...well, from my brother to my father, men seem to like a woman who listens to them, but...where's a man for me?!


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXLI)


Why does the basement air reek in betrayl
...Of turkey soup, til I hate that from hence,
Though dinner was a tasty thing fr'intents?!
Sleep early; and now midnight to avail
'Non tiptoes closer, yawn too loudly, frail
As aught excuse, the joys of which pretense
Gone stale?  Why kin I laugh, like's some defense,
Oer broken dreams, while that scent seems t'exhale?
I need to showr and go to bed.  What were
The right, erm, speeches that'd cull whom would woo
To be a true man?  Is all any stir
Some bad joke like the soup I'd caref'lly brew
From our Thanksgiving dinner?  Why's love poor?!
If I need to, um, listen...where are you???

29Nov18c

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

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMVIII)


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

06Dec24b

Well, I must thank Mark S. for his piece this AM...



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXV)


Where dawn just tinges blackness with the frail
Note of first blushes on the East for sense,
I wake within the clutches of what thence?
O wherefore does my throat half whisper bail
Is gone as't burns?!  A cold?!  Again?!  Detail
Pink's softest murmurs on this grey suspense,
And promise me it's all a joke from hence,
Or grant my soul such mercies as avail.
So sparrows gaily cry when I deter
The tug which begs I write what'd roll 'non through
Those freighted minutes as I cleaned in tour
Twa bathrooms--while aught slept.  Now hungry to
Effect, what of the cruel suggestion?  Poor?
Is hope a thing with anchors?  Is it true?

27Apr19a

...I still imagine there is.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXXIX)


Lo, how a robin scolded me in pale
Dawn's eye, as if what 'zactly for intents?
And sang how sweetly as I'd toast for sense
Um, sourdough slices, raisin bread, t'avail--
Until I took the darling then to scale
In hand t'explain (cuz they are jealous, whence
I've had such grief oer Mavis' song) from hence
I'll love all birds, not just him, in betrayl.
Now blue skies so expansive warm in tour
'Cross afternoon's half lazy sense tis new,
Snow like a curse swept far off as it were,
The memry of morn's early minutes too,
My noggin full of all since then in poor
'Scuse, sparrows tease my smiles at lunch, and woo.

16Mar19a

La dee....his eyes tantalized me with mysterious looks until the day I yielded.


(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLVIII)


Lo, yesterday 'bout now...we talked, from whence
What, eh?  I've dreamed of what in sheer betrayl
We might, erm, name our daughters.  Sons?  oh, they'll
Have yes, their father's name, I hope.  Ya, thence
Laugh oer my folly when Joe's not fr'intents
Yet even called or answered emails, pale
As hopes built on his kisses ist?  Detail
I dunno what, and patience is good sense.
Ah, Joe.  I love...his eyes, how frankly fer
Aught he looks into mine.  His face dear too,
Those kisses to my hand my lips as twere
Are jealous of, I'd cherish each inch to
Etern'ty if the LORD grants us.  Is't poor?
If only I could tell Joe:  I love you.

28Jun17b

Yo.  
[L1 the "he/his" is my father when I exuberantly said it looked like...April.]



(sonnet #MMMMMMCXIX)


Ah me!  His short reply:  "It's February." dense
With aye, signifcance--oh!  but how these pale
Yet baby-blue fresh skies white cloud puffs trail
Across in, like to ice floes' vague pretense
Upon some vast sea, whilst the sparrows thence
Chirp gaily, distant as the fragile scale
Of golden warmth's note--heavn's eye in detail
Thus proffers--hints of April in aught sense!
Come, feel it in your bones, nor say tis poor!
Tree skeletons' long naked boughs splashed to
Effect shift as thet purplish touch haunts fer
A space cloud islands and oh!  Say we knew.
Yes, I still cherish these, whileas the moor
Lies frozen, glad tis cuz I miss Mum too.

