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

A thousand things, frankly.  After that, while tempted with the thought of picking out Mr. Mouse by his long tail, I left him to scramble while choosing what I needed, and he proved he could jump straight up and out, saving me the trouble.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLVI)


Rain pours like t'would be sweet to bide fr'intents
Safe tucked awa' indoors.  I maunt avail
Me, sadly, yet what after that detail?
How Grampa's fruitcake's fin'lly baking hence,
My cousin liking that suggestion, whence
I had to make this treat, as if twas bail
For her, the fun we've planned, if Thou will't, frail
As lo, the wreck of mine, tomorrow's sense.
A mouse. An actual grey, live, fluffy fer
The chill, erm: mouse. He's in my food like to
Partake is thus allowed, out on in tour
My deck, until I come, that is.  In poor
'Scuse, now he's had some mango, left tae rue
His feast now I want foodstuffs.  Jump as t'were
Three feet straight up and I'm left with the view.

29Dec24a

...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.

Congratulate me?!

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLVIII)


Let morning trickle in sans voice to fence
The light of day, if only to avail
Me of dear rest, the circles whose detail
Does NOT enhance my hazel orbs what thence
Abet that hopeful thought, likeas defense,
Unless, of course, being death warmed oer is bail
For 'bove ground life whose plans stress shall derail,
Or curse with notes to highlight sheer pretense.
I'll feign tis cool being off on Monday, fer
The first time in a week of sev'n which threw
My mind out by their madness I'll demur
To yield to, til twas nigh complete.  Calm to
Effect upon noon's finish, LORD, bestir
Thy mercies and redeem me now, won't You?

30Dec24a

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

Not me, certainly.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLIX)


As if a spell's been broken when t'avail
We'd had our visit, I am free fr'intents,
And happy too, the sweet hours like defense
For long lost joys I'd quite forgot in frail
'Scuse, like what? Griefs were buried, no detail
Remembered lest I too be lost from thence
In joys' destruction.  Grandma Drysdale's sense
The dining room, yes, I'd obliv'on's bail.
Twas so good, we were up late in a tour
Of such discussions only fam'ly knew.
Back home, with eggnog in Mum's glasses, her
Sense oer us kids, twas all a whirl, yet true.
Thy mercies, LORD, prevail: I thank Thee fer
All and rejoice.  Come.  For we wait for You.

30Dec24b

...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

....it disappeared, I guess.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXI)


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

01Jan25a

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXCI)


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

20Mar19a

I suppose it was a foolish thought to broach the topic?



(sonnet #MCMLXX)


'Tis those who read between the lines with care
And canny insight who best know.  But let
The same beware, for what is hidden's set
Not for mere show and at a touch may flare
Up with the violence of the wound just there
Beneath the surface' thinness, eas'ly fret
Though held as under guard lest it forget
And give a voice to what sense would not share.
Then we shall argue whether 'tis unwise
To keep such secrets, do you say?  Well, who
Shall profit by disclosure that the prize
Kept thus unspoken's worth the interview?
I move 'tis not so needful for our eyes
To see the e'il, as to restore what it'd undo.

11Feb13b

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXLV)


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

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

Tuesday in a nutshell, the week, for that matter.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXXIV)


Rain dances on vast puddles with a sense
Of that delicious wetness, where in pale
Excuse I maunt find one spare minute's bail
To steal a chance out where it'd whisper thence
Fair secrets to the listning few.  Note hence
That lightning flashes, thunder's deep exhale
In tow, and how my schedule shan't avail
Me of a chance to breathe for aught intents.
No, run, run, run, mair thankful thus in poor
Reply that lo, Thy mercies are e'er new.
And further, that "man does not live [in tour]
By bread alone--" but by Thy Word, while too
Besieged by what would drown me, 'cept for Your
Great lovingkindness...cept, LORD, cuz of You.

30Apr19b

Hi.



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCCCLXXX)


O! did I cherish that more ghastly sense
Of light, how tis gone with the shadows' pale
Forms likewise, blue heavns masked in sheer betrayl,
Nor but this duller blank of nothing hence
Which region clouds own, dead leaves silent thence
Upon these naked limbs, with nary frail
Breath save tis frozen air whose keen detail
They shiver to, as I, sans aught suspense.
Or wait.  Now Paul "likes" me as well.  In poor
Excuse, and for the first time ever--ooh!
I sent a man a "smile."  Now what, as twere?
Let me hear Bach and pick up Shakespeare to
Align half wakened dreams, lest I chafe fer
Long minutes oer vain hope. as none quite woo.

