Ahem.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCLXXXIIII)


The game of yes, pipe cleaners, raised sans bail
Its stakes, for I am not allowed aught hence,
All are the cats to dance oer, leaving thence
Their toys wherever. Hide mine here t'avail
Or there, how Tigger'd query, that detail
No safety as she hunts and filches, sense
Keen on all I have, til where is defense?
I've givn them now a couple, but all'd fail.
Is it a game of hide-and-seek as twere?
Oh me! Mine used to sit out in plain view
Where I could grab and use it sans in tour
A second thought; no nowhere's safe. The two
Have put dibs on ALL sets of that til's poor
Now to resist? Oh LORD, how we wait You.

27Aug25b

--scratch that, my cat woke up.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCLXXXI)


Where shadows come and go, ah, which detail?
I'm watching Autumn in its paces hence,
Yet like each year, I cannot paint fr'intents
The view, cuz tis so subtle. Skies t'avail
With gilded cloud battalions, blue seas they'll
Own whileas grey sweeps 'cross in sheer suspense,
How leaves are changing sans as twere from thence
Aught fanfare, cuz it is still early. Bail?
And Tigger's sleeping in my lap, the cure
For all my running 'bout since that won't do
Cuz now I'm grounded. T-mobile's freebie fer
This week a logo'd stadium bag, clear too,
I'll cheer on whom? Is Robert coming? Stir
Me when he does? Oh LORD, I wait for You.

26Aug25c

[pipe cleaners in rainbow colours]

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCLXXVII)


Pipe cleaners had a purpose, straws' detail
Left sans recure without. But cat toys thence?
How Tigger comes to watch me wash fr'intents
The dishes; all was cool til she'd t'avail
Espy the cluster on the ledge, her trail
To happy minutes; leaving off pretense,
She picks her way through plates just rinsed to whence,
That tool for cleaning now a toy, and bail.
Last I saw, twas a spider. Straight'ning her
Wreck, I return it, to watch Peter too
Enjoy what never had so much use fer
'Scuse til redeemed by cats. Ah me, who knew?
Were we likewise worth nothing as it were
Until the potter, LORD, was only You?

26Aug25a

Prolly wouldn't have gone off half as well.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCLXXIV)


Whilst steam wafts up in dainty tendrils' sense
Of romance, brie with del'cate mould's detail
Upon my tongue, where Peter's on the trail
Of Tigger and she's dancing oer mice, whence?
The squirrel comes by to look, and they from hence
Are keen on him, or whom? Chill winds' exhale
Sifts through like solace, where calm seems t'avail
Despite their wild play cuz I'm home fr'intents.
Debate what I shall serve for breakfast, poor
As such sheer wastes of time, and brunch will do,
I guess. Swiss cheese and scallions mixt in tour
With scrambled eggs, Canad'an bacon too,
And porridge, noshed on whilst they sleep. Bestir
Fresh air with gratitude. LORD, I thank You.

25Aug25a

...on love and romance.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCLII)


Frogs chorus in the darkness sweetest scents
Waft through as if romance owns aught detail
Now tis May first, oh me! Just to inhale
Is to cull swooning til I've no defense
Where night'd intox'cate in a trice, good sense
As wont in lover's trysts quite perished, frail
Though aught 'scuse when you've nary hope t'avail
Upon the clock--is't lilacs?! or what hence?
Eat salad after hours, "spring mix" as t'were
With olives, shrooms, tomatoes, onions, to
Effect a treat, potato chips to cure
Aught cravings, what I want is to yield 'new
Where romance tugs upon my sleeve: is't poor?
Were not sweet odours meant to thereby woo?

01May25b

...who coulda guessed?

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCLI)


Quip "Happy May day!" to learn that detail
Of ribbons and a party 'round fr'intents
The maypole will not do e'en in pretense,
Cuz he was born in June.  Like to avail
Us of sich joys...?! or was there more in frail
Excuse that I'd miss where he'd answer thence
So oddly? Shall we ever meet 'gain? whence
Shelve this til later, and then whither's bail?
Rain falls in torrents like the storm in tour
Would shut aught down, yet nothing flickers through
Its rampage. Drive home as it lingers, stir
Both cleaning and our breakfast til maunt do
And I yield up to napping; maint'nence cure
All problems til what's left is to seek You.

01May25a

...I'm all mixt up, am I?!



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCXXXI)


Sweet blue skies with soft gilded clouds t'avail,
Red Maples' baby leaves now flutter hence
So lightly, and how dandelions thence
With sunny yellow heads dot green lawns' trail
To yonder as songs flit and call like bail
From every bush, tree, covert, nook, a sense
Of all we cherished in that note, no scents
Of pine, fresh grass nor clover to inhale.
But how the lake now ripples as winds stir
Across its face, the sparrows gaily too
'Non calling as geese rest. If plovers cure
Night's blackness, how frogs chorus through
The welcome touch of chill. And Shakespeare, poor
As subterfuge, remains cloaked. What is new?

23Apr25e

...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

Ah, dearest Will, you win, hands down.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCXXIX)


Dear William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, they'll
Not know you as you are. Tis as fr'intents
You wanted; oer four hundred years quite dense
With progress have erased you; that detail
Used then to masque is all they know t'avail
Them of as, "in black ink [my]Love-" fr'intents
Not thee, "may still shine bright." Tis called pretense
Whenas I try t'acknowledge thee. I've no bail?
The "gordian knot" who set in place to stir
That world back then has worked so well, what's true
Is not known now. As for thy Love, in poor
Reply what Francis Meres knew shall not do,
You are a pervert now. Your love in tour
"May still shine bright," yet your Love is just who?

23Apr25c

Hmm.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCXXVIII)


Tis Shakespeare's birthday, and his sonnets' sense
Of who he was, with notes of that detail,
Preserved "in black ink" like he knew'd avail,
Yet nary read by most, still face fr'intents
School children who would rather find defense
In play, but where I've learned much, likeas bail,
Including when the seasons are, in frail
Excuse for what we're taught, til what's pretense?
I wonder. For he clearly knew as t'were
What is, and what shall be. Or did he through
Whatever means but know the half in tour?
That this earth is reserved for fire how few
Know even now? What good is black ink? We're
Not going to read aught then. LORD, we wait You.

23Apr25b