reply cuz, hunger sated, were
There else to eat, a spinach smoothie'd do
For in between, as I'm mixt up. Stir
Thyself and oh return, LORD. We wait You.

12Oct24a
What I'd like to know is why on earth every single road I need to take is under construction?
Jenny Gordon Mar 2019
...but feel free to pelt me with rotten eggs.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXX)


It's been an awful week for all I'd thence
Tried extra hard to be mair wise.  In pale
Excuse I make mistakes each day and fail
At evrything.  To play the ther'pist hence
And make myself recite in sheer defense
The bald facts I threw out, ignored to scale,
Nor but let folly triumph oer, t'avail
Me, did no good it seems, "wise" was pretense.
He never cared that I exist, I'm sure,
Though I could prove he did and does still too.
Twas all a lie he liked me, but in poor
'Scuse my heart swears he did.  I know's not true.
So I trip oer my feet, distracted fer
No reason, cuz I "like" whom 'gain?...quite blue.

30Mar19b

"All this have I proved by wisdom: I said, I will be wise; but it was far from me." (Ecc 7:23)
So, like I said, laugh at me.
Jenny Gordon Mar 19
...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
Well, I don't. His political sonnets were too dry, or something.
Jenny Gordon Mar 2019
...?  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
So, lean back and guffaw at me, I guess.  Laughter's the best medicine they swear.
Jenny Gordon Apr 2019
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
How about I let you scribble your notes down in this part?  On second thought, let's just pretend we never read it all.
Jenny Gordon Nov 2024
...I asked when I ordered.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMLXVII)


Geese wander in the wheelchair parking, hale
Late morning golden with a teasing sense
Of yonder, where now Starbucks' menu's dense
With all our fav'rites: peppermint's detail
What I've missed since last Winter, like t'avail
Me signifies the weather I feared? Whence?
If I'm bewildered, Thou, LORD, art defense
Enow. The day off I'd requested...bail?
Is't either work yourself to death as t'were
By hours both day and night, or scramble to
Make ends meet cuz you've time to rest up, poor
As need for some recov'ry?! What'd I do?!
Behold, LORD, my confusion. Oh, bestir
Thy mercies as of old. Save me, won't You?

07Nov24a
My favorite Starbucks cup for this season is red anyway.
Jenny Gordon Feb 2019
[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
L's 3-4: when one lady is short of breath for walking, what's with being the **** and not offering to get her car for her?????  No, instead just be all cozy with her friend and then bewildered when the same friend won't kiss you. O, there's MORE to my assessment than just that incident; let that suffice, however.
Jenny Gordon Mar 2016
(sonnet #MMMMMCCCLXXXV)


Reft from this earth as Drummond wrote, and hence
Where Missus Browning talked and oft'd bewail
Her own sweet mother's absence, that detail
Of their grief is mine in the keenest sense,
With hours thet drag on tward their vain pretense
I never realized ere.  Nor have I bail
'Cept in the Word of God, to groan in pale
Excuse where Mum can't hear nor solace thence.
Yes, be strong.  Say you're happy for lo, her.
And I feel like a china doll, as who
One rough push shall quite shatter, whiles in poor
Attempts I run cuz we maunt stop, who knew
This is not life, nor here.  Christ is all.  Were
It what?  I pray, but stumble over you.

12Jan16b
--I, I...ya.
Jenny Gordon Mar 2019
You know whence that statement is, don't you?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXXVIII)


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

15Mar19e
Sorry, I'm depressed.  But wasting too many hours a week ago on typing up a selection of my work I'd been thinking and wanting to post for the past month was a miserable chore not worth the effort.  I finally buckled and decided that IF I'm gonna post, I should do it daily....if I can.
Jenny Gordon Jan 2019
cough, cough*  



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCLIII)


Yes, I woke after one, as if t'avail
Myself of sleep ere tucking up has sense,
To find that notion snowplows were fr'intents
Upon the prowl in grinding form to scale
Long ere a Friday evning was past bail
Quite true, as snow filled that lone light's beams thence
With whiter mists, a blanket none could hence
Pierce on the blacker world in sheer betrayl.
If rolling phrases 'cross one's tongue in tour
Is grand, choice words the key 'fore their debut
On lo, this wrinkled notebook page, what were
They as I slipped into my nightie?  To
Effect:  "snow AFTER midnight--".  None too poor,
I spose.  And how winds craft dunes 'cross the view.

