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Jenny Gordon Sep 17
They are.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCCXXV)


How Tigger'd chase a fat house fly sans bail
All oer, the rascal taunting her til thence
Did she give up? Wherefore does it from hence
Dare bother me?! Tis downright stupid. Frail
As all the madness, swipe at it t'avail
With just a sopping dishrag, and fr'intents
Presto! Dead in a trice. Oh dear good sense,
What's this we now behold? Why that detail?
And Tigger does not care two bits; in her
Eyes that ole ****** is no more cuz through
Its machinations it's gone silent. Stir
Lost sights of yellow, sticky tongues we knew
As "Fly [erm] Paper," and what's this as twere?
Oh LORD, am I the stupid one? Where to?

08Sep25c
Fly paper, yeah.
Jenny Gordon Sep 15
Yes?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCCXXIV)


Seems ice cream would be grand, a cake from hence
Thick frosted too, my breakfast lying sans bail
Neglected, eggs and bacon, hoummus stale,
Where how the cats are napping in defense.
Did movies leave me dull? My porridge' sense
Of good food quite dispensed with, how avail
Me now? Lo, cheese and pasta haunted frail
Hopes ere: are noodles fuel for ole pretense?
Velveeta winks at me, the noodles fer
'Loved mac and cheese 'longside. Talk of this cue
With Cynthya til mere talk'd suffice. We were
Not set on any choice. Roast beef might woo
'Cept I am on the fence. While she'd bestir
Lo, tater tots, LORD, what shall we 'non do?

09Sep25b
Taking your order when you're ready...
Jenny Gordon Sep 15
...kinda scary.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCCXI)


Espresso's grand for shelving that detail
Known as fatigue, my mind without defense,
And by late morn, here, and in fragments, whence
Forget how to do aught, by half, as I fail.
Crawl home and call today done, left sans bail
Work oernight in tow. Oh sweet pretense!
Catnap how many hours? and oh! They thence
Are clam'ring for canned food til what'd avail?
It is so cold! Oh goodee!! Now in tour
To use the oven 'gain! The fish sticks too
Long tugging at my sleeve at last ours fer
Late lunch, sans tarter sauce, I guess we'll do
Aeoli. Fall asleep ere that, bestir
Me just for work. LORD, thank you. I wait You.

04Sep25b
Chancing to reread my lines from 4 years ago, guess the difference between the 40's and 50's signifies you can't so freely enjoy espressos whenever you please anymore. Pity.
Jenny Gordon Sep 15
I swear these were supposed to be mere toys, but...the real one is downright coldly DEAD. Oddly the carpet's red matched the mouse's ****** entrails. its white matching the carpet's, until seeing the thing wasn't that simple, kick me.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCCX)


What's with the world?! Why's traffic heavy? Whence?
Back fin'lly, I've ne cup as twere t'avail
For this espresso, use a mug's detail,
Hit up Panera. Once home, drink fr'intents
Th'espresso and...how I'm not sleepy hence!
Craft porridge, clean and showr, the freighted trail
To breakfast more than I'd envisioned, frail
As what? He's taming Peter, and what thence?
So I have "busy" carpets. They have fer
Their fun grey catnip mice. Guess what?! The two
Both caught and killed a live mouse, left in tour
Right by where I sit for a cuppa, to
Be certain very cold, dead, ******. Were
There else, LORD, how I thank and wait on You.

04Sep25a
Today, 15Sep25, I watched Tigger carefully and cleanly wash her newest catnip mouse, to my astonishment.
Jenny Gordon Sep 15
I do.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCCVII)


Tis raining lightly like romance t'avail
Is in the air as calm owns this suspense,
Or so it seems, aught safe indoors from hence
'Cept who must travel, "sleeping weather" hale
In tender solace, Autumn's sweet detail
With red leaves winking midst the green for sense,
A haunting note of yellow half fr'intents
In tow, and how I revel 'long the trail.
Guess I will never think straight, is't sae poor?
Come, wherefore try to hold my purse anew
Oer lo, a tall drink?! Spill all too, in tour.
And now my car is full of drink. I rue
My folly, sans a reason for't. Bestir
Thyself and save me, LORD, for I need You.

