#twilightgloaming
April...my early sonnets...leaning on the windowsill as the streets were mad rivers, Mum in bed just behind me--ya, I've long been the nightowl, though how many times I'd hang out with her when I did.
(sonnet #MMMMMMCCLXVIII)
Ah, silver gloaming whose soft light is thence
More yellow than wee baby leaves' detail
Of green chartreuse as rain now waltzes, pale
Yet with that subtler voice in tow, lawns hence
Thick carpets laid out 'gainst grey racks a sense
Of pink like fragile mists haunts to avail,
These naked boughs in lingerie black's scale
Just tinges, April clothed ere nightfall, whence?
O me! The blacktop sports thin puddles fer
A touch of wet, and Friday's hallowed to
Some, good cuz dunno why, as we talk. Were
It taxes or the missiles elsewhere, who
Shall--what? I listen, laugh, want Andrew, poor
As saying is, and recall Mum: all we knew.
14Apr17c
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 1:20 AM UTC
Okay, it's wild how "we" happened...this sonnet and the one that directly follows akin to black and white, and literally mere hours apart in that about 15 hours after this below was composed, my world suddenly turned upside-down by what I only dreamed could happen and had given up on, as these lines attest.
(sonnet #MMMMMMDXL)
Blue twilight. After dark, scroll for intents
Down through the pictures of erm, fellows they'll
Assure you are a catch. But I'm not, pale
As all my howling. Stamp yes, "sheltered" hence
Upon the intro of me. For good sense
Read what each wants. Divorced will do for bail.
And only men my dad's age think t'avail
Them of a view of me. Now don't ask whence.
Learn men aren't intrested. To howl is poor.
They want used women. I'm a prude?! I do
Not put down money to subscribe. Th'obscure
Chance one will brook that stubborn choice and woo
Is not worth hoping for. Nah. None shall stir
Romance save whom I shrink from. Nothing's new.
05Aug17b
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 10:14 PM UTC