19Jan19a
Sorry for the poor quality of my latest posts:  it's a new year.  Lo, and behold, my writing, topics are shoddy and not worth a perusal.  Mebbe some better day will show its face?  Who knows?
Jenny Gordon Aug 2017
Composed while I worked, it is choppier than my mental version, sadly.  (My pet desire...)



(sonnet #MCMLXIX)


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

11Feb13a
*sigh* IF by some wild chance ALL my work ever is published and some soul takes the time to read all, repetition will doubtless smack him, but then again, you kin choose favourites, right?  No?  Here, have some popcorn and just laugh.
Jenny Gordon Mar 2019
Nope.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXCVI)


I lick my finger slowly, with a sense
In closing as of stealing frosting, pale
As aught compare, th'espresso's foam detail
Tinged subtly with milk's sweetness for intents,
Like that finale suited for it hence,
The rainy blacktop half dried in betrayl,
While minutes tiptoe by on wings more frail
Than insects' glassy touch we note from thence.
Prepare their lunch with baggies for as twere
Thin cleanliness, cuz honey's sticky to
A fault; cube our potato like in tour
What, eh?  I tossed my brother's typed note, knew
Not that twas worth aught, and discuss how poor
Tis that all's typed, not writ by hand.  And you?

21Mar19b
Interesting thought, eh?
Jenny Gordon Feb 2019
...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
*cough,cough*  Ahem.  Stop giving me THAT look.
Jenny Gordon Apr 2019
just raises brows quizzically



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXXVIII)


Soft blue skies feign a note of what fr'intents
I thought to know at dawn, whilst in betrayl
"He's" finished and quite gone, me like to scale
'Non wondring if twas all in that joke's sense
Of "April Fools!" or but a dream from hence?
To rub my eyes as groc'ries, laundry hail
Me for attention, dinner too, in frail
Excuse now feeling like I've small kids thence.
O! How I long to go outside and fer
All that, just breathe!  Forget the day we knew,
Hark to the birds, and lose myself as twere
In that soft calm.  But oh! that will not do.
Watch golden light draw shadows up, each fir
A lacy doily, til that sunset cue.

01Apr19b
I swear I caught a glimpse of blue skies before dawn, but can't find confirmation, and nightfall yielded that, like, um, okay?
Jenny Gordon Oct 2024
...what half freaked me out was, having been mulling the first line, the thing itself overtook me like it was some wrestling match.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXLII)


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

27Oct24a
Forced to find fodder and pull off writing one fresh sonnet daily taught me to search for inspiration at all times, composing on the go, whether or not I could scribble anything down at the twinkling moment. This began while driving I-55 southbound after 5am.
Jenny Gordon Dec 2024
"...a) Apple Pie: Independent, realistic, and compassionate; b) Pecan Pie: Thoughful and analytical; c) Chocolate Pie: Loving; d) Pumpkin Pie: Funny and independent" Now, which one are you, dear reader?

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMVIII)


Tis Nash'nal Pie Day, asking for intents
"Which pie are you?" My parents used to hail
Me as lo, "Pumpkin--" where seems that detail
Means "funny, independent," til from hence
I wonder if that's why they did, a sense
Of all I am within that label, frail
As thinking such things stuff and nonsense, bail
For how I 'non approach life, is't pretense?
What if it's true? My friends now as it were
Will call me "crazy," in a fun way, to
Be certain, and I've nary suitor, fer
All that. Been called "free spirit" whence, is't true?
To think twas sweet potato pie in tour
They served us lately. Then: which pie are you?

01Dec24b
Funny, huh?!
Jenny Gordon Feb 2014
The other side of the previous sonnet.