01Feb17a

(sonnet #MMMMMCCCLXXVII)


I'm not asleep.  But wakened, tiptoe thence
Through every minute like to dare exhale
Is not allowed, as if to breathe would hail
The end of visions roused to caper whence
No concrete line shall say, whileas suspense
Knows Janry shows our breath in sheer betrayl
As snow feels that chinook's touch, waxing pale
Though I still walk upon its face tward sense.
And hear a distant blue jay's cry bestir
Young Saturday's thin silence like he knew
What I maunt parse out 'til what aye? as twere.
Oh yes, the sparrows' playful calls heard too
Whilst carving out the eggs, and thought in poor
Excuse I'll be half good, erm, just for you.

09Jan16b

Maybe I'll clean up my act, just to be good.  It did give Shaun the chance to look deeply and most mournfully (nicely empathetic) into my eyes once upon a time ages ago...



(sonnet #MMMMMCMLXXIX)


I'll wear my heart upon this sleeve in pale
Excuse as oft as suits my fancy, whence
Ye all kin chide to no avail from hence,
Whiles I rebuff aught notions in betrayl
Of better sense, cuz nothing here is bail.
Or if some fragile thought seems vague defense,
Tis vanquished ere I've managed to gain thence
A foothold, and I'll be thus stripped and frail.
Ah, love.  Do thou but tempt me with the poor
Suggestion, ye kin laugh 'til ye are blue,
I'm prey, tears dried until tis proven fer
Whatever that twas aye, a jest.  I'll rue
Me folly, cherry-cheeked, and pray whiles your
Much wiser sense erm, coughs.  And yes, I knew.

20Oct16

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXIV)


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

15Feb19d

(sonnet #MMMMMDXXXVIII)


Now moonlight glances in to splash from hence
My silent comforter, then floor, its pale
Eye keener than aught voiceless notice, frail
Calm frozen in reply with snow's pretense
Beyond these darkened hours, as if the sense
Ere waltzing through a pegged load on th'exhale
Which fingered jonquil nubbins like green's bail
Is gone as swiftly as our love's defense.
Oh Tyler!  I could never dream as twere
Of all you held in soulmate, bashert to
A breathless fault, whom none compare to, poor
As saying is.  You were all and more, aye knew
Me better than I dared to think, and your
Love in my veins, though dead, I love you too.

22Mar16a

....mebbe cuz I have no lover.  [Wait, Dad oddly did too.]


(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCXC)


Soft mists down in the valley ere dawn thence
But twinkle oer these massy treetops, pale
White's fragile ghost waits thinly like a veil
Which masks the greener figures waiting hence,
Whileas we shovel on our ways, that sense
Of romance waltzing off ere I avail
Me of more than sheer notice on that scale,
And ah, who listens for those songs? or whence?
How maple boughs wait sans aught whisper too,
Leaves shifting or half murmring as it were.
You're not allowed to say the flowrs look poor,
Cuz daffodils yet nod where planted to
Be sunshine through July.  I'm losing fer
All that what was it? what few joys I knew?

11Jul17a

Can I plead that I don't know how...as poor as that excuse?



(sonnet  #MMMMMMMCMLXXXII)


****** up the tea cups Dad gave me, to thence
Drop all to get a hold of him, t'avail--
His dear initials on those twa cups hale
Reminders of my father, in defense
Of all he's givn me, 'spite my follies, whence
O how we talk in lieu of breakfast's scale
Of nour'shment!  Likeas when we could detail
Each other's eye and face--talk--for intents.
I knew he'd love the Calhoun County tour--
Twas all both he and Mum had cherished through
The years:  secluded, off the grid as twere,
Nor with the city's echo, quite poor too.
It's just the money.  What drove me to stir
Up independence was that cursed thing's cue.

22May19b

wow, wrote this in 12 minutes...*



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCXCIII)


My bad...it is semantics thet avail
You of the same affections I've lost, whence?
Oh dear!  How shall I ever own defense?
He's Russian' beat strains on whiles I in pale
'Scuse madly type that sonnet in betrayl
Up for you, and how shall I put it hence?
When we're apart I'm strong; together? sense
Is buried and I yield me up sans bail.
Thus leave me in cold silence and, though's poor,
Lo, I thought "curtains!" though my brother knew
Far better.  Now rain'd sweetly dance in tour
And I miss being where he is, lost thus to
My world in his, although's too short as twere.
Why can't a godly man want me...um, you?

