Yes, that should do.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDX)


What happened to long summer hours' dim sense
Of leisure, where I pined for chill t'avail,
And stoked the thought of misty twilight's pale
Eye while gaunt skeletons of trees skulked thence,
Dreamed of 'gain donning plaid and tweed fr'intents,
Yea of lo, nestling in such minutes' scale
Praps of "my niche"--that oh! tis ah, the frail
Note as it were of late November hence?
Why did warmth skip out on the last train to
Was't Mexico? um, was just days 'go fer
All that?  Where did the musty hours I knew
Depart to, eh?  and when?  December'd tour
Upon the heels of late October, poor
As saying, and I search for my bearings...too.

11Nov18b

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

Here, just listen to this:  [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LjgndGuy77o]  




(sonnet #MMMMMMDCCCLXXVII)


Lo, coffee in wee tazos as from thence
How sparrows gaily call is't? to avail
Dawn's warming light which wears Spring in betrayl
'Spite frigid airs, me chattring to Dad hence
About when buds will 'gin to peer fr'intents
Upon the distant tree; and whiles I hail
Such notions, he sez Winter's in detail
Too young yet, noting he's no hopes for sense.
I was not happy, was I?  Just in tour
Seeing how that April haunts the waking view,
Likeas October did one June as twere.
Snow melted by the brief thaw's rain, these blue
Skies oddly wear an eye akin in poor
'Scuse to late March.  And really, what is new?

13Jan18

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXXX)


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

16Mar19b

(sonnet #MMMMMDCCLVI)


I swear, I love you, Robert.  Drive me thence
Up every wall.  In Spartan fashion scale
The hours down as I trim each sorry nail
Erm, with my teeth.  And oh!  What is it hence?
But you're the master of this ship, to fence
Unnumbered minutes with naught to avail,
Cuz I am spoiled?  Or what?!  In sheer betrayl
Oh help me!  but I'm cussing in suspense.
To top it off you have compassion fer
My father.  He swears I'm a task.  You two
Make quite the pair to set me off as twere.
Okay, I'll take up knitting.  That won't do.
You drive me bonkers!  Tell me that's not your
Intent and I'll prove tis.  I love you too.

06Jul16b

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXIX)


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

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

..add to that, "sleeping is a luxury; eating a privilege"...by MY definition.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMLXXXVI)  


Does coffee ever wake aught soul fr'intents?
Or do we merely welcome in betrayl
Caffeine's ole kick-start to the morning's hale
Note it is time to put off sleep?  Dad's sense
Of it I canna say, 'cept he'd swear thence
Twas to be lo, "enjoyed." not quaffed t'avail
The soul like medicine, no.  That detail
Could praps suffice, yet I'm confused still.  Whence?
And oh, tea does not mix with joe.  Tis poor
On both sides if you drink them both, each brew
No complement to th'other, as it were.
Yes, laugh at me.  Now "independent" two
Weeks running--sip tea first, to savour fer
All that what'd ope mine eyes; then joe's weak.  You?

24May19b

You do, over and over, tell me how it happened, and it still makes absolutely no sense.  Why are YOU so perfect?


(sonnet #MMMMMMDXLI)


The moon was here to splash a glance' detail
Upon my legs whileas we talked.  Gone hence
Just as the hours we spent in talking, whence?
Tis aye, more heartning with a Christian, frail
Though aught excuse be dating to avail
Erm, UNbelievers.  Twilight's blue suspense
'Hind Maples' silent boughs, thet eye peered thence
Twixt slumbring leaves, a golden orb to scale.
And in a blink I'm what?  Dare I aver
We are--yes, friends?  You said that note would do.
Let me rest there nor draw up visions fer
Chagrin.  Night's blacker touch knows stars and dew
While crickets fiddle 'cross the teeming moor.
I'm scared, not of aught monsters, loving you.

06Aug17a

Ahem, as if anyone wanted to know my preference in clothing...



(sonnet #MMMLXXXVII)


My minis lend that sweetly girlish stance,
When in a coat and calf-high boots rays set
Me down as casting my grey silhouette
Upon the Maple's trunk in sunset's glance
Adieu.  I did not search it out, but chance
Sketched me and caught mine eye, to vainly whet
That barely veiled thought's appetite and net
The happy pleasure thence, as I'd nigh prance.
Perhaps the stylists meant another look
In that cute popular design; I do
It no disservice thereby though, but took
A far more flirty angle thus as through
The fair suggestion adding zest.  Hence brook
My crime if such there be?  'Sides, I love you.

