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Tiffany Sep 2014
I pace along the cold, sterile halls, the stench of cleaning supplies and death invading my senses. I struggle to keep my breathing even. I can’t break down here. I have to keep it together. I can feel the burn of the nurses’ sympathetic glances like an iron, leaving their marks of pity seared into my flesh. Their hushed whispers drift to my ears and I clench my eyes against the tears threatening to stream down my face.

They don’t know what they’re talking about. They don’t know about the promise you made me; that when this was all over we’d walk out of this cesspool of disease together. I take a deep breath and lean against the wall for support. My heart feels as though its on the verge of shattering, each breath sends waves of piercing pain into my chest. I wrap my arms around myself, hoping to hold myself together, to keep the pieces of my soul from crumbling apart.
The ring resting on my left hand seems to weigh a thousand pounds, as I look down at the diamond glimmering weakly under the fluorescent lighting. I stare at that ring, searching for the answers of what the future holds for us.

I’m still staring at that **** ring when the doctor finds me.

“Mrs. Payne?” I hear a voice call gently. I jump slightly, looking up into a pair of concerned grey eyes.

“It’s Ms. Roberts,” I correct him softly. “We’re getting married in the fall.” my voice is so quiet, I’m not sure if he heard me or not. I’m not sure why, but I have to make sure he understands when the wedding is; so no matter what he tells me, he knows you’ll be there to take me as your wife in just a few weeks.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Roberts,” he says. “If you follow me, I’ll take you to your fiance.” I nod my head robotically and walk stiffly beside him through the double doors which had been sealed shut for what seemed an eternity. He leads me to a closed door and pauses before turning the handle. He studies my face as words pour from his mouth and I nod my head methodically, not hearing a syllable. All I can think of is you waiting on the other side, with that crooked grin you save just for me.

“Do you understand what I’ve told you ma’am?” the doctor asks.

“Of course,” I say, smiling weakly and he frowns slightly but finally opens the door. I rush inside and with one look at the bed I feel my stomach drop and the world spins around me.

Your skin is deathly pale, lacking the natural glow that always seems to surround you. Tubes and wires connect you to the many machines sitting nearby, almost as if you’re a human pin cushion. I move to take a step forward and feel my knees buckle.  The doctor grabs me around the waist and leads me to the chair by your side. I sit down heavily and vaguely hear him mention that he’ll be back in a moment. It’s as if my entire world is collapsing in this one moment.

We’re completely alone now and I allow myself to really look at you. Your face is so peaceful, lacking the pain that’s twisted your handsome features for so long now. I wonder what you’re dreaming of, if you’re even dreaming at all. I reach a shaking hand out to touch you and cry out at how cold you are. I entwine my fingers through yours and squeeze hard, begging you silently to wake up and tell me how ridiculous I’m being. You always were the reasonable one, talking me down whenever I let my imagination get the better of me. However, the longer I sit there, the longer I listen to the sound of your heart monitor, the more I doubt what you said.

I feel a single tear slide down my cheek and bring our joined hands to my lips, pressing a kiss against your skin. The doctor is back now, followed by the nurses and their looks of idiotic compassion. As if they could possibly understand what is happening. He puts a hand on my shoulder and tells me it’s time. Time for what? I keep my eyes trained on your face, waiting to see those warm brown eyes of yours meet mine and sooth the pain away.

But your eyes stay shut and suddenly I hear the sound of your heart flat line. I watch as what little tension there was in your face fades into nothing. I watch the moment death lead you away from me. The nurses try to comfort me and lead me away, but I can’t leave you. I clutch your hand against my chest and feel my shoulders shake. There’s no stopping it this time. You’ve left me. You were my world, my everything and now I have nothing. The sobs wrack my entire body as I let go of the fight I had left. You told me you would always be here.

*You lied.
Jenny Gordon Oct 2016
I'd show you the black and white photographs of this allegedly cherubic 1 yr-old....