14Oct17a

Reading Shakespeare over [old] coffee this (27May18PM) afternoon, he's right, I should be very thankful my brothers love me.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMCLXXIV)


Ya, pensive as grey shadows lenthen hence
Across warm, sun-washed lanes, that thin detail
Lost to our keen pursuit of whither, pale
Erm figures of huge trees 'non fingring thence
Our thoughts or passage, while none ask fr'intents
Just where we're going in such haste, the tale
Of how enough, as I've ne heart t'avail,
Wont to feign smiles as if I'd their defense.
From diesel pick-ups to slick cars, we tour
With yonder at our soul, these cloudless blue
Skies so expansive, 'til I realize fer
All that how empty tis, sans soul, the view
No longer grand but galling in a poor
'Scuse, where ne lover but deceives anew.

24May18a

Believe me, if I knew the reason, I'd give it;your guess is as good as mine.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXII)


Go flip me out like yoghurts lately; frail
Though aught excuse, I'm still here, with a sense
I canna shake, cuz I don't wanna thence
Be is't?  I slept more soundly like t'avail
Me of the mere suggestion could own bail,
Yet such, erm, follies are but cruel pretense.
I neither want this scene nor can from hence
Return to aught I knew, so which detail?
Where pink begins to romance night as t'were,
Find Ian Van Dahl's beat in my fingers to
Drive forward "Castles In the Sky" as poor,
Til ere dawn break, find what 'neath softest blue
Heavns? How Thy mercies new each morning stir
Afresh: Thy sparrows sweetly sing of You.

10Oct24a

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMDCCLVII)

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

21.Jun.24b

(sonnet #MMMMMCDXV)


There was a science to extraction.  Pale
Morn's wintry eye does not observe the sense
I rather feel as boiling water thence
Steams up the pipe, to settle without bail
Above my waiting carafe, as't fail
To know the vacuum meant it'd drain from hence.
And none else trouble-shoots the Pebo, whence
My griefs **** weary thumbs in sheer betrayl.
I know Mum would ask why I bother fer
The umpteenth time to make this work, and brew
A *** of grim frustration joe in poor
Excuse shan't bless.  Dad cites my dreams, to stew
By halves oer this grand failure.  I don't stir
Aught grounds, pray, miss Mum, and what'd aye, subdue?

28Jan16a

Being fatigued has its benefits: I don't give a hoot.


(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXXXVI)


Talk to the silence as a train growls thence
Through wooded stretches, 'neath the bridge detail,
Sans more than rumbling deeply on that scale,
And think of how wee cricket voices fence
These ghastly plains with fiddling oer suspense,
Nor listen cuz--those days are gone and fail,
At least my solace in their joys does, pale
Expanses washed in moonlight not mine hence.
Or not the maple's knobby roots as twere,
Its canopy of shadow lace I knew
Last year, that freedom of the lake in tour
Gone, I remember, as tinnitus to
Effect half waltzes with the clock's demure
Tread, ticking, whilst...what is't that no man woo?

09Jul17b

David Grey "that poor Scotsman--"/Poet Andrew.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCXXXV)


How dew lies silver in the valley, pale
Shafts through these naked boughs whose shadows' dense
Grey draws up silhouettes upon the sense
Of green lawns' soft new carpet to avail,
Half winking through the ghost of mists' detail
As trees' gaunt skeletons stand silent hence
In sheer calm's fragile note of light suspense,
And I could lose me here where dawn's eye'd hail.
But, no.  Just take a fleeting gander, poor
Though thinner notice be, and while we two
Put on the eggs, make porridge, toast, or fer
All that I do, as Dad makes gravy, view
A Saturday?  Roll 'cross my tongue what were
Sae almost hallowed ere, and say we knew?

