Oh yes.  You ARE jealous--



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXXVIII)


Thou and thy hangdog airs!  In sheer betrayl,
You started it.  My brother told me thence
Who left?  and I said "...I don't care from hence
Cuz--(nevermind)."  So who is now to scale
'Non showing off that, erm, I do?!  In frail
Excuse for all this foolishness, whose sense
Has fueled this madness?!  Yours, for all intents.
Yet wherefore do we thus go on sans bail?
I swear, no sooner do I throw as twere
The towel in on this game, but lo, twon't do.
You're back in gear to circumvent my poor
Attempts at moving on.  You like me too?
No, that can't be.  But oh!  Tomorrow.  You're
What, eh?  Not jealous of my smiles, are you?

01May19b

Pretending, feigning.  I said that was the rule of the day.  cough,cough  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXXVII)


If we forgot the merry dance erst thence
Wont to ring in this month which Shakespeare's scale
Of notice put down as not lo, t'avail
As perfect as whom he thus cherished, whence?
The winds are ghostly with a teasing sense
In tour of fragile warmth as sparrows hail.
Then ah, the Goldfinch seems to laugh, th'exhale
Likeas a whisper who maunt love from hence?
Did I swear I was "done pretending" fer
Which moment?  Yet who shall not smile now through
Th'effect of these sweet songsters?  I am blue
And would far rather weep, but tears as twere
Won't come.  A robin scolds and scents astir
Upon the wind's suggestion say twon't do.

01May19a

...for real?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXXVI)


I wish he'd dream of me tonight.  Like's thence
Not so imposs'ble that we'd meet t'avail
Ourselve of fun.  O me!  How many (pale
As lo, a crush is't?) times have I fr'intents
Liked one guy or another?  All's pretense.
I canna win.  He's tall.  He did not fail
To notice that I liked him, and for bail
Walk thus with me.  But I tripped...sans defense.
Why am I never good enough, 'cept fer
The scoundrels?  Or how fix me til I do
Not trip when you draw closer?  Flirt?!  In poor
'Scuse I liked him before, alas, I knew
What I was doing.  One look, yes'd, bestir
My heart in just a blink.  I wish he'd woo.

30Apr19d

Tuesday in a nutshell, the week, for that matter.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXXIV)


Rain dances on vast puddles with a sense
Of that delicious wetness, where in pale
Excuse I maunt find one spare minute's bail
To steal a chance out where it'd whisper thence
Fair secrets to the listning few.  Note hence
That lightning flashes, thunder's deep exhale
In tow, and how my schedule shan't avail
Me of a chance to breathe for aught intents.
No, run, run, run, mair thankful thus in poor
Reply that lo, Thy mercies are e'er new.
And further, that "man does not live [in tour]
By bread alone--" but by Thy Word, while too
Besieged by what would drown me, 'cept for Your
Great lovingkindness...cept, LORD, cuz of You.

30Apr19b

...the sages taught.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXXII)


Tis all a paltry jest whose sweet pretense
I cherished more than due, although sans bail
Thy Scriptures oer and oer instruct t'avail
My soul to not love aught here; all I'd thence
Laugh 'bout and think t'extole as being fr'intents
Tops, waxing thin in retrospect's detail,
And to the moment's shining face, til frail
Joys mock "...their own presage--" is't lo,from hence?
She wants to go out for um, coffee.  Her
Idea, not mine, when it comes down unto
The point of which cafe.  And that's good too.
But most joe is not worth the price, in poor
'Scuse.  She does not care.  'Nother friend in tour
Will hook me with her cousin, when?  He'll woo?!

29Apr19b

...and I, yes, I cherish rain.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXXI)


O sweetest rain!  Delicious hours the pale
Eye of this wetness owns!  I note fr'intents
How puddles gaily dance as if a sense
Of that wet kiss half nuzzles me t'avail,
Bounce cuz the sparrows happ'ly cry "all hail!"
Breathe fresh-ground coffee's wafting odours hence
Like just the scent is good enough, and thence
Erm, chatter 'non to Dad, like that owns bail.
...As if I'm still his little girl, yes, her
He took so many pictures of, ere to
Effect sons 'gan to fill the scene in tour--
I talk like jabbring gaily might well do.
And lo, Thy mercies new each morning stir
Our souls to praise Thee.  Rain...and coffee too.

29Apr19a

...cuz I miss YOU--but I'm certainly NOT gonna say so.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXX)


Blue heavns wink from thin puddles snaking thence
Across the naked blacktop, til a veil
Of clouds spread oer such seas, and warmth too frail,
How snow lies whitely on green lawns, a sense
Of what, exactly? in that note, fr'intents?
For e'en a **** grown through the cracks looks pale,
The hope of pink-tinged satin petals' tale
Upon erm, the Magnolia tree asks whence?
May will be here in April's wake, ere we're
Adjusted to the thought that Winter's through.
Why did I ever think twas not so, poor
As feeling des'late now?  Are your eyes blue?
Will I e'er know?  Or was it* all as twere
Some freighted dream I tried to realize 'new?

28Apr19b

Ye never need the finer details so here are a few for mystique.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXIX)


Dad's vacuum coffee *** stands in the frail
And ghastly eye of Sunday's wee hours, dense
Calm not at all asleep, but poised from hence
Likeas a tiger waiting in betrayl
To spring upon the first noise breaching pale
Erm, silence' freighted null.  We don't breathe thence,
Nor shift within our beds...til dawn's bright sense
Of "it's a new day!" draws the curtains, hale.
I slept through his alarm and maunt bestir
Til late, cuz slumber was a thing chased through
Sae many hours, I mourned sleep would not cure
My soul of aught.  And Dad's now grinding, true
To form, espresso beans, tae pull shots per
Our Sunday wont.  What of the dream I knew?

28Apr19a

Um, ya, trains again.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXVI)


The train lo, half past midnight, whistles thence
In passing through dead silence none else hail,
Its rumble seeming muffled in betrayl,
As all lie wrapt in slumber for intents,
My sleepy notice--what is't?  Why's from hence
Sae poignant to hear that?  Am I in frail
Excuse long on the empty platform's stale
Reminder dreams have fled, where hope's pretense?
O wherefore does the train's voice 'non bestir
Is that...my soul?  like I aught hearken to
Its call as if I want a ticket--fer
Which landing is it hence?  Or does it cue
Cuz all's a journey--I've ne place here, poor
Though trying e'er to "fit in," enroute to You?

27Apr19b

Well, I must thank Mark S. for his piece this AM...



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXV)


Where dawn just tinges blackness with the frail
Note of first blushes on the East for sense,
I wake within the clutches of what thence?
O wherefore does my throat half whisper bail
Is gone as't burns?!  A cold?!  Again?!  Detail
Pink's softest murmurs on this grey suspense,
And promise me it's all a joke from hence,
Or grant my soul such mercies as avail.
So sparrows gaily cry when I deter
The tug which begs I write what'd roll 'non through
Those freighted minutes as I cleaned in tour
Twa bathrooms--while aught slept.  Now hungry to
Effect, what of the cruel suggestion?  Poor?
Is hope a thing with anchors?  Is it true?

27Apr19a