(sonnet #MMMMMCMXC)


Oh me!  How diamonds sparkle in th'exhale
As winds flirt on the lake's clear *****, whence
Blue skies thus mirrored  as erst wont, a sense
Of what? half wrestles in me on that scale
Cuz why aren't we together now, to hail
This bounty in each other's arms?  Leaves thence
All whispring as their boughs rock, yellow hence
Mocks joy as I see Mum in sheer betrayl.
We used to walk down to the valley, tour
The yard lost in whatever, and I knew
Our time was short.  But I don't weep for her
Today as yet, cuz who's distracted to
Effect is also quite obliv'ous.  Poor
As saying is:  I could wish you were here too.

23Oct16b
...sitting quietly on a kitchen chair in her Sunday dress, with powdered sugar on her face and fingers, one hand holding a half eaten mini doughnut, and the other the lid of that dozen doughnuts box open halfway, and why did my parents just dote on that?
Jenny Gordon Jul 2016
Happily he deals very gently and understandingly with me.  I love him.



(sonnet #MMMMMDCCXCV)


Not mists.  Thet ghostly whiteness as a veil
Down where the valley shivers in suspense,
Flirtatious winds' moist breath stale in the sense
Tis muggy ere dawn cast off Sunday's pale
Thought of more hallowed things, and in a frail
Excuse I button that blouse Mum gave thence
To me, to die as seeing her worn face hence,
Those precious eyes, and hate me in betrayl.
Oh Robert!  How I want to scream as twere
Until the universe is shattered to
Sheer nothingness.  But then as now in poor
'Scuse, no sound can come out. And I tell you
Cuz only you seem understand.  Mists tour
Forsooth, and I still breathe, pray, love you too.

24Jul16a
Not like I ever want to "get over" Mum's death.
Jenny Gordon Mar 2019
Nope.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXCVI)


I lick my finger slowly, with a sense
In closing as of stealing frosting, pale
As aught compare, th'espresso's foam detail
Tinged subtly with milk's sweetness for intents,
Like that finale suited for it hence,
The rainy blacktop half dried in betrayl,
While minutes tiptoe by on wings more frail
Than insects' glassy touch we note from thence.
Prepare their lunch with baggies for as twere
Thin cleanliness, cuz honey's sticky to
A fault; cube our potato like in tour
What, eh?  I tossed my brother's typed note, knew
Not that twas worth aught, and discuss how poor
Tis that all's typed, not writ by hand.  And you?

21Mar19b
Interesting thought, eh?
Jenny Gordon Apr 2017
Once upon a time we had the hymnal propped by the kitchen sink so's I could learn; years later Mum would sing along with me, and now...I like never but once in a blue moon dare to sing aloud, for missing her to tears.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCXLVII)


What's happened to--me?  Rainy hours detail
Thet eye with silver's touch while green lawns fence
The minutes fog obscures by vague suspense
With softest carpets rolled out to avail,
And I'm not erm, my own in sheer betrayl;
Erst naked trees lost to mists' whitish sense
Of yonder, I could shiver, and do hence,
Cuz in a blink I'm his upon that scale.
One comment like my wont five days ere, poor
As what?  now he distracts aught hours 'til through
Suggestion I am giggling, sober, tour
His deepest sorrows, and maunt say he'd woo?!
Of course, I'm better searching violets, fer
All that.  Let purple wink low, saying we knew.

05Apr17b
Hyacinths, violets are classically known along with purple as signifying sorrow, the former I've seen rendered as "hyacinth/ai/ai--" like wailing.  And I love them, to be certain, or is that to say the least?
Jenny Gordon Feb 2017
If you're really good I might let you see them, that is, if I can find the pointy-toed knitted pink preemie booties some coworker's wife gave my parents....




(sonnet #MMMMMMCXX)


Suppose I'm but a nymph whose sprite in frail
Excuse wars, tangled by long cherished thence
Auld loves, and sorrows which I canna hence
Shrug off.  My father aye, and brothers hail
Me as so oddly wont to in betrayl
Don effervescence, whiles griefs own my sense
Of whither, glad to see this warm eye whence
These yellowed fields bask, dead, as if'd avail.
I dabble in the thought of Death as twere,
Like twould thus ransom me from here, though blue
Skies whisper to my soul of yonder fer
All that.  Yea, I hate aught, but love each too.
Or praps I hate myself cuz joy is poor
And crimnal, left a prisner, whence I rue.