14Jan18b

Forsooth.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXXXI)


Snow.  White flakes jostle like small children, veil
This fragile twilight in descent as thence,
Where rain waltzed gaily on these puddles, hence
O me!  How white tricks out what's left t'avail
Our fainting souls of colour, as to scale
It blankets all we knew ere in what sense
Calls Winter; and I spose tis ne pretense,
For lo, November closes soon, gone stale.
So crank up class'cal strains to salve as twere
The galling note of Death, is't?  Ergo, to
Effect how xmas lights now twinkle through
Nights gone so black, while sales fly; none demur
To put up trees for festive gifts' grand tour,
And I've forgotten what, LORD?  say not...You.

25Nov18a

Ya, finding yourself more naked than you ever fathomed possible...



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXXXIV)


So, showr just AFTER midnight, with a sense
Of eerie things as lo, the verse' detail
Which warns, "curse not the king..." nor in betrayl
"...The rich--" ah, whither oh my soul, fr'intents?!
Not e'en "...in thy bedchamber:..." wherefore hence?
Lo, how "...a bird of [yes!] the air shall [pale
Now, dearest me, as] carry [what?! bewail]
The voice, and that which hath wings tell--" what hence?
"...The matter."  O thy secrets!  Did I stir
Myself to stoop so low, did I?  No.  Do
Not tremble?  How a Blue Jay's call as twere
Wakes me at dawn.  Why did that Scripture cue
Me thus so many hours ago in tour?
I am not guilty, am I?  Or...who knew?

17Mar19b

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCLXXIX)


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

30Jan19d

Nathan, aka Nateive Son, will probably make a point with me, come to think on't, cuz--



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCCCLXVII)


Yes, Shakespeare whileas fiddles seem t'avail
This warming chance to simply breathe; a sense
Not warranted of carefree joy's pretense
Half waltzes like these soft blue skies' detail
Mulls spring ere time, as if the thrilling scale
Of higher temps could waken for intents
The daffodils yet buried 'neath snow's dense
But melting whiter coverlid gone stale.
Piano too, for strings, ere that sweet tour
Of cherished lines is quite sufficient through
Long use is't?  How Will inks his love 'til we're
'Non prey to  black ink's breath just as he knew
We aught to be and swore was so, though's poor.
These frore hours we trudge through know what 'gain too?

08Jan18a

(If I'd thought a full departure from the pink standard was underway, it was only Tuesday.)

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXXII)


Behold, last year now I wore pink, a sense
Of what, within that theme pursued t'avail
Since when? "On Wednesdays We Wear Pink'd" detail
A tank top in the thrift store with fr'intents
The movie title "Mean Girls," whilst I thence
Saw means to don what Mum told me in frail
Excuse too many decades 'go, like bail:
"Your colour's pink."  Worn since like sheer defense.
Yet oh, this morning, after Christmas' tour,
I begged t'avoid both red and pink, t'eschew
That cuz I could not bear what, eh, as twere?
Dunno.  But deep maroon is perfect, to
Be certain.  What has changed? I have?! Demur
What I'd embraced for years?  LORD, I need You.

07Jan25b

Ye never need the finer details so here are a few for mystique.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXIX)


Dad's vacuum coffee *** stands in the frail
And ghastly eye of Sunday's wee hours, dense
Calm not at all asleep, but poised from hence
Likeas a tiger waiting in betrayl
To spring upon the first noise breaching pale
Erm, silence' freighted null.  We don't breathe thence,
Nor shift within our beds...til dawn's bright sense
Of "it's a new day!" draws the curtains, hale.
I slept through his alarm and maunt bestir
Til late, cuz slumber was a thing chased through
Sae many hours, I mourned sleep would not cure
My soul of aught.  And Dad's now grinding, true
To form, espresso beans, tae pull shots per
Our Sunday wont.  What of the dream I knew?

28Apr19a

Yes, snow.  Mebbe take my face in your hands and shake me?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDIII)


It's...snowing.  Hug yourself within the pale
Eye of these naked hours whose ghastly sense
Of Winter sits triumphant oer pretense,
As tiny flakes 'non filter down t'avail
The soul of that keen silence--cherished bail
We relished in forgotten days like thence
Twas fit to sanctify us, wandring hence
To finger cotton-candy whiteness' tale.
Don't ask me why my heart sank in a poor
'Scuse when my owly eyes first caught the view.
Nor if I loved morn's cuppa like twas fer
My soul's recure, Assam just what we knew
It should be if you taste it, no.  We were
Too fond of lies, I think, was't?  I miss YOU.