(sonnet #MMMLXXXIX)


Mists softly romance clumps of distant trees,
Their naked dark grey limbs clothed in that veil
Of hazy white 'neath tender blue skies' pale
Cheer, while the golden light warms by degrees
December's barren vistas, winds a tease
Whose mildness gently breathes a hope too frail
To live beyond the sunset, each detail
From green lawns' worn expanse to heavn, at ease.
I used to lose myself here, every sigh
A fond caress I revelled in...'til you
Taught me to see past all which sweetly vie
For notice, vaprous dreams no longer true
As I rest me in who'd more satisfy
Than these, lost in your love and happier too.

01Dec13b
Hmm, guess it's not been completely snowy since November...just seems like it by now.
Jenny Gordon Nov 2024
Don't ask me now cuz I don't know.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCDLXXXI)


Which day would ye have back? What years t'avail,
That ye pine so?  What have ye here fr'intents,
Or whither do ye go that we from hence
Are scrambling all the time? Come, which detail?
I have since lo, my youth, been in this (frail
Though aught 'scuse) race to yonder with a sense
Of where I'm headed and some goal, whilst thence
Bedazzled and deceived til now all fail.
Was I too picky with my men? Why were
There none to take me for his wife or woo
And give me his dear ***** for in tour
Repose? I ne'er could have a child, then. Rue
My folly, yet remain confused? Bestir
Me to redeem the time, but LORD, where to?

12.Sep.23c
That's all. By now I truly have no idea.
Jenny Gordon Jan 2019
...we are.




(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCXLVIII)


How diamonds twinkle in morn's eye to scale!
Snow's whitest canvas icy, yet with hence
Those crystals dancing to heavn's glance, as thence
Blue seas smile on these landscapes to avail,
Clouds fragments of cold icebergs in betrayl,
And if I could but hark, the sparrows' sense
Of merry play in tow, while oh! fr'intents
We have a chance to sip tea like tis bail.
Dad sez his friend closed last night's phone call fer
All that with la, the note of what he'd do
For dinner: cheese, wine, and baguette in tour,
Our souls both wishing for some of that too,
The winking view afore us now as twere
Made poor by that suggestion, blind to You.

16Jan19a
L11: limburger cheese, to be specific; I've only tasted that once: when a sixth grade report on cheeses gave me chance to savour what smelled like a filthy toilet.
Jenny Gordon Mar 2019
Me and apple cidar vinegar well, let's just say it's a long story when a bout of the flu for literally a fortnight, and Shakespeare's lines came to the 'fore...


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXIII)


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

15Feb19c
It was nice to have the Bard's lines come to mind as if to solace and add a measure of sense to my misery.
Jenny Gordon Mar 2019
Keats swooned over a world that never was, except in dreams, and I've no use for that.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXIII)


In lieu of aught we know:  blue skies t'avail
Sans blot of clouds 'til puddles mirror thence
Heavn's eye...take up the chalice to drink hence
That fragrant draught which yields as if to scale
More heady visions than we've drunk, t'exhale
Like sailors on the faerie seas, pretense
Our dainty meat; as lovers swoon for sense
Oer plighted troth, not as we know; sans bail.
Go into raptures likeas Keats would stir
And Byron knew to write, as Shelley drew
Up in his Ode, faint cuz ye know in tour
What minstrels sang in ballads, weaving to
Effect those silken strands to snare souls fer
The Devil's heights.  Cuz what we have won't do.

11Mar19c
NOTE:  Who knows of L.E.L. ie Letitia Elizabeth Landon?  I prefer reality though it's far too shallow.
Jenny Gordon Oct 2016
Why I seem to be fair prey for men my father's age and his friends to boot, I cannot guess.  But how do you be friendly while hating their interest intensely?  He said, "I saw that look!" and I'm not really sorry he did, either.