01Feb17b
You know I WAS born with these elf ears?  Yes.
Jenny Gordon Mar 2016
(sonnet #MMMMMCDXXXII)


How rain's nigh ghastly light haunts vague suspense
Ere darkness yield to after.  In the pale
Note follwing, whiter morsels chase th'exhale
Which moves atwixt these firs as if pretense
Could not decide oer snowbanks' worn intents
And newer puddles thinking of betrayl,
This fragile romance in surreal tones' bail
Lost in the flurry of just whither hence.
I want to ask you what you're doing fer
All we have overnight made me and you
Erm, us and we.  And scared but driving, you're
Not one bit daunted either.  What'd we do?
I've heard of whirlwind stories.  Aren't such poor?
You'd kiss my tear-washed face, and say we knew?

03Feb16
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=srzjOJjBHmc]Mebbe when we can do it tangled up in each other.  *needless to say, he likes this one.
Jenny Gordon Jul 2017
...might as well be?


(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXXXV)


Lo, now the moon peers in to splash a pale
Glance 'cross Mum's carpet, up my legs and thence
Upon these silent hands sans voice, a sense
Thet silver eye just watches, what'd avail?
The Scriptures.  As tree silhouettes detail
Nigh ghastly clouds with blackened figures, hence
Recall "...one glory of the sun--" fr'intents:
"...Another of the moon--" what, in betrayl?
Forsooth.  I am not Mum, nor shall in poor
Scuse ever match up.  Yet what should I do?
My aunt sez God has me still here as twere
To do His will.  I can't but own tis true.
Dreams, prayrs, half mock what is.  Whatever, fer
All that is my work?  Someday swear I knew?

09Jul17a
What WAS rather freaky was the next day I discovered Courtney had published a pretty number on howling at the moon over a lover, and my dad over dinner mentioned it had apparently been a fool moon.  Oops, my bad, full moon.
Jenny Gordon Oct 2018
I have no idea why that first line came to mind while I was indeed cleaning.  I've not read Austen in years, nor watched movies in months.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCDXLI)


Jane Austen's drawing rooms I'd feign avail
Me of, whose wainscot's polished oak is dense
With import as the papered walls from hence
Look smug; yes, take a turn in sheer betrayl
Across those gleaming floors, dressed ah, to scale
In empire-waist' floor-length is it pretense?
And for the *** of tea I'll sip for sense,
The dainty patterns on those walls' sweet bail.
Don't ask me why.  In scrubbing bathrooms' tour,
I could not settle on just whither to
Until that note piqued languid thoughts as twere.
I've been there so oft for discussions through
Each novel, t'would be quite refreshing, poor
As fiction's vain suggestion, if'd could do.

11Oct18a
What's left to add?
idk Aug 2013
looking into her eyes
i could tell it told a stroy
a rare thing
told me everything she was afraid of
that look on her face told it all
but most importantly
the one thing i remember as clear as crystal
those blue eyes that drowed my sorrows away and made me think of something
someone
other than myself for once
they told me id never understand
little did she understand ive been through the same she'd been trough
fought the same battles
lingered apon the same questions and wondered the same thoughts
pictured the same scenerios in my head that we wanted to happen
and even thought about things the same way
it was perfect
i knew her just as well as she knew me
from just her eyes i could see the bittter past she wasnt willing to share
and the eager future she was excited about continuing
but loosing hope because everyone had shot down her dreams
fearless but had the courage that someday shed let all of the bad thoughts go
shed get rid of the deomns for good
she win the game of life
she knew she had it in her
the resononing behind becoming a better person for herself
felt good because she knew it wasnt for anybody else
although looking into her eyes i saw
hatred
jealousy
betrayl
traits i noticed
things id been familiar with and i just wanted to tell her weveall been there
to not trust every single person you meet
to take off that elecrtic smile that brightened up the room
to not open up so easily to those who were being nosey and desperate to break into the source of someone elses problems to cast away the shawdows of theirs for just a  
moment
to not run off with the boy who had the pretty smile and differet personality because he ends up being the same guy as the rest
to tell her to turn around and notice the nice guy
the guy who cared about her all along who would do anything for her
protect her and fight for her no matter what
but no matter what she wouldnt listen
she wanted the bad guy
figured he knew a way to make the  
pain go away
and indeed he did
which made more pain present in those eyes that were once as blue as the ocean
turn as black as the sky on a night there are no stars to look opon
i wanted to tell her all the things growing up i wish i  knew
looking into her eyes i saw that reflection staring back at me and telling myself
"im that little girl that once was you"
Jenny Gordon Oct 2016
Maybe I'll clean up my act, just to be good.  It did give Shaun the chance to look deeply and most mournfully (nicely empathetic) into my eyes once upon a time ages ago...