01Dec13a

...ARGH!  Hence the title...



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXV)


Spent, ere the fragile chance to what? avail,
Look how blue skies warm in dawn's welcome, whence
Don't roll a single word for aught intents
Across my tongue, jist see, and wonder, pale
As howling oer grey heavns' sheer lack, nor scale
Lo, any bit of this or that cuz sense
Drowned late on Monday night where visions dense
With oh, Victorian airs stole off wee bail.
Yes, when I've but a minute to bestir
My pencil for ah, which detail passed through?
I'm swooning sans a voice yet over her--
That girl whom lit'rature FORGOT, cuz ooh!
She was his mistress; won the world as twere
Because of that keen secret:  I've naught cue.

12Mar19a

I really wanted to make a more secure case comparing the cardinal to those redcoats of yore, but, ah....



(sonnet #MMMMMMCxxVii)


I have a scarlet lover who, ere pale
First hints of dawn, begins to court, til thence
Smiles and soft laughter thus ensue fr'intents.
His perky voice and deep red coat avail
Long-cherished loves, as I think Brits to scale
So perfect; aye, put on the kettle hence
Tae brew a *** of rosy lea to fence
My porridge, while my cardnal'd sweetly hail.
Wee sparrows are my playmates as they stir
Such happiness as only lovers do.
If Tyler swears he loves me, Shakespeare fer
All that gives me perspective as he'd woo.
Perchance I shall be independent: your
Wish, Baby.  But then I will not need you.

30Apr18a

Come, does the title recall a more familiar admonition?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXLIV)


Sip coffee from espresso mugs for sense,
Yes, cradling that wee tazo in betrayl,
To sigh that tis perfection thus, t'exhale.
Feign I don't give a hoot in sheer defense,
And how my niece plays with me til pretense
'Most carries off the trick like't could avail.
Ya, watch as she eats all my grapefruit, frail
Joys juxtaposed 'gainst what? til I'm blind thence.
I told myself "three days..." a week 'go, poor
As thinking I'll do better now.  The crew
Of crimson buds wink from the distance fer
Reminders leaves shall soon be fluttring to
Capricious winds in lieu of trash.  Bestir
Me to see far off, yet alas, t'won't do.

02Apr19d

It's so "fun" trying to fit these hugemongous Roman names into iambic pentametre.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXXIII)


So, read an essay on erm, Virgil, frail
As thinking THAT meant aught, and for pretense
Is't lo, Thucydides, to spose I'd sense,
Petrarca's life in um, a nutshell's scale
Of knowledge, even la, Justinian's tale--
Since haunted by those cobbled streets, and hence,
If not the air of Roman days, fr'intents
Those columned cities sages knew t'avail.
And either that, or Valentines in tour
Have ta'en my spirit from me, til I view
All we had joyed in ere as from as twere
A colder distance, seeing, yet voiceless to
Effect, life upside-down, or mine in poor
Scuse, e'en as April haunts the thought life'd woo.

21Feb19a

Okay, it's wild how "we" happened...this sonnet and the one that directly follows akin to black and white, and literally mere hours apart in that about 15 hours after this below was composed, my world suddenly turned upside-down by what I only dreamed could happen and had given up on, as these lines attest.



(sonnet #MMMMMMDXL)


Blue twilight.  After dark, scroll for intents
Down through the pictures of erm, fellows they'll
Assure you are a catch.  But I'm not, pale
As all my howling.  Stamp yes, "sheltered" hence
Upon the intro of me.  For good sense
Read what each wants.  Divorced will do for bail.
And only men my dad's age think t'avail
Them of a view of me.  Now don't ask whence.
Learn men aren't intrested.  To howl is poor.
They want used women.  I'm a *****?!  I do
Not put down money to subscribe.  Th'obscure
Chance one will brook that stubborn choice and woo
Is not worth hoping for.  Nah.  None shall stir
Romance save whom I shrink from.  Nothing's new.

05Aug17b

...and I, yes, I cherish rain.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXXI)


O sweetest rain!  Delicious hours the pale
Eye of this wetness owns!  I note fr'intents
How puddles gaily dance as if a sense
Of that wet kiss half nuzzles me t'avail,
Bounce cuz the sparrows happ'ly cry "all hail!"
Breathe fresh-ground coffee's wafting odours hence
Like just the scent is good enough, and thence
Erm, chatter 'non to Dad, like that owns bail.
...As if I'm still his little girl, yes, her
He took so many pictures of, ere to
Effect sons 'gan to fill the scene in tour--
I talk like jabbring gaily might well do.
And lo, Thy mercies new each morning stir
Our souls to praise Thee.  Rain...and coffee too.

