#whateffer
At least that's what Mozart's Magic Flute sounds like.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCCCXCIX)
Ah, fragile light on frozen fields' detail
Gone tan for Winter's dearth, I'd dream from hence
As erst wont in my father's house, if thence
I might. Rain Thursday, was't? Erased the hale
White vista in a trice, chill winds' exhale
Upon the downpour's heels, ice is quite dense,
Yet not all oer, most merc'fully in defense,
The eye of day with Spring in tow t'avail.
Twas "Ugly Christmas Sweater Day" in tour
On Friday, and some lady called mine to
Effect "cute," like the llama was not poor,
Though I believe he is. My neighbor'd do
Her deck posts up in style, red bows astir
In bitter winds. Oh LORD, redeem us too.
20Dec25a
Dec 25, 2025
Dec 25, 2025 at 1:06 PM UTC
#nationalpastryday
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCCCLXXVIII)
It's hashtag nash'nal pastry day, and hence
I've nary for th'indulgence? How avail
Us, eh? Come, look across the snowy tale
Of fields which Summer left behind to fence
The thought of yonder, and forget pretense.
These prairies call to mind the same detail
Erst wont to trim my days in youth, the trail
To now a rocky one whose joys made sense.
Dreams were but folly then, and now it tour
But net chagrin. Oh, for all that we knew!
If childhood let me be, or would as twere
Constrain me til adulthood, what'd it do?
The snowy fields half beckon, and bestir
Thoughts of the freedom I once knew. Where to?
09Dec25b
Dec 13, 2025
Dec 13, 2025 at 8:30 AM UTC
Ahem.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCCCLIV)
Come, tis November. Scarlet is from hence
The theme, that little sweater dress' detail
Quite apropos where I've ne time t'avail
Me of an outfit, perfect sans aught thence
Save tall boots, and pink earmuffs, thin defense
As living is the usual train wreck they'll
Assure you is my style, oh! Have I bail?
Don't answer. Give me eggnog for pretense.
How very brilliant afternoon is, fer
All we have sloughed through ere now, heavns sae blue,
The sun nigh roasting me alive, is't poor?
Let shadows draw up hopscotch like t'will do,
Where freezing temps cull hoarfrost to innure
The feeble. LORD, deliver us, won't You?
10Nov25b
Nov 29, 2025
Nov 29, 2025 at 12:14 PM UTC
I'm NOT gonna chase her around the apartment to pet her, like he does.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCCLXXXVIII)
It's not my day off anymore, defense
Gone overnight, the concept still t'avail
Half in my mind, til ev'ning's ole detail
Haunts with the note it shan't be long til thence
I must head back to work. Oh vain pretense!
I am mixt up as sunny shafts reach hale
Bright fingers for the front door like the trail
To yonder lies beyond? No, no. And whence?
We wore out flicks for our amusement, poor
As sev'ral ev'ry day since last week, two
Or more our fare, like that was good as twere.
And Tigger's his cat now, I guess, the cue
Of petting more than I could bear. Bestir
Hope in the LORD. Oh LORD, what should I do?
08Oct25b
Oct 15, 2025
Oct 15, 2025 at 9:39 AM UTC
...cuz there's not much left 'cept a body, and pretty face.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMLXXXVII)
Vogue begs to know what "entertains" me. They'll
Be certain I indulge in that cuz thence
By sheer default, who does not, eh? My sense
Of that is either quite perverse sans bail,
Or mebbe true: naught but distracts me, pale
As sich assertions that's my case from hence.
I'll laugh for this or that, watch for intents
Both movies, and the id'ot box t'avail.
Yet all's for mere DISTRACTION. Joy is poor,
Quite frankly. I am broken, smile as due,
And swear it's all a game of sheer, as twere:
Pretending. Christians say that is not true.
So what am I? My heart died whenas her
Heart did, and I'm a shadow, fading through.
24May19c
May 25, 2019
May 25, 2019 at 11:48 PM UTC
..add to that, "sleeping is a luxury; eating a privilege"...by MY definition.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMLXXXVI)
Does coffee ever wake aught soul fr'intents?