01Apr17a

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXXXV)


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

17Mar19c

Smile, or?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCLXXX)


White.  Snow.  Sae del'cate that we feel it hence
Within our souls:  that hallowed silence they'll
Assure ye is what Sunday's due.  T'inhale
Is what we do, half stifled, til I thence
Am lo, some heathen, breaking in fr'intents
And shattring that fine calm as I exhale
My raptures with sheer glee words maught avail
Aught else, Dad chiding me like's sans defense.
So I pass through to breakfast:  late.  Yes, stir
Him 'spite all that to later say it too,
Whenas the dainty white is heavy--we're
Agreed tis verra wet, and will melt to
Effect ere we're aware, nor linger.  Pure
Sweet silence calls unto my soul as't woo.

14Apr19b

...want M&M's right now!


(sonnet #MMMMMMMCDXIX)


Out where a fragile silence listens, pale
Sweet minutes on their honour as suspense
Hangs like the rick'ty signboard of what hence
Shall cough ere giving voice, yes, in that frail
Calm rain does not quite tiptoe through t'avail,
The voiceless naught is keenly for intents
Half harking to what we don't hear from thence
In all our haste to be, I search for bail.
Old pools of water, silver-faced, don't stir,
And crickets gently fiddle; cars pass through,
Truck sans a care, weeds look too yellow to
Be ransomed, and the eaves drip.  Oh, what were
We thinking, really?  Death knocks 'gain in tour
Yet we feign not to notice.  Ah, what's new?

30Sep18a

Shake-speares sonnets back in the day...



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCLXIV)


Oh me!  I never knew sich weary hours a sense
Of being half sick owns, whilst naught does avail,
This fevered longing mine as clouds' thin veil
Shows fragile blue skies, and warm notes from hence
Akin to daffodils' gay yellows thence
Abob to vagrant winds, where ne exhale
But haunts like to a ghost in sheer betrayl,
Nor moves the baby leaves hung in suspense.
Pink mists frame naked boughs as buds now tour
Those blackened skeletons of trees I do
'Non cherish in their wanting state, rain fer
All that a moistened kiss mair fit to woo
Than ist Baroque strains I sip coffee's cure
To?  Andrew, I swear oh, how I love you.

13Apr17b

We shan't indulge in the collection which puts the thought to shame.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCC)


You envied what? His paper cup's detail?
The plastic straw which shreds itself ere thence
You've even had a sip? Or what is't hence?
Sketch nothing cuz you won't draw, just to scale,
This world Bill Peet deplored thus? Yet the tale
Of naked buildings 'cross the fields pretense
Threw up to grand effect are what fr'intents
'Non haunt yer dreams likeas they would avail.
Or is the "lukewarm nightmare" all as t'were
That's left if you would trick out visions to
Beguile the fleeting moments none bestir?
Or join the traffic on its way, where through
What means you half yearn for those hours in tour
Which terr'fied was't? No. That vain hope I knew.

01/17.Jan.23a

This just 30 hours after that initial "Hello, I'm--"...and I can hardly think straight to even compose.
L14 is an inside joke.


(sonnet #MMMMMMDXLIII)


I never had a sister, that detail
Of best friend whom your clothes and secrets thence
Shares ah, my mother.  Yet for our defense
She taught my brothers and I to avail
Ourselves of aye, each other for that bail
As dearest friends than else.  Now for good sense
Whileas you turn my world for aught intents
Quite upside-down--you say we're friends to scale.
I love my friends from poetry as twere,
My brothers dearest as Mum taught, but you?
"What do you mean 'I love you.'?" like tis poor.
Sure, we don't share um, clothes nor lines, but to
A fault you turn me to the LORD.  Love's fer
All that what friends do, and I like you too.

07Aug17a

(sonnet #MMMMMDCCLV)


I swore twas firewerks as morn 'gan t'unveil
What tiptoes 'cross ere thirsty gardens' dense
Half rustling bushes or bean plants, as hence
Rain waltzes, lightning in odd flashes hale
Bouts of deep thunder echoes, where dawn's pale
Eye is not man-made war-games nor pretense,
To disspate when tea's lo, sheer break time, whence
I don't mull sleep-drugged thoughts, but you, t'avail.
That silver tinkling's high pitched voice as twere
Distraction for one line, what did I do?
You're silent, like's passe, when I need your--
Um, what?  I dunno.  Robert, why'd you woo
Me 'til success roosts on the barn's crest fer
Ha, kicks?  Ne compliments, yet, I love you.