29Apr19a

L14:  No, *****, but...enjoy the moment.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXXVIII)


The mourning dove ere twilight yield calls, whence
Orange winks upon thet waking thought's detail,
And lo, I hear it softly coo.  Grey mists in frail
Nigh ghostly touch a thin suggestion, thence
Do maples faintly shiver in suspense?
I thank the LORD for that voice on the pale
First notes of whither, erst wont to avail
My soul, and dawn sifts through to crown that sense.
How Joey worked "each day this week," yet fer
All that's forever on my mind.    What, to
Effect, now does the culver's song as twere
Mean?  How I used to know.  Or thought I knew.
Now like a memry of sweet days lost, poor
Though what be?  Does it bless our hopeful dew?

05Jul17b

Well, I mean, do guys who drive hot, fast cars like girls like...me?!  That either remains to be seen, or laughed to scorn.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXLII)


As if to what? my brother lo, fr'intents
Remembers what "his" name is, like'd avail,
Yes, all on "April Fools," and tells me, frail
Though any use is for that note, cuz sense
By dinner's revelation swears twas thence
Some bad joke I played on myself, sans bail,
Whiles how my brothers rate his car's detail
T'effect:  "fast, hot...stupid." O pretense!
So where I whispered that, "I'll know for sure
Tomorrow morning," sigh.  For was that true?
Go laugh at me, cuz I don't want in poor
'Scuse to lay dreams to rest.  I'm weary, to
Be certain, of this awful game; know fer
All that tis folly, but I want it too.

02Apr19b

...like, "if you must remain nobly a ****** unto death in lieu of marrying divorced or ungodly men, buck up and be thankful." or something like that.  


(sonnet #MMMMMMCMVI)


If butterflies were dancing gaily hence
Across these wastes, likeas in sheer betrayl
Pink 'non embroidered ones do whilst flutes scale
Soft notes and trip too merr'ly for intents
Now through the minutes I work pinning thence
An ancient zipper to this skirt, we'd hail
Sweet joy no, aye?  But thin white clouds 'gain veil
Blue skies til shadows' ghosts fade, and's pretense.
Did I complain too much ere, that as twere
I'm punished with ne best friend?  No man'd woo
Affections then, but he was toying in poor
Excuse with me, or was divorced.  None do
Ha, ha now either, flutes in lieu what stir
Fond visions as I bend oer sewing's cue.

25Jan18b

Prolly will too, judging from afternoon's frore air.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMLXXVIII)


Blue skies are but a memry now fr'intents,
And is black even littered with stars' tale?
I canna look.  Twas frore when we'd avail
Our selves of talk where afternoon was thence
Chance for rehearsal, late as we'd for sense
Put cafe tables side by side, light pale
With greyish region clouds nor blue's detail
But gone ere dinner was put on, and whence?
Ah, how all we'd enjoyed is lost as twere
To wasting hours which never but sift through
Sweet minutes spent with brothers, and in tour
Dear friends.  I had espresso with Dad too,
Spent two bucks on a cuppa coffee fer
The chance wi' friends, and did I, LORD, seek You?

08Apr18b

Forty-five...the number of years her parents were married.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMLXXXV)


So many things, I spose, beg to avail
Themselvs of lo, a voice now I've fr'intents
Taen up the page and pencil in defense
Of aught.  Tis Mum and Dad's erm, in betrayl,
Yes:  wedding annivers'ry, as sans bail
Now it was ere and e'er shall be, for sense.
Which other items wanted space from hence
Pale in the light of that note's keen detail.
I yearn to call Dad for that reason, too.
Yet how my pride is shown up as what'd stir
Me, is it eh?  Whence ****** ere I (as twere)
Begin, what's left?  Pride caused our rift, as to
Effect tis ever what the Scriptures fer
All that 'non prove:  oh LORD, save me, won't You?