Or do we merely welcome in betrayl
Caffeine's ole kick-start to the morning's hale
Note it is time to put off sleep? Dad's sense
Of it I canna say, 'cept he'd swear thence
Twas to be lo, "enjoyed." not quaffed t'avail
The soul like medicine, no. That detail
Could praps suffice, yet I'm confused still. Whence?
And oh, tea does not mix with joe. Tis poor
On both sides if you drink them both, each brew
No complement to th'other, as it were.
Yes, laugh at me. Now "independent" two
Weeks running--sip tea first, to savour fer
All that what'd ope mine eyes; then joe's weak. You?
24May19b
May 25, 2019
May 25, 2019 at 11:46 PM UTC
Forty-five...the number of years her parents were married.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMLXXXV)
So many things, I spose, beg to avail
Themselvs of lo, a voice now I've fr'intents
Taen up the page and pencil in defense
Of aught. Tis Mum and Dad's erm, in betrayl,
Yes: wedding annivers'ry, as sans bail
Now it was ere and e'er shall be, for sense.
Which other items wanted space from hence
Pale in the light of that note's keen detail.
I yearn to call Dad for that reason, too.
Yet how my pride is shown up as what'd stir
Me, is it eh? Whence ****** ere I (as twere)
Begin, what's left? Pride caused our rift, as to
Effect tis ever what the Scriptures fer
All that 'non prove: oh LORD, save me, won't You?
24May19a
May 25, 2019
May 25, 2019 at 11:40 PM UTC
Can I plead that I don't know how...as poor as that excuse?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMLXXXII)
****** up the tea cups Dad gave me, to thence
Drop all to get a hold of him, t'avail--
His dear initials on those twa cups hale
Reminders of my father, in defense
Of all he's givn me, 'spite my follies, whence
O how we talk in lieu of breakfast's scale
Of nour'shment! Likeas when we could detail
Each other's eye and face--talk--for intents.
I knew he'd love the Calhoun County tour--
Twas all both he and Mum had cherished through
The years: secluded, off the grid as twere,
Nor with the city's echo, quite poor too.
It's just the money. What drove me to stir
Up independence was that cursed thing's cue.
22May19b
May 25, 2019
May 25, 2019 at 11:21 PM UTC
Or do you simply wade in a fog through both sith the idiot box leaves souls in a perpetual trance?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMLXXVI)
I've heard of whipporwills ere now, a sense
Of romance in the mention, that detail
Which Wordsworth spelled out plainly in betrayl
False as it ever was, eh? Or what thence?
Perhaps. Where tall woods hem us in fr'intents,
Fire dancing as orange licks at logs t'avail,
Gnats, either by the spray or dusk, gone, they'll
Begin, a call I learn to hear from hence.
Tis nary dream. The lone deer I glimpsed fer
Effect in that field of alfalfa dew
Was settling on near twilight (seems) in tour
So perfect. Where dusk's blueish veil fell through
That lively calm, hark to what as it were
Calls from the distance, as't draws nigh...so new.
20May19b
May 25, 2019
May 25, 2019 at 11:15 PM UTC
Note how the title comes directly from John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMLXXIV)
As hunter's wont, the deer's skull hangs fr'intents
Upon the wooden porch, eye sockets' stale
And empty hollows staring in betrayl
Without a blink, forever, with a sense
Of Death behind their deeper look, pretense
Half shivring down to nothing, bones dried, frail
What? shrinking at the ghastly sight, birds hail
From greenest trees where life sings in defense.
And I...observe in silence, like as twere
Some child. This womanhood I never knew,
Which crept on me ere I was 'ware, in tour
A joke which laughs 'non in my face. Skies blue
With whiter cloud battalions, winds bestir
These Maples to soft whispers in what, too?
19May19b
May 25, 2019
May 25, 2019 at 11:13 PM UTC
If only my ears weren't so damnably deaf.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXLVII)
And now a breath bestirs the leaves t'avail.
