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

...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

...neither of us.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCXXX)


She calls to tell me of the wondrous scents
Now wafting in from her oped windows hale
In clover and fresh grass, whose sweet detail
Is not, she sez, though that can't be pretense;
And I am glad for her. Wisconsin dense
In such is far too perfect. I'd avail
Me but I am in Lincoln's Land sans bail,
And country living hers, I've no defense.
Best friends now from a distance, what is poor
Is we can't hang out anymore. We knew
Such parties in the day, shared dishes fer
The fun of it, went groc'ry shopping too,
Together, and now only have as t'were
Our phones. Thou gav'st all, LORD, and we wait You.

23Apr25d

(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

...silly me.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCV)


Oh sunny warmth, I'm thankful to avail
Me of these tender hours where sparrows thence
Tease, and now I recall how last night scents
From bar-b-que would haunt mine exit, trail
Along, til in the pre-dawn darkness, frail
As aught 'scuse, how sich odours tempt fr'intents
Til I am making arguments for sense
T'unravel, as his comment last week'd hail.
He wished repeatedly for bar-b-que in tour,
A grill left out last night from neighbors who
Could thus avail themselves. Forget in poor
Reply the pulled pork whiskey'd tinge, as through
Thy mercies, LORD, I'm giv'n more hours. Bestir
In me to sing Thy praise, all, all of You.

13Mar25a

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