06Jul16a

...poor man's tea, the softest boiled eggs on toast, porridge too, ere running out the door.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCLXIX)


He's smoking when I slide in, as the pale
Eye of a ghastly dawn now fingers hence,
Where shafts pierce 'cross this whiter canvas thence
Half golden, to illumine flakes' detail
Piled up in vast heaps, yet in sheer betrayl
Stacked up like individual pieces, whence
Note how like furry mounds it winks back, sense
Thrilled though ne words frame up what'd non avail.
And oh! his open window yields in tour,
Despite the mad rush of these highways too,
Whose voices? Birds.  As if the sparrows fer
All that were singing gaily unto You.
Likeas they e'er do, LORD.  I need as twere
Aught little glimpse, Thy mercies ever new.

26Jan19a

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



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXVI)


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

16Feb19b

Alas, is there truly no excuse for me?


(sonnet #MMMMMMCMXVIII)


Take icy cloth's embroidered linen's sense
Of April's warmth to task for darts, as hale
Pink butterflies weave paths to yonder's bail,
And what is stylish now is red, deep hence
With snappy blue in patterns I've tossed thence
Aside as "not my taste," and oh! t'avail
How Valentines' tricks out most ads' detail
With hearts in tow, where I've none in defense.
Remember how our heavy kissing's tour
Of things I'd never tasted, left me too
Far Dis-illusioned in betrayl, as poor
As all that, and I miss the violets dew
In silver droplets used to kiss as twere.
So flowrs are knit on linen while none woo.

01Feb18b

Watching anime again lately, the teeny-boppers eagerly asking each other for "contact info" I now think to want that, but it'd do no good since I never call guys.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCXVI)


Not gloaming, but a fragile note that sense
Culls as the maples' silent leaves shift, pale
Light on the waning, and blue's soft detail
Is clouds 'non painted to effect that hence.
Lo, green by dint of shadows deepens, whence
This calm that tiptoes 'cross the moor t'avail
Knows aye, the hollows are alive to scale,
Nor frogs asleep now nightfall beckons thence.
I wonder if Joe thinks of me as twere,
Or whether dreams are mine alone tae stew
Oer, who 'non miss those eyes sunglasses' poor
Blind's kept me from enjoying two weeks now too
Erm, many.  I'll just wait, and pray.  Assure
Me nothing.  He is moving fast thinks who?!

16Jun17b

Italeau...Fiamma--my brother wishes likewise that they'd fit.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCDX)


Boots.  Suede, Italian, and too small fr'intents,
My toes half bruised from jist one two-hour's scale
As twere of wearing, and lo, for the sale
Which netted me this lux'ry I've naught hence
Save yearning for that glor'ous pair which thence
Must be returned, prayrs for a pair t'avail
Me like these should have, with none in a frail
Excuse 'cept made-in-China boots' defense.
I only text YOU 'bout the size as t'were,
Nor know what YOUR opinion is, if YOU
Care two bits whether I've this pair in tour
Or that, just that Italian boots anew
"Run small."  And um, "I wear size ten." But's poor,
Cuz I must foot the bill, with pennies too.

25Sep18b

January's thaw was ever wont to deceive even the lacklustre souls with visions of sugarplums was that?



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCCCLXXVII)


How blue dusk fringes that wee chance t'avail
Myself of scribbling...ere we dine.  Spring hence,
Despite frore winds' most cruel breath, tiptoes thence
Within these longer hours of light.  Though frail
Perhaps in guise, yet O! in keen betrayl
Nor with aught joy, my very soul can sense
Its eye as if upon these wastes, til whence
Is only whether next month shall wax pale.
Yes, will ole Febry yield to April fer
All that?  I feel it in my bones anew,
Half shivring to acknowledge what, as't stir?
Ah, wherefore do I shrink from May, and rue
The hope of daffodils and violets, poor
As all my ecstasies therein?  Who knew?

