...well, who doesn't love Cheerios?

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXXVIII)


Mum said that I loved Cheer'os when, to scale,
A baby, til I knew the photos thence
Well-nigh by heart, those little o's fr'intents
So perfect yet so slippry e'en dry (frail
As aught excuse where tiny fingers hail
All sheer retrieval as a project hence);
And now she's gone, I eat them like defense
For all we knew and cherished, like t'avail.
One brother rhymed and sang that, "Cheer'os [were]
The best thing you e'er tasted!" cuz we grew
Up with our oats thus packaged, or in tour
Rolled, boiled and hot, as porridge, til what's new?
I'm packing them for werk, in milk, is't poor?
And if they're comfort, LORD, how we need You.

20Oct24a

The Cat is in the box
The box is too small
She sleeps by the fire
Caring not at all

NCL April 2019

She's a leaping high five
with her feet planted firmly
on the ground

She is a crescendo of sound
and emotion . Puts her finger to her lips and shushes me .

She bathes in moonbeams while
tantalizing stars knowing
their touch is too far

She hides behind the clouds when
the sun burns . Capturing the rays and
hiding  them in kelidoscopic jewels she wears around her ankles so she can see
where she walks on moonless nights

She teaches fairies to dance in rings
and in return becomes the dance instead

She's the Cheshire's smile that
disappears on the wings of a firefly

Something in the morning's guise
Leaves me lonely asking why

When one a world away
Said the same just today

I'm sure the sun will now arise
Up over the horizon by n' by

And stirring up down deep inside
The words that want to rise

So before the moon goes down
Before the birds stir around

I'll take a moment's notice and my pen
To say good night to God and men

i will cram myself into a goldfish bowl
because it's awkward inviting people to look at me if i am perfectly normal
maybe everyone will forget to feed me
and one day you'll find me belly side-up

or perhaps i will dig myself into the cheerios in my bowl
i need a life preserver
and there are several stacked up in there

maybe i will get bitten by a computer virus and morph into code that nobody can decipher

or maybe i will write a poem
and it will preserve a portion of my soul

(so that my ideas may die without such a struggle)