Boughs rock sae gently as the whisper hence
Flirts through, whileas I strain to see fr'intents,
Then dies away when I 'gin writing frail
Hope's fragile tread, planes' voices all to scale
As trees stand clustered far as eye frae thence
Can see. Twigs nod sae lightly wi' a sense
Of yonder jist in tow, beyond this veil.
I'm here because we've said too long now fer
All that lo, "Mum and Dad's dream will not do.
We MUST join step with whom we thought too poor
In their path through this world, and follow too,
What I deplored." The LORD God, what as twere
Did I blieve 'bout His Word? The Scriptures knew.
11May19c
May 11, 2019
May 11, 2019 at 6:07 PM UTC
Not love as previously wont.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXLVI)
Lo, how the woods are silent! whiles from hence
The leaves all hang in soft chartreuse, th'exhale
Fast slumbring in its den, this calm to scale
Half breathless while all waits with half a sense
Of utter expectation I 'non finger thence,
No voice to break this patient null's detail.
And la, the clock just ticks, each second frail
As all the rest. A Blue Jay'd scold, and whence?
Work nags at me but canna tug in poor
'Scuse at my sleeve as erst wont, cuz I'm to
Effect...cut off. The rift is huge in tour,
Likeas a canyon whose steep walls loom through
That freighted, creeping mist I can't bestir
To find a glimpse of light for how to do.
11May19b
May 11, 2019
May 11, 2019 at 6:06 PM UTC
Ya, that's the naked truth.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXL1)
In case ye wondered: it is true...in pale
'Scuse deepest streams are almost silent hence.
The small do chatter--petty griefs howl thence
Most loudly. And if **** or be killed" hail
Yer soul, decide right now if ye to scale
Want THEIR blood on yer hands for aught intents,
In lieu of yours on theirs. There's no defense,
Whatever folk claimed, there is not aught bail.
O yes, my soul. Weep sore in silence fer
What you do not resist, or what you do.
You thought tea sans your dad (who would in tour
Tear you to pieces as his wont)--that brew
Was gonna satisfy?! I swear, tis poor
I'm sich a ****** fool. Love and hate both woo.
10May19a
May 11, 2019
May 11, 2019 at 6:03 PM UTC
...I lose.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXXX)
Lo: men. Do NOT tell him, "I don't care hence
About you--" for whatever cause. In pale
Excuse it's back on track and we're to scale
What, eh? Forget the little things fr'intents:
Th'espressos Dad enjoyed with me; that sense
Of ah, delicious rain! The sweet detail
Of coffee with a dear friend--you prevail.
It does not matter what I try. Now whence?
I messaged YOU on Instagram. What fer?!
I'd comment on YOUR YouTube vids, and too,
Left one on Twitter. YOU ignore all, poor
As trying to uh, communicate with YOU.
It's face to face: that's all. YOU win. Ya, stir
Me to those "nutty smiles" oer...YOU. What's...new?
02May19b
May 3, 2019
May 3, 2019 at 12:26 AM UTC
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
May 3, 2019
May 3, 2019 at 12:10 AM UTC
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
May 3, 2019
May 3, 2019 at 12:01 AM UTC
...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
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 11:49 PM UTC
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
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 11:30 PM UTC
...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
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 11:12 PM UTC
...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
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 11:02 PM UTC
...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
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 10:54 PM UTC
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
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 10:46 PM UTC
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
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 5:40 PM UTC
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
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 5:34 PM UTC
Ha, I neglected (despite my intentions when I began writing this) to spell out why exactly I ever took up my pen/cil to write.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXIV)
He asked if I've a book out (cuz tis sense),
And when I said "no," like in sheer betrayl
I did not care much, he knew that detail
Was not much to me, eh? And thinking hence,
O wherefore did I ever write? Why thence
Work over-time to fund a book t'avail
Ha! not the world cuz they don't care, in pale
Scuse--vanity? when glory is pretense?
He's got a chapbook published is't? In poor
Scuse I've a pile of mouldered dreams all do
But mock. Yes, marriage and a book in tour
Of MY work; stanzas in the thousands too,
Done up to suit my taste--none'd buy as twere
'Cept one or two friends. Laugh at me, will you?
26Apr19d
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 5:25 PM UTC