03Sep25b
Where I thought I'd graduated from the days of spilling my drinks in my car, guess I've only raised the stakes, kick me.
Mark Sep 14
As I now ponder through the many years
I sift regrets as if to deal with cards
To gift importance when it warrants tears
And continue the reeling of my shards.

Until her face became my eye and mind
Of sunlight hair and grin unmistaken
Could I forget? Is love in death a kind -
Of past that time will see her soul taken?

No! I let my pain be witness of truth:
A love that were is still a love to be;
My eye be old yet mirror her youth
Reflective moments is when I best see.

For life was vowed and life do I still give
If not I die for death does not relive!
Sugar Seventeen. Days that are so bright.
Life of rose, in sweet river, tasting like beet.
******* better than adult's freedom; Pain, so sweet.
Free from hustle and bustle, time of light.
But your light is for a while, then fade like night.
You are just a sweet dream. We wake to meet
With the truth, after we've had your moment so sweet.
You fade as time rides close on his bike with might.
Since you are a dream, Let us not be loser,
Like those who cry, "Had I known?"
Let's have good time as soon as possible.
Forget the morrow, jolly, 'cause time's bike draws closer.
With my pen and note, I will note my sweet moment now.
That on the morrow, my youth will be memorable.
"Sugar Seventeen" is a poignant and introspective poem that explores the themes of youth, time, and the transition to adulthood. sweetness, fragility, and fleeting nature of youth. Using the image of time riding swiftly on a bike, it reminds us that the years pass faster than we often realize.  

Structurally, it is a modern adaptation of the Petrarchan sonnet — fourteen lines with a clear volta, or “turn,” at line nine. The opening octave reflects on the beauty and dreamlike quality of youth, while the sestet shifts to an urgent call: to savour the present before it slips away.  

Some may argue that childhood period is eighteen years, but I believe that the moment you turn eighteen, the world sees you differently — as an adult, responsible for your choices and expected to step into the working life. That turning point is why I wrote this nostalgic poem: to preserve the memory of my own youth before it slipped away.  

"Sugar Seventeen" is both a celebration of the beauty and innocence of being young, and a gentle acknowledgment of the responsibilities and complexities that come with growing older. Its message is one of gratitude, mindfulness, and embracing the present moment before it fades into memory.
Twilight tiptoes through curtained clover leaves
Cape starlings stanzaed thank mighty Lord
spindly legs shake on spritely evensong breeze
closing chirp reminding that day is just a chord

What achievements marked chanting hours
manifesting with helio hands and heedful head
paper, pencil, thoughts danced about in bower
patterned sensations twirled needle and thread

A silent hymn I sit awaiting bright sickle moon
indwelling spirit dissolving wispy wanton wishes
blossoms lotus, liberates mind a special boon
intentions iambic winking flimsy floral fetishes

Moment to moment tasks tangent complete
each twilight twins a masterful morrow sweet
    
                 ______
Pathetic paper and pathetic words
A silent risk resists what thought affords
An empty paradox has now occurred
Ink cannot pierce thoughtlessness, broken swords

Salted ink refuses all my pleas
A brass finger emptied of its talent
Ideas once mine drift with fleeting breeze
A strong work ethic one must balance

A poet loses all integrity
The night conspires to steal his fleeting voice
Blank virtues stretch with utter elasticity
All troublesome, to not make the wrong choice

What becomes of a writer without word,
when all the lines of voice seem to blur?
Writers block translated into a sonnet
Jenny Gordon Sep 8
You know?!

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCCII)


So, join A.A. if you are lonely, hence
Thought one of them cuz they're sans much detail
Notorious for being "in denial." Hail
Such friends who feel your pain; find romance thence
And marriage too, cuz that's the way fr'intents.
The best part is the jobs each held t'avail,
Or still hold down, I guess, or how guns trail
Them cuz they feel depressed and sans defense.
We'll watch that movie, nary more, is't poor?
Have pizza from six days ere cuz I do
Not throw food 'way and it was left in tour
For but the trash. That's fitting, no? I'm too
Shot from NO sleep, so all is good. Bestir
Thyself and save us, LORD, we wait for You.

01Sep25d
Don't ask me for the flick's title, I forgot.
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