Tis hereditary, I assure ye; the only question is whether the series of strokes which very nearly took Mum 8 years too early were from the aspirin she took for hers whereas she trained me to avoid drugs of any sort except Daddy taught me to love black tea and coffee.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMMX)


Frost twinkles in morn's golden eye, a sense
Of hope awak'ning in that keen detail,
Where soft blue heavns sport white fluffs gone on sail
Without a care, if only. How from hence
A headache nags like tis passé as thence
Is't true?! I drank a bunch of coffee, frail
As rarely drinking joe, like that'd avail,
Yet nothing seems to own, is it defense?
My colleague has twa plastic cups in tour
Frae Starbucks, so I tell him of stars to
Be gained in rather using your ain fer
Aught drink; tell him of "red cup day" next too,
Til by the time we'd part he'd quite concur.
Night watches as I leave. LORD, I need You.

03Dec24

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMIII)


Why do the Colorado prairies hail
When I think of "Thanksgiving Day" for sense?
Did life stop there, more than how many dense
Brief years 'go? thirty eight since that detail?
My photographic mind snapped all t'avail,
And shelved it 'gainst which future day fr'intents?
I wanted wine, though but a child, pretense
What drew up visions like more could own bail.
If now I'd rather work cuz all's lost to
The dogs and ravages of time, is't poor?
I've nothing left to cling to, as it were,
Except the Scriptures. Aught we ere then knew,
Like childhood, is long gone. Steak now in tour,
And deserts I ne'er dreamed of-- I'll seek You.

29Nov24b

I never yet fail to hop on the bandwagon, buying eggnog when it's very nearly out of stock, or actually is.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMII)


Thanksgiving meant a turkey, stuffing thence
Inside and out, with gravy too, the tale
Of green beans, mashies, cranb'rries cooked for bail
Until they popped, with cranb'rry velvet's sense
For aught else, sweet potatoes, olives dense
With finger fun, and rolls I baked t'avail,
The actual dinner late, with cass'role's hale
Solution for the end bits, sweet defense.
Yes, pumpkin pie was Grampa's rec'pe, pure
Home crafted whipped cream dolloped on it too,
With not much else but love, til twas as t'were
No more. And I've not known it since. The crew
Of styles since then are NOT Thanksgiving. Stir
But mem'ries in the wilderness, will you?

29Nov24a

Like Lot's wife, eh?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMDCCXLIX)


How Samuel Daniels' lines come to from hence
The 'fore, though nary Delia shall avail
Aught suit or break a heart, just that detail:
"...Ne'er let the rising sun approve [fr'intents]
You liars--" as dreams waltz through my noggin, dense
With mair chagrin in tow than joy, their frail
Sweet promise I knew ere what shall 'non fail
Before the light, although they dance. Ah, whence?
Dear youth so subtly fled! Though I bestir
Fond mem'ries of my father's house and rue
The loss of all we'd cherished, known and were
A part of then, I can't return. I threw
The pieces off, saying I'd come back. T'was poor.
All's lost. There's naught left. LORD, what did I do?!

14.Jun.24b

Swooning over a very pretty number in Palgrave's Golden Treasury, I Googled it, to find to my chagrin it was supposedly pure fiction. [I think not, but.] Ergo, I began, but since mine are never fiction, this is neither. Begun in dialect, that effect deteriorates midway since the initial drive did likewise.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMXLIX)


Say Jenny, she ne'er married aught, and whence?
Fine fellows came a' courting. She'd avail
Hersel' of mair than ane or twa, 'cept he *** fail
To tie the knot and she *** feign frae thence
Twas a' fer guid, as if thar was defense.
But thar was nane.  Or p'raps thar was. Detail
How minny girls ha' suffered in the frail
Hope of a happy life, and she's spared hence.
The man who played her fer a fool in tour
She blindly loved, as minny wimin do,
He courting others 'neath her nose in puir
Reply, then telling her long after. Who
Kin blame puir Jenny she ne'er married? Stir
Her sisters now to envy or tears too?

20.May24b/31.Oct.24
Note: a stab at writing for art's sake alone.

We shan't indulge in the collection which puts the thought to shame.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCC)


You envied what? His paper cup's detail?
The plastic straw which shreds itself ere thence
You've even had a sip? Or what is't hence?
Sketch nothing cuz you won't draw, just to scale,
This world Bill Peet deplored thus? Yet the tale
Of naked buildings 'cross the fields pretense
Threw up to grand effect are what fr'intents
'Non haunt yer dreams likeas they would avail.
Or is the "lukewarm nightmare" all as t'were
That's left if you would trick out visions to
Beguile the fleeting moments none bestir?
Or join the traffic on its way, where through
What means you half yearn for those hours in tour
Which terr'fied was't? No. That vain hope I knew.

01/17.Jan.23a

...routine will **** me yet?

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXLIII)


If twas some lurid rite of passage, whence?
Gulp scalding water down cuz naught'd avail:
I'm driving, nor can spit aught out. Derail
Hopes of a lovely ev'ning cuz what hence?
Being brave jist does not cut it. I'm burned, sense
Now screaming in me til I canna fail
To hear that I'm on fire inside. Detail
Which, after that? I'm tamer--is't defense?
If being above ground is a joke as t'were,
Tis ***** and too cruel to torture through
My waning hours what's left of all in tour
I thought t'enjoy, or vainly thought I knew.
Mum held her tongue, yet warned me. Dad too. Stir
Hope in but Thee alone, LORD: I need You.

27Oct24b

...will you?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXLI)


They photographed their baby girl whose sense
Of running water was to grapple, frail
As aught excuse, for lo, a handhold, fail,
Yet keep on trying, the faucet no defense;
And now she's left behind, this grasping hence
To just retain whatever slips sans bail
Betwixt those clutching fingers maunt avail,
All like the liquid water, mere pretense.
Lo, watch light trickle out as gloaming'd stir,
But one month til I'm fifty...is that true?
What had I here, whom held I close, in poor
Reply gone far from me, despite love too?
Oh LORD my God Who changest not, in Your
Hand tis to give and take, all I've of You.

26Oct24c

...guess I'm still here.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXL)


Oh me! What is't about these hours' detail
My heart so dearly loves? Where naked thence
Stripped skeletons of trees cast shadows dense
Wi' subtle import on the green, which trail
Leads to the thicker stand whose yellow tale
Calls to my soul as from afar, defense
For cherished hours, plaids, woolens, stockings hence
And dreams whose sights October'd e'er avail.
November's in the wings like cozy'd stir
Itself agin to welcome me home to
Which ***** that it thrills me now in tour?
Oh cherished niche of girlish hours spent through
The years safe in my father's house! Demur
Not to reclaim me, stranded graveside too.

26Oct24b

These shifts are killing me. Oh well.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXXXIX)


Where pink is like romance ere daybreak, dense
Wi' import, burning on the East t'avail,
A fire which seems t'oertake the blackness, hale
In what, precisely? youth by now pretense
Is't? On but three hours sleep, I've no defense,
This dragging me along must do sans bail,
As coffee is some dragon I'll to scale
Do battle with when I've some strength for sense.
Tea-lemonade for drowning sailors'd cure
Me halfway, if at all, where Milo's brew
With "Simply Lemonade" I'll take in tour
Along to keep my chin 'bove water. Blue
Heav'ns warm as sparrows chirp likeas to stir
The dead (and I'm death warmed oer): I need You.

26Oct24a