(sonnet #MMMMMCMLXXIX)


I'll wear my heart upon this sleeve in pale
Excuse as oft as suits my fancy, whence
Ye all kin chide to no avail from hence,
Whiles I rebuff aught notions in betrayl
Of better sense, cuz nothing here is bail.
Or if some fragile thought seems vague defense,
Tis vanquished ere I've managed to gain thence
A foothold, and I'll be thus stripped and frail.
Ah, love.  Do thou but tempt me with the poor
Suggestion, ye kin laugh 'til ye are blue,
I'm prey, tears dried until tis proven fer
Whatever that twas aye, a jest.  I'll rue
Me folly, cherry-cheeked, and pray whiles your
Much wiser sense erm, coughs.  And yes, I knew.

20Oct16
Nobody, last I checked.  And yes, I'll work the harder on being more polite, was that?
My dear friend you are the betrayl in enimies,
My dear love you are the struggle in life,
My dear heart you are the untrusted in gossip,
My dear world I will watch you fall,
I will watch as we collapse,
Together.
Jenny Gordon Mar 2019
THIS:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jCHL9b6nBXA



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCII)


Watch Paul McCartney's erm, debut of thence
That soulful number "Yesterday." and they'll
What, eh?  If's not the song itself t'avail,
How 'bout John Lennon's snide remark for sense
To Ringo, was't?  As if there was fr'intents
This rivalry which could not in betrayl
Be satisfied to have Paul up (sans bail?)
Alone on stage where all the girls cooed hence.
As if they did not cry for John in tour,
And that by name, he must begrudge it too?
I'm just a child in sheer compare as twere,
Yet "all grown-up" now to effect, see through
Their boyish ways and fall in love, though's poor.
While "Yesterday's" notes never fail to woo.

22Mar19b
--what I prefer about the full performance over this mere clip, is the tiny details, ie all John's behaviour.
The Full Performance:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EE11Zp_KWtg  
The Beatles Blackpool Night Out, ABC Theatre, Blackpool, United Kingdom (Full Performance)
Jenny Gordon Mar 2018
So there.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMVI)


Yes, fire.  We plunked down on the fur rug thence
Afore her fireplace, and I in betrayl
Neglected to erm, lose me on its hale
And licking flames, e'en that romance' pretense
Was blind to--wherefore? Sandwiched for intents
Twixt two guy friends, I was too dull t'avail
Me even there, yea lost myself in pale
'Scuse in auld lines to Nigel, like's good sense.
Now Sunday watches diesel trucks roar fer
Sweet hours through lonesome country roads 'neath blue
Skies nary cloud is but a ghost in, poor
As saying.  I told a friend I'm as a melon you
Cleaned out, sans Mum, and what as twere
Is left?  LORD, give me Thy fruit.  And kids too?

11Mar18b
*bangs table like a kiddo:  I want marriage and to have babies!* funny how that hits a brick wall and I must look like some danged bulldog at this rate.
Jenny Gordon Feb 2018
Alas, is there truly no excuse for me?