24May19a

Or?  Go figure.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXIII)


What? as night's blackness is passe in frail
Excuse, the hours now merely for good sense
Um, stacking up whiles I close down from hence
This slim machine for lack of aught else' tale,
And this where Twitter promised to avail
Itself of all my minutes--all's fr'intents
Too dead, dull, boring--I've moved on, pretense
Worn to a frazzle in aught that I'd hail.
Remember:  "I should write more--" to bestir
Me, yet ideas have flown off unto
Is't nether regions?  cuz I "watched in tour"
Who cares who?  Fashions.  "Follow her--what you
Should wear is...THIS."  I've MY own style, in poor
'Scuse, am ergo at odds with all, cool too?

25Mar19b

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

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

(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

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

Nice, eh?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXIII)


Say coffee is a thing we brew t'avail
O, conversation with my dad fr'intents,
And little me.  Add tea in likewise hence,
For some occasions, is't?  Cream just to scale
Let's say for joe, while rosy lea's detail
Shall have it rarely--dawn needs more for sense
Than pretty drinks--and what's left for pretense?
The thought of what we're thus engaged in's bail.
Or let's hark to which plane oerhead in tour?
Perchance the wandring birds which passed on through
As if they were but pieces of what?  Yer
Allowed to say twas flotsam, though t'won't do.
And tell how um, the flight attendent's cue
Was one of those twa drinks...for one or two?

28Mar19c

...if nothing else.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXC)


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

19Mar19c

What was that about ironic?


(sonnet #MMMMDCXLII)


They swore I should be published when my frail
Attempts proved that my alphabet was thence
Down pat, a couple verbs and nouns from whence
I made a twisted bit of nonsense, pale
And certain notes that I owned more than bail
For their now wasted cries of sheer pretense,
Nor would they quiet down 'til their defense
Was trounced when I could speak and **** the tale.
Yes.  Now that I trip off much less obscure
Lines, even sentences which march straight to
The point, I've lost my following as twere.
Come, did they like the early babble?  Few
Can make it past the toddling stage, whence fer
The grand achievement, I'm alone.  Boohoo.


(sonnet #MMMMDCXLIII)


Please don't say either that I was from hence
Givn this quite fair, though transient gift's detail
To hone its more exquisite sense in pale
Excuse for being alone, nor that twas thence
Deemed fit cuz twould be yet destroyed (whose sense
Of worth was fragile in sheer truth's betrayl),
But grant me something more, as if for bail,
And say that love will pay for my intents.
Walk through the library amassed as twere;
Yea, listen as my spirit filters through
The tapestry of lines, until in poor
Reply its voice half alters subtly too.
Did I leave innocence behind?  Twas your
Fault who taught me what life is:  loving you.

06Mar15e,f

I could swear I miss Mum.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXLIV)


O languid hours whose weary rain falls hence
As if tis one with snow's fatigue, in pale
Excuse, the madness I'd known sans aught bail
Six years ere when my brother was fr'intents
Still badly drugged by doctors, sans defense
For their malpractice (trying to **** him, frail
Though that may seem; whose outright lies' detail
Remains upon the charts)--what's not pretense?
My painted nails in lavendar look poor
Now they've been through much cleaning, dishes--who
Cares 'cept myself that they wink 'non in tour?
YOU only text, tease me with what is to
Effect um, lies, or promises that were
Not ever meant to stand--do I miss YOU?

01Dec18

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXCVI)


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

20Apr19b

Oh well.


(sonnet #MMMMMCMLXXVIII)


Earl Grey and biscuit for a proper sense
Of yonder ist?  where blue skies fringe clouds' veil
Known as white racks that keener eye'd wax pale
Through as how orange paints bits and pieces hence
Whiles yellow flutters to the sidewalks whence
Tis trod whilst fills aught cracks in sheer betrayl;
La, bony limbs cast 'gainst these heavns look frail,
How vines run riot in deep reds' intents.
Hot soup for dinner, I wear plaid now fer
Ah kicks, a kilt to boot, as if being new
Might salve the galling void I can't endure,
Yet must.  Talk of espresso gadgets to
Think ya, the French Press grand.  And tea.  What's poor
Is blindness cuz the LORD's our life, ne brew.

19Oct16b

...never ends since Mum died.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXXX)


O languid hours whose weeping softens thence
These greyer twilight minutes, which detail
Is sweet by dint of that, likeas t'avail?
What of our conversation last night, whence
I cull as wont a vision in defense?
We talked into the wee hours, til in pale
Excuse my heart yearns for my brother.  Stale
As dreams false suitors drew up, whither hence?
T'will snow ere dawn shall shift the veil in tour,
And aught that now is Autumn, buried to
Effect in Winter, will be lost anew.
Sip coffee with Dad (on the phone) yet fer
All that content to be, and what is poor?
I'm as a sailor floundring til with You.