12Jan18b

Some of my friends swear they are, but I'm not.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCXL)


Rain.  Just a whisper as how twilight thence
Steals thinly 'cross the ist more fragile scale
Of wet?  I caught that note in sweet all hail
To say "it can't be--!" puddles' ghostly sense
Now winking lightly from the blacktop, whence
That subtler voice of traffic hissing, pale
In deeper shadows' lonely wake, t'avail
Was't true, and phone recharging, what from hence?
I'm sleepy.  Blackened silhouettes hulk fer
Good measure in the darkness, like a crew
Upon some ghastly mission as it were,
But I'm too tired for aught now, lying down to
Effect right in this stuffed chair.  Call it poor,
And one espresso long gone, kiss me too?

02Apr17c

So there.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMVI)


Yes, fire.  We plunked down on the fur rug thence
Afore her fireplace, and I in betrayl
Neglected to erm, lose me on its hale
And licking flames, e'en that romance' pretense
Was blind to--wherefore? Sandwiched for intents
Twixt two guy friends, I was too dull t'avail
Me even there, yea lost myself in pale
'Scuse in auld lines to Nigel, like's good sense.
Now Sunday watches diesel trucks roar fer
Sweet hours through lonesome country roads 'neath blue
Skies nary cloud is but a ghost in, poor
As saying.  I told a friend I'm as a melon you
Cleaned out, sans Mum, and what as twere
Is left?  LORD, give me Thy fruit.  And kids too?

11Mar18b

...and I'll give you half an ear.  
[L9:  Robert.  And sent a pic when returned.  And yes, I loved him, shame to say.]



(sonnet #MMMMMCMXCI)


Where gloaming filters out in greyish thence
And fading halflight, children's voices trail
Some barking canine as no birds detail
Calm whispers whose soft breath tugs at me hence
Likeas to stay my footfalls with that sense
Tis now, and here.  Ne stars yet in blue's veil
Except the evening star alone oer pale
Dead houses, and how sunset burns low.  Whence?
Indeed.  He's gone to Burning Man as twere
Or some take off that, romance forfeit too,
Else I'll wish for a date with each in poor
Excuse, how's that?  The problem is...that you
Are not here.  What are cool winds' murmurs?  You're
Who gives dusk romance.  Tell me that you knew.

23Oct16c

Don't know what good it'll do.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXVIII)


I don't observe the holiday, as whence
Joe's calling oer this weekend in detail
Meant just that, but did not.  Four days t'avail
Us, lo I see now, signifies good sense
Where Monday is a work day, Tuesday thence
As wont likewise, for me--haha on frail
Complaints of silence.  All 'non waxes pale,
Nor can I figure what, for all intents.
Winds turn the Maple leaves backside in tour
Til white blinks at the gathring clouds thin blue
Drowns warmly in, and I am dull as twere.
My brother's touring Europe now, to do
Whatever good.  I dreamt of fishing, poor
As thinking I'll be yours, Joe: ya, what's new?

02Jul17b

The camera's eye is perhaps more effective than words, or?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLVI)


I've watched the velvet roses blush fr'intents,
To see how crimson darkly fades, the tale
Of daffodils and tulips sweetly hail
Each "...dew-empearled morn--" and bow with sense
Of age; mine own locks gathring silver thence
As months tripped by sans backward glance, and pale
Though keen chagrin now I'm as cheese t'avail
And ver'ly aged, I mourn which loss from hence?
The minutes that would tiptoe as rain'd stir
While frogs crooned love songs whenas gloaming'd woo
I relished, dreaming of this man in poor
Excuse, or that.  Lo, now I beg of You,
LORD, to please give me marriage and in tour
Mine own sweet children.  Death laughs oer the view.

08Mar19b

Some of you go so far as to disclaim any ability to find you, but I've got you.



(sonnet #MMDCCXCV)


Dare claim your writing does not breathe a strain
Of your dear essence: to be fooled. Thereby
Petrarca's soul distills its fervour aye;
And Wyatt cool good sense; while Surrey feign
With mildest touch and Spenser's pure refrain,
Sweet Shakespeare beauing hearts, dare cry
Amain. From Milton's kingly strength's reply
To Wordsworth's cold hauteur, yea come again?
Twas Samuel Taylor Coleridge roused me
To think afresh, his lively fancy through
Each line with his impress. From Shelley's plea
To Keats' indulgence, Missus Browning's blue
Yet mystic charm, don't think all cannot see.
You don't know me? But ah, I do know you.