(sonnet #MMMMMCMLXX)


Thin blue skies peer twixt greyish clouds a sense
Of bitter air wafts from, as if the pale
Eye of uncertain warmth's half golden scale
Of light is fragile and must tiptoe thence
In fear across these rasping fields 'til hence
Called off, whileas how leaves just whisper, frail
Breaths passing through oer naked boughs' detail,
The maples green yet as orange paints suspense.
He pops his head in at my bedroom door in tour,
And I assure him that, "Oh, I know you--"
While classcal music plays, rehearse in poor
'Scuse memries, 'til oer one say that we do
Not hafta lie:  "I'm not availble fer
Whomever--" and he bows...is that adieu?

15Oct16
Hi.  You kin lecture me, if you want a spitfire or rather, trouble on your hands.  Go ahead.
Jenny Gordon Jul 2017
Dream on, Baby.  Waking up won't be fun, but whatever.


(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXI)


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

29Jun17c
Susan Jarvis (no, I won't disclose her married name, umkididdles) generously sending me that handbook on British tea time and etc. bubbles on your tea signify kisses.
Jenny Gordon Mar 2018
Why on earth did Sunday AM's cosmetic ad tout "erasing dark circles with concealer" when that was what the mirror answered I needed done?  Talk about coincidence, or what?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMV)


O!  Watch that greyish lace called firs' detail
Upon the blacktop gently shift from thence
To playful winds, where pavement is fr'intents
Likeas some chalkboard smudged t'effect and pale
In afternoon's more lazy eye, in frail
Excuse, myself dead tired cuz coffee's sense
I maunt resist last night did punish, whence
"Erase dark circles with concealer!"'d hail.
Who gives a hoot that I look nice as twere
Eh?  None but older men, ungodly too
Seek me.  Old scruples were mair strict in tour
But faithful as the LORD Whose Word is true.
Blue skies are warmly clean of clouds; winds stir
These naked boughs to nodding; and what's new?

11Mar18a
P.S. I can enjoy a "mean" cup of coffee as late as midnight, AND still sleep well--IF I retire immediately.  Talk about reckless cuz of a party* and retiring after midnight was punishment.   *NOTE:  There were bottles and bottles of wine, beer, pop too, and....we'd been advertised to "...bring a drink you'll want to--" so I recalled I HAD done my duty and brought cranberry juice.  After all, beer's done nothing for me to date, excepting promising to make my clothes not fit, so....
Jenny Gordon Apr 2019
Smile?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCLXVI)


What? ere the daffodils nod with a sense
Of picnics in their sunny yellow scale
As twere of frilly cheer; whileas the pale
Eye of half hidden blue heavns trails from hence
Thin shadows 'cross the naked lawns green thence
Haunts with a ghostly touch; while sparrows hail
At intervals, and breathing is t'exhale
Without a second thought, what's not pretense?
Saul fell upon his sword t'escape as twere
Abuse by lo, the Philistines; died too,
And if war's gained a new face, claiming fer
Is't modern Troy? that it's a horse, what's new?
They'll let you see the palace' room in tour
Which is the grandest, and you thought you knew?

03Apr19b
I guess we'll just need to wait a tad longer until Odysseus announces himself....mebbe in CA or TX or NM or AZ or?
Jenny Gordon Jan 19
...today.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXXXIV)


Fat snowflakes justle with wee ones as hence
Keen silence bathes the whitened 'scapes t'avail,
Where Sunday seems as calm as should be, frail
Though being called in to serve ere I've but thence
Slept forty winks; to mob'lize, where fr'intents
Yer not awake, as Barry's steeps, sans bail,
Yet how I try. How did my cuppa fail
To cool?! Or wherefore is't sae hot from hence?
Watch steam in sheer ascent likeas in tour
Erst wont, yet oh! the tendrils' dance I knew
Ere seems t'escape mine pressured sense, as t'were
Too fraught is't? Somehow all planned 'fore comes to
Fruition, 'spite the madd'ning thought. Bestir
Our tongues to sing Thy praise, LORD, all of You.