09Nov18a

Or do you simply wade in a fog through both sith the idiot box leaves souls in a perpetual trance?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMLXXVI)


I've heard of whipporwills ere now, a sense
Of romance in the mention, that detail
Which Wordsworth spelled out plainly in betrayl
False as it ever was, eh?  Or what thence?
Perhaps.  Where tall woods hem us in fr'intents,
Fire dancing as orange licks at logs t'avail,
Gnats, either by the spray or dusk, gone, they'll
Begin, a call I learn to hear from hence.
Tis nary dream.  The lone deer I glimpsed fer
Effect in that field of alfalfa dew
Was settling on near twilight (seems) in tour
So perfect.  Where dusk's blueish veil fell through
That lively calm, hark to what as it were
Calls from the distance, as't draws nigh...so new.

20May19b

...sigh



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXXVIII)


Mists gird the skeletons of woods as hence
Dawn blushes pink in fragile twilight, pale
Gold clouds above, the highways now to scale
Half empty as how traffic speeds fr'intents
Upon its way, the ghostly veil which thence
Leaves yonder as a question we'll avail
Ourselves in finding later, oh! sweet frail
And silent minutes we drive through: what's whence?
If only I could linger here, nor stir
For aught save p'raps YOUR soft caress!  the dew
Which last night's pure moon wrought with as it were
Such careful fingers as that lace we view
As "frost," tis hoary white as lo, in tour
Our very breath which now we bate--how'd woo!

23Nov18b

By the by, her prompt was summer, with several provocative, evocative poems by other authors.  I began this one in meeting, cuz I'd finished that first one and people were not done scribbling, nor had she called time yet, but as the sestet proves, I finished it an hour later, outside.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCIV)


Yes, summer.  Blue skies nary clouds 'non fence
While fragile boughs rock to rough winds' exhale,
Leaves whispring as these golden shafts detail
The colder silence we now scribble hence
Through, and it's not e'en eight, but nearly, whence
Ya, what?  A train's deep voice in passing'd hail,
And people shift within their seats t'avail:
It's...June, and Shakespeare said "hot," aye, that sense.
Tis early, but the fifth, and cooler fer
'Most nine, as gloaming culls a winking crew
Of robins and lo, who? to lilt in tour
While I wait on this bench, and fading blue
Skies yield to friends in passing, while tis your
Face, arms, I want sae badly, Adrian:  you.

05Jun17c

Mmm?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXVIII)


Pink gathers on the East and subtly thence
Creeps westward as I watch the orange light's tail
With lo, fir shadows drawn up, til it fail
As robins call for silence, scolding hence
Most vigrously, whilst hark! now in a sense
How sparrows buck at that, to in betrayl
'Non settle; doves yet coo; and winds exhale
So softly as calm sifts oer all fr'intents.
Dogs bark 'non from a distance, people too
Talk, as I strain to hear the dove in tour,
Whilst traffic rushes on its way and blue
Skies yield to gathring darkness.  I strain fer
That voice, to feel the chill nip at me, poor
As nary sweater--to go in 'non too.

26Mar19d

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXV)


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

16Feb19a

"...nothing really matters [anymore]--"


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCIII)


Where blue heavns softly yield to orange' detail
And robins 'gain renew dear Mavis' sense
Of April gloaming with that song fr'intents,
E'en breaking off to scold as wont, the frail
Warmth sifted out while lo, a plane t'avail
'Non passes over, sparrows gaily fence
This calm with chatter, traffic likeas thence
Wont: I would sleep; yes, laugh, in sheer betrayl.
Don't let me cull to mind what tis as twere.
Who gives a hoot tis Friday night?  I do
Not care so much if I could just, in poor
Excuse, forget, and breathe.  Pink 'gins tae woo,
Now gathring on the East, and Nigel's tour
Of music oddly plays, the Scriptures too.

22Mar19c

This is what can happen if you let the fragment of a suggestion play itself out.  Dangerous?  Perhaps.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLX)


One dead leaf that October left fr'intents
Behind for old time's sake, 'non dances, pale
And lonely 'cross the naked blacktop, frail
Or homeless where snow skulks in cold suspense,
(To hunker down like yielding is pretense)
Its fragile essence like ours as th'exhale
Drives it on forward, March' winds chill detail
As our iniquities til Death.  Ah, whence?
I had this notion there was more as twere.
Like, if we bide our time, Spring shall 'gain woo
As wont.  But if you hear the Scriptures fer
Lo, even this dead leaf, all pales.  The crew
Of happy souls on Instagram, and poor
Lil me none knows, will answer, LORD, to...You.

10Mar19b