(sonnet #MMMMMMCMXVIII)


Take icy cloth's embroidered linen's sense
Of April's warmth to task for darts, as hale
Pink butterflies weave paths to yonder's bail,
And what is stylish now is red, deep hence
With snappy blue in patterns I've tossed thence
Aside as "not my taste," and oh! t'avail
How Valentines' tricks out most ads' detail
With hearts in tow, where I've none in defense.
Remember how our heavy kissing's tour
Of things I'd never tasted, left me too
Far Dis-illusioned in betrayl, as poor
As all that, and I miss the violets dew
In silver droplets used to kiss as twere.
So flowrs are knit on linen while none woo.

01Feb18b
Hello.
Jenny Gordon May 2017
and you said:  "I hope you like chocolate."



(sonnet  #MMMMMMCCCLI)


I've not had choclate, nor a taste, in pale
Excuse, for that in days, perhaps cuz hence
You called yourself that, and my hunger thence
Was only for whom stole aught else, t'avail
Me of:  just you.  And oh! how that detail
In lieu of packaged squares, eats me and sense
Out of both home and hearth, ne crumb to fence
The **** is't? yet smudges in betrayl.
Oh, Adrian!  There I must leave off.  Were--
What?  Savour ah, minutest crumbs, roll too
Across your tongue that darkest morsel your
Soul yields itself up to, and ah, foil to
Glint, crinkle, tease, nor but in silver tour
Hold lo, exquisite heights:  what's I love you?

17May17a
Last I checked, chocolate merely demands you eat it.  Oh wait, it doesn't even do that, kick me.
Jenny Gordon Mar 2016
(sonnet #MMMMMCCCLXXVIII)


Snow.  Thick white flakes whose hapless note's detail
As't measures distance their profusion thence
Half mocks, yet draws the careless eye from whence
These mesmerize sans voice within the pale
Light of an afternoon, and lo tis bail
Enow for losing me upon that sense
I maunt pin down, til playing guitar is hence
Forgot, or trips and chokes in sheer betrayl.
And ah.  You know that word, um, chaste?  Oh sure.
Come, roll it 'cross your tongue and hear anew,
Cuz I am sick of being too naughty, fer
The record, and shall leave erm, you to woo.
If only I sit on me hands 'til you're
Quite ready, that should do.  Snow.  I need you.

09Jan16c
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VuQ5fhcCM0E]*feels sheepish asking*...and since forgetting, I dunno.
Jenny Gordon Feb 2018
...like, "if you must remain nobly a ****** unto death in lieu of marrying divorced or ungodly men, buck up and be thankful." or something like that.  


(sonnet #MMMMMMCMVI)


If butterflies were dancing gaily hence
Across these wastes, likeas in sheer betrayl
Pink 'non embroidered ones do whilst flutes scale
Soft notes and trip too merr'ly for intents
Now through the minutes I work pinning thence
An ancient zipper to this skirt, we'd hail
Sweet joy no, aye?  But thin white clouds 'gain veil
Blue skies til shadows' ghosts fade, and's pretense.
Did I complain too much ere, that as twere
I'm punished with ne best friend?  No man'd woo
Affections then, but he was toying in poor
Excuse with me, or was divorced.  None do
Ha, ha now either, flutes in lieu what stir
Fond visions as I bend oer sewing's cue.

25Jan18b
Funny thing is...why haven't I been so cheerful in two weeks now?
Jenny Gordon Feb 2017
You are allowed to laugh, I've heard it is good medicine.



(sonnet #MMMMMCMXCII)


Alas.  I cherish too much, in a sense,
October's pale eye, and how in betrayl
Thet lonely yellow leaf 'non skitters, frail
And hapless 'cross the blacktop, lost from hence
Within grey shadows as cold winds breathe thence
In careless fashion through worn Maples' hale
Stance, green, orange-kissed and whispring of ne bail
Whilst Death walks silent through this vague suspense.
These blue skies wear a cloudless mien as twere,
Yet blinding echoes of thin fragments do
Some tour of duty in their backdrop fer
Good measure.  Yellow gladrags dance, the crew
Of staid leaves fragile.  But I love't all, poor
As saying is, only wanting, yessir:  You.