12Jan25a
The luxury of a morning cuppa...
Jenny Gordon Mar 19
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
Hmm. Having tried to post this above first... um...it vanished, so here it is. Again.
Jenny Gordon Oct 2024
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXXX)


Say "retail," and then think of which detail?
Department stores and small boutiques, pretense
With boredom hard in tow, as tripping thence
Across the threshold, ladies men t'avail
Join, or else tiny dogs, pass through, a trail
Of lesser beings left in their rear for sense,
Who scuttle in and out trying for defense
Where money's not so plentiful for bail.
When I'd adjust the racks, or take as t'were
Their orders, party to the tales of who
And what, where money flowed like water (poor
As Daddy's saying it did not grow for you
On trees), I'd not aspire to their ranks. Stir
The same, til LORD, how I wait Thee: where to?

21Oct24
William Drummond of Hawthornden a Scottish courtier, and early sonneteer superbly opined nature was preferrable to society. Until I worked in retail, I liked it...
Jenny Gordon Aug 2017
It's funny how I actually love how you reason with me, instructing me and turning me back where I belong.


(sonnet #MMMMMMDXLIV)


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

07Aug17b
Turns out I can perhaps despite aught, churn out a sonnet, while you meantime own every minute and then some.
Jenny Gordon Jan 19
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
You do know that Spring begins on February 1st, right?
Jenny Gordon Jan 19
...at last. [My cousin's chihuahua is named Marzipan, and was the star of the show while I visited since well, you know chihuahuas....]

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLX)


Cream gravy of the maple sausage dense
With flavour--Jimmy Dean's! and biscuits tale
...For New Year's eh? Dunno.  The dishes trail
Frae baking in the kitchen Monday thence
Washed, dried, and stowed, craft omelet, porridge hence
With clem'tines and Chobani--brunch' detail,
Bake scallops, boil potatoes to avail
Us with a salad for lunch and ah, whence?
Quick! Scuttle off afresh to work in tour,
Sweet mem'ries of last night a dream I knew
Which fades, th'attack ch'huahua's bite as t'were
But figments of the vision--Marz'pan to
Shy cats--the laughter and dear fun bestir
Lost days since past.  Oh LORD, that we'd see You.

31Dec24
The shift I was scheduled for was curtailed, but they gave me hours elsewhere, and what that entailed left me no time to scribble.
Jenny Gordon May 2019
If only my ears weren't so damnably deaf.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXLVII)


And now a breath bestirs the leaves t'avail.
Boughs rock sae gently as the whisper hence
Flirts through, whileas I strain to see fr'intents,
Then dies away when I 'gin writing frail
Hope's fragile tread, planes' voices all to scale
As trees stand clustered far as eye frae thence
Can see.  Twigs nod sae lightly wi' a sense
Of yonder jist in tow, beyond this veil.
I'm here because we've said too long now fer
All that lo, "Mum and Dad's dream will not do.
We MUST join step with whom we thought too poor
In their path through this world, and follow too,
What I deplored."  The LORD God, what as twere
Did I blieve 'bout His Word?  The Scriptures knew.

11May19c
Interesting, eh?
Jenny Gordon Apr 2017
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pgdQf34SYSo]
I swear, I love him.  *Note, the eyes (back in Edmund Spenser's days) have been known as "lamping" which L11 tries for cuz of rhyming.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCXLVIII)


Cold blue peers thinly oer the rippling sense
Of greener carpets laid out for thet pale
Eye's scrut'ny ist?  Grey, fluffy cloudbanks scale
Hours down in more uncertain light as hence
Ah, golden shafts look fragile whiles they fence
Long naked trees with thoughts of warmth's detail,
Winds trying to whisper, and the firs exhale
In hoarser notes as wont, me silent thence.
Cuz Andrew does not put his finger fer
Aught on my lips, no.  Yet he does 'non too.
Are my lamps shining in betrayl as twere?
I swear, he humbles me without a clue
Or touch, and reaches for my heart, to stir
What's been long in the tomb, likeas we knew.