31Aug13b

Wonder what he'll say when he sees this finally?



(sonnet #MMMXC)


December's undue warmth gone with the pale
Light's tender glow, what chill assaults! Each sigh
Which gaily teased, a frigid breath ne'er shy,
Yet gloaming is too pretty in its frail
Stealth waning while I fold the minor tale
Of items earlier pegged where morning'd buy
Fair hopes the laundry might well even dry
If it'd not rain.  Winds soft then are more hale.
But I am smiling like a fool sans sense
And giggling cuz of you.  How when I knew
You'd penned a most exquisite tribute dense
With what I meant, you swore that sunstroke threw
Its blind across, and not love's influence,
Nor me.  Haha.  I know.  And love you too.

02Dec13a

I suppose we never are.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLVII)


As steam wafts up in whitish tendrils' pale
Dance, likeas figures which cavort from hence
In ghostly silence til the ether thence
Half swallows them--as spirits in betrayl
Taen into heaven ist?  Look past, t'avail
Me of the world beyond this window, whence
See how fir boughs nod to chill breaths for sense
While lo, the Maple's naked yet, calm frail.
This first cup black, we're being good Swedes I'm sure,
And savour all the more what Daddy'd brew
Upon that note.  Remember too as twere
My sister'n'law who'd drink joe like I knew
Old seasoned captains would:  black.  And in poor
Still voiceless naught, the radio chatters too.

09Mar19a

Try this!  Another site I rarely visit [long since extinct by 2017], had that weekly challenge and this time it read as follows:

Using the poetic style of your choice, answer the question “Who am I?”, without using the pronoun “I”. Instead, write your “poetic biography” in 3rd person.

Here was my submission....does it make sense?

Yours Truly

(sonnet # CCCCXLVII)


No butterfly, perhaps a moth? just lent
Some precious time to try to fly while night
Reigns, ere the morning dawns.   A reckless wight
E'er chasing carefree; mayhap too, half bent
Unwitting on a troubled course, intent
On fun and happiness whilst grief its plight
Imbues with sob'ring grey, as if t'indict?
Where time's misspent in tracing romance' scent?
"Forgiven" as a blessing daily sought,
Its nameplate hangs for all the world to see.
And if Truth's lessons seeming dearly bought
May mercif'ly be granted taught, 'twill be
A better ending than this vain life's wrought,
If when time's up, it flies, O LORD, to Thee.

07Jan12
D66d
By Jennifer S. Gordon aka Cheeky Missy

...the sages taught.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXXII)


Tis all a paltry jest whose sweet pretense
I cherished more than due, although sans bail
Thy Scriptures oer and oer instruct t'avail
My soul to not love aught here; all I'd thence
Laugh 'bout and think t'extole as being fr'intents
Tops, waxing thin in retrospect's detail,
And to the moment's shining face, til frail
Joys mock "...their own presage--" is't lo,from hence?
She wants to go out for um, coffee.  Her
Idea, not mine, when it comes down unto
The point of which cafe.  And that's good too.
But most joe is not worth the price, in poor
'Scuse.  She does not care.  'Nother friend in tour
Will hook me with her cousin, when?  He'll woo?!

29Apr19b

[My beloved Mum died 2 years ago today.]



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCCCLXXVI)


This wan light draws up shadows for pretense,
Their fragile shapes like ghosts in sheer betrayl
Upon dry lanes bleached ere for safety, pale
Blue skies with half an eye, winds piercing thence
Nor but too bitter as they scour from hence
The frore and stubbled fields none wander; frail
And icy clouds with grey battalions hail
Is't who'd observe in passing?, like's good sense.
I cherish naked trees' black forms in tour,
Now clustered by the graveyard, tombstones to
Effect 'non dotting hallowed ground is't? poor
As our fond notions, dim hours' greyer cue
Sae perfect as Death owns that space as twere,
While leering at souls through these minutes too.

12Jan18a