Hint:  if you can read between the lines this might make sense.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLI)


O to be again his baby! set to scale
Upon the countertop where lo, fr'intents
The blender shows how small I am as hence
They watch their little girl eat crackers; hail
That fun with oh, the camra's eye t'avail
Poster'ty (which ne'er came to be) and sense:
So quasi "innocent" and dumb, I thence
Wish, sipping that espresso pulled, t'exhale.
Ah, foolish thought!  No sooner do I stir
Fond visions, but to ope my lips--what to
Effect is?!  Laugh at me.  Yes, hold in tour
Your sides and guffaw:  I'm as dumb.  Dad knew,
And further, proves it.  I digest in poor
'Scuse that keen fact.  And really, what is new?

07Mar19a

Ya.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXLVII)


Blue heavns with clouds as fiberfill gone stale
Jist floating lazly in morn's vague suspense,
Where coffee scents the air with half a sense
Of yonder whilst mine owly eyes in pale
Excuse take note of aught reply t'avail
As wont, sans words to roll oer fer intents
My tongue, and silence shifts as twere from hence
Without a voice as I leave that detail.
So later, from the kichen window fer
Mair than whatever, watch a wolf chase to
Effect some shapeless form, which as it were
Is caught just as his mouth decays in blue
Seas no, erm, Jolly Roger haunts in tour,
And wonder if that signifies aught too.

05Mar19a

Please.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXLVI)


If only what, eh?  Close the drapes ere thence
Tis gloaming, nary soft pink blushes' tale
For romance as we turn on lights t'avail,
And lose ourselves to dinner for intents,
Where I dash out the door as if from hence
She'd just arrived, the fragile hope's detail
Lost in that race to be elsewhere to scale,
'Til I don't see, like others, twilight's sense.
Discuss how men are jerks as we wait to
Pass through this intersection, cuz tis poor
To think he'd act the gentleman.  What?!  Do
You really cherish chivalry in tour?
It's dead.  Just like I weep when as it were
None look, all I had thought decays now too.

04Mar19b

Well?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXLIV)


Blue skies lo, nary cloud blots for intents
Warm on these frozen wastes as trash' detail
Flirts 'cross the puddles like a bird in pale
Excuse who, washing up as wont, shakes thence
His wings, light flashing off them with a sense
Of summer's carefree minutes, whiles to scale
Ice glares more coldly from the corners frail
Ghosts of thin warmth ne'er touch but tis pretense.
Dad pulls espressos, foaming milk in tour
As all baristas, yet sans flourish, to
Leave that to sheer caprice I find as twere,
Whiles I feign then to ascertain a view
Of this or that, which he half tol'rates fer
The mystry is't? of all we sorta knew.

03Mar19b

(or, what I did 02Mar19PM)



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXLIII)


Crunch M&M's whilst listning to, t'avail,
Karl Lagerfeld on lo, his craft and thence
Why he scorned social media for intents:
Cuz artists need to keep the channels they'll
Use to inspire such feats as we'll in frail
Excuse half worship clear of aught else hence,
Which I have learned ere now in sheer defense
Of this mine own work, whence erm, nod, t'exhale.
Chanel and Fendi lost a master fer
Their grand success these decades, likeas to
Effect they'll never know again in tour,
Methinks.  Ah, Shakespeare, Shelley, long gone too,
Carl Philippe um, Emmanuel Bach--what were
We thinking was ahead?  Mars candy'd do.

03Mar19a

...well, I neglected to stir the refried beans as I wrote this...



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXLII)


Snow flurries past the window for a sense
Of what's beyond these bathroom tiles in pale
Morn's eye, where lo, in lieu of dawn, a veil
As twere of white tricks out the cracks from hence
Likeas some veins filled 'gainst um, surgry, whence
Aught thinnest fissure stands out in betrayl
Now I've a chance to take one look t'avail,
We'd see our breath if we exhale, fr'intents.
If cleaning house ere any rose as twere
Was worth the effort, we'll play dolls anew
"Fore breakfast, cuz a Saturday is fer
O, sleeping-in for her, and fun to do
This opportun'ty good.  And coffee.  Stir
Me to make toast while sipping Daddy's brew.

02Mar19

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

...every morning, great is Thy faithfulness."  (Lam 3:22-23)



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXXXVII)


O hark now as the train's voice rumbles! Pale
Night else is dead asleep til ah, from hence
That warning whistle pierces through suspense;
And I just listen, rolling to avail
Those words across my silent tongue to scale,
Half seeing that mighty being which passes thence
As wont through woods none save the beasts fr'intents
Troll, wondring dimly over which detail?
Ha, I dunno.  Like, since I canna stir
Good slumber now, should I erm, rise and *****
That effort, to ink down this thought?  Tis poor.
Thus roll oer and exhale.  If morn debut
Sans fanfare, say a chance to write in tour
Shall yield that note a voice?  And what is new?

28Feb19a

Yo.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXXVII)


Roll words across my tongue as fog trims thence
The distance and rain pours in sheer betrayl
Down every window, like choice phrases' scale
Of what is beats out sheer real'ty hence,
How evning culls perspective in a sense:
Mists shroud the thought of yonder with a veil,
The clustered houses silent as, t'avail
I look out on the ghostly naught's pretense.
And oh! What do I try for in a poor
Attempt which falls upon its face anew?
Scroll through pics of stylish ladies' tour
Of lux'ry boots, and they'll still call my view,
Yes, outfits:  "intresting."  Mist woo as twere
My soul, and violets know my name, else, who?

23Feb19b

Okay, okay.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXXVI)


Ah, listen to the Scriptures as fr'intents
All that was day's gone to the dogs, in pale
Excuse for wanting now to write.  What'd hail
When I was working, had no time, and thence
Thought to ink later?  Blue skies cleared, a sense
Of April winked back through pine shadows, frail
Upon the melted snow's erm, puddles' tale,
And sparrows called for half a minute, whence?
How first John answers all that'd muddle fer
The umpteenth time what I erst thought I knew.
This vain dream I had thought was living, poor
As aught excuse, is only that:  dreams.  Do
We hear what Thou set'st 'fore us in this tour
Of breathing?  O that we'd walk, LORD, with You.

22Feb19b