06Apr17a
It's way too much fun.
Jenny Gordon Jan 2019
...unaware of gathering darkness.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCL)


If nightfall wore the softest slippers whence
Twas silent in approach, I could not hail
It on that note, as was the case, light pale
All day til others blinked on in suspense
None felt in all in our haste to be from hence
Wherever as lo, darkness seals the tale
Of aught we'd erstwhile known whileas t'avail
I finish warming soup in sheer defense.
But dinner's late.  Cuz we'll have pizza too.
Thus, biscuits/rolls rise to th'occasion, poor
As hot food going cold in Winter's tour
Of bitter duty.  We put off th'ado
Called dinner til that night is black.  Then stir
Ourselves to eat, and pepperoni'd cue.

17Jan19b
...I can't think what else to add.
Jenny Gordon Jan 19
Ahem, so ya.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXXXIII)


Keep writing "June" as if the snow's detail
Does not affect the facts, as if from hence
The cal'ndar page does not reflect good sense,
Just start the date with that first letter's scale
Of truth, and don't acknowledge that t'avail
Yerself of this might be half selfish thence.
Or wherefore is't I'm caught miswriting whence
I canna say, a Summer month, like's bail?
Tis Jan'ry eighth and bitter chill in tour
The rule, hot soups and drinks prevail as due,
Whilst heat and not the AC often stir,
And Christmas strains yet linger, til the view
With aught effects deny the note as twere
Of "June." I dunno why I'm mixt up. You?

08Jan25a
Go figure.
Jenny Gordon Mar 19
After all, "on Wednesdays we wear--"


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCII)


Three lanes of heavy traffic, racing thence
Whenas a gap appears, get home t'avail
Ere dawn, and sleep twas hours likeas sheer bail
Upon the couch, to heat the hash fr'intents
With ham on top (yes, protein central hence!),
Fry eggs (one frozen!), and make porridge, frail
As aught 'scuse, AFTER Barry's with to scale
Some shortbread, thankful's easy, like defense.
I guess I slept off Wednesday as it were,
March tender warmth enough with softest blue
Heavns to keep our heat off; the lake winds stir
To gentle rippling ducks sail on, a crew
Of geese on guard upon the shore, demure?
Thy mercies new each morn, LORD, we thank You.

12Mar25a
My late mother DID inform me decades before the movie that, "...pink is your color" which might be why I challenged my brothers wearing pink dress shirts but she explained that 80's style away, yet never to my satisfaction.
Jenny Gordon Feb 2018
Guess I should add, I find 80's fashion abominable.  O, I do.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCMXXXVIII)


So I cut stars of canteloupe to thence
Hang silver ones on string to dance in pale
Hours for the baby showr last week, the tale
Of things I meant to do put off fr'intents,
And now I've chance to breathe, look hence
Upon this buried wasteland's white detail
Which I had noted then was naked, frail
In Death's hands, wishing for what? in suspense.
I spose I wanted to keep all as twere
Unclothed in barren lack, since snow anew
Puts aught in black and white, whereat I tour
What New York's Fashion Week had:  ruffles, to
Thet swishing 'round your ankles stylish fer
Is't eighties' taste again?!  O, what is new?

10Feb18b
Never had a Valentine all these years--...but I've been dressing for the lover's holiday all this long time, and, finally attending poetry class thus attired, enjoyed a compliment (or two?).
Jenny Gordon Feb 2018
We had a jolly good time at the Elgin Literary Festival's 2018 publick poetry reading.  sigh we did.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMCMX)


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

28Jan18b
Oh yes, January 26th was the first of the two-day festival, and a couple of us girls attended an informal class for "people who don't like poetry" (to agree after "it was too dry"), and a lecture on old poetry thereafter, where I could swear the venerable Bede was more familiar to me than the lecturer, kick me.  Then a crowd gathered and I failed to realize I was not supposed to read my work but actually perform.
Jenny Gordon Mar 2019
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
As panda bear loved to say, "It's a secret!"  Or, that's what befalls idiots who stay up after hours? P.S. a continuation of the previous stanza.
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