24Nov18b  
*Note:  again finishing with an address to the LORD.  The difference in stanzas addressed to men or to the LORD God is whether whom is addressed is in all caps or with only one.

Spring's courting whom?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXIX)


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

14Mar19a

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXIX)


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

27Mar19a

Um, ya, trains again.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXVI)


The train lo, half past midnight, whistles thence
In passing through dead silence none else hail,
Its rumble seeming muffled in betrayl,
As all lie wrapt in slumber for intents,
My sleepy notice--what is't?  Why's from hence
Sae poignant to hear that?  Am I in frail
Excuse long on the empty platform's stale
Reminder dreams have fled, where hope's pretense?
O wherefore does the train's voice 'non bestir
Is that...my soul?  like I aught hearken to
Its call as if I want a ticket--fer
Which landing is it hence?  Or does it cue
Cuz all's a journey--I've ne place here, poor
Though trying e'er to "fit in," enroute to You?

27Apr19b

...in more ways than you realize.



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCCCLIII)


Come, wherefore dredge up Tolkien's silly tale,
With that girabbit hard in tow, as hence
The Scriptures count off Ehud and how thence
He judged ya, Isr'el, killing in betrayl
That fat, fat king ole Eglon to avail,
Me seeing lost visions of the shire for sense,
And Mister Bliss' adventures rising whence
I canna say why, to trip 'long as bail?!
From movies of far distant climes in tour,
With savage ninjas, or the sixties too
And student riots, loss, *** as it were
Their capping triumph of that mixt-up view,
Have I a minute to drift off, all's poor--
Yet why see fables when I half hear You?

01Jan18b

Prolly.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXIX)


O me!  Fatigued light watches through a veil
Of thinner clouds as maples rock from hence,
And whisper oer the glances flirting thence
In golden warmth twixt feebler shadows' pale
Games, blue skies haunted by the fragile tale,
Whilst I yearn to be lost and licked fr'intents
By those rough murmurs sweeping 'cross these dense
Vast lawns of fresh-mown greenness, like'd avail.
I wanted to just listen as rain'd stir
The quiet evning with that silver dew--
Was it three nights ago?  But all's sae poor.
You feel too much, on fire sans aught to cue
That soothing touch on fevered brow as twere.
I maunt tell Joe.  For if I did... he knew?

02Jul17c

Barnabe Barnes--right up my alley, man.


(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXXVI)


How Barnes sings of my--what? til I see thence
Tis folly to writhe on this dainty scale,
Love's net a golden one, I might avail
Me of content if I forget this hence.
These weary heavns, fatigued as I, wear sense
In blank white's ***** racks, the hours to pale
Light givn, how maples own vague silence, frail
Winds tickling 'non the leaves to whisper.  Whence?
I have begged Joe for more.  He listened fer
All that.  I've emailed, called him twice, and do
Ya know, e'en texted him.  But that was poor.
It's "see you Thursday."  That is all.  Go to.
The minutes wasting, dunno what he'd stir.
Nor have I yet another to think'd woo.

04Jul17b

"...behind him--" is't? No.  "..AFTER him." (Ecc 7:14b)




(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCLXII)


Whenas magnolia petals fluttered, dense
In satin white 'non blushing pink, th'exhale
Of April breezes whispring through, I'd hail
The soft chartreuse of Maple leaves for sense,
To notice that romance for all intents
With half an eye while sipping coffee's tale.
And now the naked branches don't avail
Our souls of colour, coffee's black, and whence?
I listen to the Scriptures, wondring fer
All that oer how those empty boughs I knew
Once clothed in bridal trappings are left poor
Without a trace.  Months pass, the seasons too.
Nor is the coffee strong.  It's fine black.  We're
Stripped down to almost nothing is't? skies blue.

22Jan19b

Swooning over a very pretty number in Palgrave's Golden Treasury, I Googled it, to find to my chagrin it was supposedly pure fiction. [I think not, but.] Ergo, I began, but since mine are never fiction, this is neither. Begun in dialect, that effect deteriorates midway since the initial drive did likewise.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMXLIX)


Say Jenny, she ne'er married aught, and whence?
Fine fellows came a' courting. She'd avail
Hersel' of mair than ane or twa, 'cept he *** fail
To tie the knot and she *** feign frae thence
Twas a' fer guid, as if thar was defense.
But thar was nane.  Or p'raps thar was. Detail
How minny girls ha' suffered in the frail
Hope of a happy life, and she's spared hence.
The man who played her fer a fool in tour
She blindly loved, as minny wimin do,
He courting others 'neath her nose in puir
Reply, then telling her long after. Who
Kin blame puir Jenny she ne'er married? Stir
Her sisters now to envy or tears too?

