"...because their deeds were evil."


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXVIII)


Lo, coffee just ere dinner, talking thence
Of I forget what now, and that detail
In passing of yes, "him" I in betrayl
Still have a crush on--what is real? and, whence?
So, pull up Instagram, to close it hence--
To find me snookered past erm, midnight, frail
As aught excuse, and O! Thy Scriptures hail
Me til I'd rather hear Thee, LORD, for sense.
What have I done, that lies cavort in tour
And feign they've substance like the Serpent too
Long ere used to thus ****** in truth her
That he deceived, and Adam?  What is new?
Thy mercies every morning.  Save me, poor
As asking from these lies' morass, won't You?

29Mar19d

What's more perhaps frightening is to begin to waken to the subtler fact I've embraced and cherish this "new era" which 2000 supposedly ushered in, is it?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXVII)


"That was a diffrent--" yes, what, in betrayl?
The sevnties had their time.  The eighties' sense
I quite abhor, though raised in them.  Pretense
Waltzed naked through the nineties.  What, oh they'll
Call since "the noughts" was that new era's frail
Excuse for "now," which is so diffrent hence
Let's say I knew it by sheer instinct, whence
Forsooth, what zactly when ye want detail?
O, tis "pastoral" now to watch what'd stir
Folk in the sevnties.  I was too young to
Know aught but early childhood's joys in tour.
And wherefore I deplore, ya HATE the crew
Of years known as "the eighties" I as twere
Don't know.  Yet, what's THIS time we now live through?

29Mar19c
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RkWaHJyA2eY

Science claims a woman only "falls in love" once, and is irrevocably wreckt after that,



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXVI)


There was a reason Lagerfeld fr'intents
Did not waste aught on social media, frail
As which excuses for the same detail
Of foolish, erm, indulgence was't from thence?
And likewise why I'm dull without defense
For having lost me to renditions' tale
Was't? of my latest fav'rite: song; to scale--
Th'orignal that I love, and later's sense.
That taste of Cossack/Russian dancing fer
Dear memries of lo, Fiddler On what? to
Effect--The Roof--is gone, quite gone in poor
Reply for "Moskau" being the theme we knew,
Yes, ALL of us, was nashnalistic.  Were
Our joys in "disco" 'nough, that's "okay" too?

29Mar19b  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NvS351QKFV4

...forever I'm certain.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXII)


Come, come, as sparrows chatter for intents,
How lo, the cardnal knows as twere to hail
With just one note, that ha! he's here, in pale
Excuse for watching is't?  I'll tell ye hence
What I wish:  that he'd come, yes, closer, thence
Be less reserved, and sit upon (to scale)
My shoulder--how I'd love to feel t'avail
His weight, although he'd deafen me for sense.
Dream on, and wish a thousand things in tour,
Cuz breathing sometimes weighs too heavy through
These hours we feel our vanity as twere.
Who warbles from the pine's top, as wont to
Effect some years back when I'd peg out fer
The soft airs all our linen?  Say who knew?

28Mar19b

...I'll tell you in a later stanza.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXI)


Swear that I don't know what to scribble, frail
As aught excuse--as traffic chases thence
Dear whither in the dull lacklustre sense
The region clouds (which Shakespeare to avail
Knew best to frame) drive forward, white so pale
We put our music on or yes! fr'intents
O me! the news, this time of breathing hence
Mair stale than praps the ancients knew to scale.
I've read not license plates for sense in tour,
But like the girl I am--just which or who
Made each car, truck, etcetra, like's not poor,
And relish evry bird's voice like tis to
Effect a ransom for my soul.  Geese fer
Good measure honk in passing, and what's new?

28Mar19a

Sometimes I hate myself, my voice....



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXX)


If sorrows dog my path, how storm clouds' dense
Rack tinged a deeper navy with a trail
Of peach hang low, and ah, the dove t'avail
Coos softly as the sparrows tease fr'intents,
And if we could forget, or laugh from hence
Without that being--a sin is't? which detail
Then would we notice?  How wind's exhale
Is just as tender, warmth a fragile sense?
If only in all we'd praise Thee in tour,
LORD, see afar off past these heavns' fraught blue,
Yea, know beyond our tongues' recital--You.
See all, e'en as the goldfinch merr'ly stir
Soft happiness, where ah, the dove flew fer
All that from hence, see thus as we should do.

27Mar19b

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

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

Please?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXVII)


As lo, how sparrows call, whileas the frail
Warmth stirs 'gain daffodils to rise from hence
To "the occasion"--shadows drawn up thence
By those green, hopeful clusters light to scale
'Non dapples sweetly, robins scold in pale
Excuse likeas their wont...as I fr'intents
Want to hark for the mourning doves for sense--
What's left?  For ah, I hear them coo, t'avail.
If only Mum were with me now, as twere!
She'd want a coat or heavy card'gan too,
I spose talk of the Scriptures; praps a tour
Of world events... How doves yet sweetly coo
While robins sing, um, Mavis' song in poor
'Scuse, early:  shadows lengthen 'cross the view.

26Mar19c

...?  I mean, I was aware a week ago that this was a freighted opportunity, but was too inclined to swoon instead.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXVI)


So we made eggnog after dinner, whence
The kitchen warmly lit and to avail
Alive with jests, loud laughter, and to scale
Keen conversation, should have kept good sense
Upon its honour--but alas!  What thence?
I was too busy swooning in betrayl
To give but half an ear to aught, and frail
As aught excuse for crushes, wandered hence.
O let us laugh, if only that could cure
The folly from these vistas was it?  To
A fault those priceless minutes gone as twere--
Yes, eggnog long gone too, what have I?  Who
Can measure all we throw away in poor
'Scuse for our cherished lies?  And how few knew?

26Mar19b