20.May24b/31.Oct.24
Note: a stab at writing for art's sake alone.

Hi.  waves with a happy smile



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCLXVII)


"Your Jenny."  And these blank skies thinly pale,
The baby leaves 'non shiver to winds' sense
Of sheer caprice, their soft chartreuse lit thence
As if translucent while birds wing oer, hail
With voices my heart knows from June's detail,
Like summer's breath flirts 'cross green lawns more dense
And ruffled carpets, daffodils bright hence
In deepest yellows smiling to avail.
Oh, Andrew!  Song of Songs talks of what fer
Effect seems mine, though we're but friends--yet ooh!
That's how she knows him, yes.  Warmth's waltzing tour
With singing lightly on the air and dew
What twinkles in morn's eye is ours as twere,
Whiles I want violets as I wait for you.

14Apr17b

Um, my apologies to Lindt, dunno where that flavour originated when I first tasted it.
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y7FeeKWVi5Q]


(sonnet #MMMMMMCCLVIII)


Lindt was the standard for good choclate, hence
Gone to the dogs as Dillon's to avail
Tastes like the thing itself, whilst in betrayl
Swiss choclatiers own powdered milk for sense?!
And our Wisconsin pride on top fr'intents--
Or what? I nibble one and t'other, frail
As private testing is, and call both pale,
Milk choclate nothing to the real stuff, whence?
Charge me with aye, a fault and swear tis poor,
I'll put on Broforce' soundtrack, thinking too--
Ha, what?!  Being "friends" is--stop there as it were.
Trust in the LORD with all thine heart--and do
Not figure.  I love Andrew.  Rain blots fer
Effect aught blue skies, and no choclate's you.

10Apr17b

(sonnet #MMMMMCCCLXVIII)


Lo, poor man's tea in dawn's first light, whose pale
Eye shifts vague shadows 'cross dead houses thence,
Ere twinkling with an orange splash' warming sense
Upon that silence, and no coffee's bail
In morning's fog as rosy lee's detail.
Snow's bitter whiteness waits sans aught suspense
While sparrows gaily answer for two pence,
And I wash up the dishes on that scale.
We fix a mean cup of ole joe as twere,
Yet where the Brits swear by tea's mincing cue
I oddly know what tis to waken, poor
As such assertions oer the second brew.
Discuss caffeine, and I sleep well nor stir
'Til ah, forget it.  What I need is you.


05Jan16d

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

...relieves stress.



(sonnet  #MMMMMMMDCCLXXV)


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

15Mar19b

I wanna just sleep all night out here.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCCCXLIV)


Out where the bullfrogs loudly chorus, dense
Night cut by lightning flashes' silent tale
Above the North, an airplane's voice in frail
Excuse at intervals 'non slicing thence
Through deeper calm as crickets' throbbing sense
Of playing at second fiddle in the pale
Chill keeps time, where ne winds pass through t'avail,
Yet as the moist air smells like summer, whence?
I wonder.  It's like camping as it were
Upon the city's edge, where trucks sift through
The intersection, cars now too, but fer
All that none speaks.  Clouds are worn fragments blue
E'en watches melt away.  And ne soul'd stir.
I hug my knees and wish YOU were here too.

20Aug18b

No.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCLI)


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

04Apr19d

Yes?


(sonnet #MMMMMMMXLVIII)


White gloves, a new dress lace and ruffles thence
Adorned, white stockings too, and that detail
Of patent leather Mary-janes to scale--
I was in grade-school, but for all intents
Felt grown-up cuz I'd bought those shoes, a sense
Was't? of erm, choosing 'non my wardobe hale
Proof being not yet a teen could yet avail
O, children of that feature was't? and hence?
Tis Easter Sunday 'gain, and not sae poor
At that cuz lo, it's April Fools now too.
So laugh at me since I kin still bestir
Vague memries of that childish grandeur's view
On life, safe in my parents' care, t'assure
You now that Easter's heathen, tis.  And you?

01Apr18a  (posted on allpoetry.com for their one-a-day thingy)

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXL)


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

01Mar19b

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