24Oct16a
*cuz aka Vincent Dill requested it.
Jenny Gordon Jul 2016
(sonnet #MMMMMDCCLVI)


I swear, I love you, Robert.  Drive me thence
Up every wall.  In Spartan fashion scale
The hours down as I trim each sorry nail
Erm, with my teeth.  And oh!  What is it hence?
But you're the master of this ship, to fence
Unnumbered minutes with naught to avail,
Cuz I am spoiled?  Or what?!  In sheer betrayl
Oh help me!  but I'm cussing in suspense.
To top it off you have compassion fer
My father.  He swears I'm a task.  You two
Make quite the pair to set me off as twere.
Okay, I'll take up knitting.  That won't do.
You drive me bonkers!  Tell me that's not your
Intent and I'll prove tis.  I love you too.

06Jul16b
I love you.  There's no better word.
Jenny Gordon May 2019
..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
I don't care how many of you swear that coffee wakes you up.  Until you've had MY cuppa tea, you don't know what it is to be wakened.
Jenny Gordon Jul 2017
He said I'm a good kisser.  ducks head



(sonnet #MMMMMMDI)


His.  O, I wanted Joe to call me his, in pale
Excuse, and yes, to call him MINE.  What hence?
But lo, I am.  He's like a dream come true, a sense
Of all a girl wants in his sweetness, frail
As fancies ever were.  Why, in betrayl?
To top it off, yes...what?  but kissing thence
Is nat'ral, being in his arms like ah, whence?
Two puzzle pieces fitting in detail.
If I said "he is home to me as twere,"
Would all I've tasted then dissolve unto
Some naked shore the waves crash into fer
An endless washing of all that we knew?
He sez that love (in all caps) is too poor.
My legs and lips are what he wants.  What's new?

16Jul17a
My mother (when I was 14) begging me to save my kisses for the man who'd marry me, yes, he is the first since grade school and playing house with the neighbor boy.  If this is the fun she alluded to, I'll never have my fill.
Jenny Gordon May 2019
There IS a reason we're told to beware of what we...everything, really.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMLXXXVIII)


Swear off the pleasures I knew ere cuz thence
I'm too, what, eh? beleaguered to avail
Me of indulgence, yes.  No choc'late, pale
As loving oft to nibble it fr'intents
Home in my father's house.  And thus, what hence?
The id'ot box passe, I'd in betrayl
Now clean forgot the litrature's detail
Which shaped my thoughts and manners, yea, my sense.
Take oh, the lux'ry of an essay fer
Lo, minutes on familiar turf I knew
Weeks, months, so many years ago as twere
Likeas my other "food," and what ah, to
Effect?  As if my thinking clears in poor
'Scuse for brief seconds, oh how sweet tis too!

24May19d
There's nothing quite like whom you associate with...eh?
Jenny Gordon Jul 2016
Don't ask me.



(sonnet #MMMMMDCCXCIV)


Not mine.  As if a stranger passing thence
From who-knows-where to whither, aught detail
Is like the accents you'll set to avail
Along with artwork for that ***** sense,
Just items in a world that's lost from hence
Its varnish.  His bare room decked on that scale
With table, chairs and knick-knacks, in betrayl
Wood toilet seat's in pieces for pretense.
Tis naked.  Yes, he's glad to see me fer
Old times--"Erm [smiling] what's your name 'gain?  You--
You're so familiar--"  I laugh, to assure
Him's fine, aye tease him.  Yet why does th'ado,
Though fun as ever, strip the dream as twere
Of all its trappings?  Robt, I love you too.

23Jul16c
This is the section where I elucidate is it?  Sorry.  Or wait...never underestimate the fuel every stinkin' bit of life provides when I is a sonneteer.  Haha.
Jenny Gordon Oct 2016
Oh well.


(sonnet #MMMMMCMLXXVIII)


Earl Grey and biscuit for a proper sense
Of yonder ist?  where blue skies fringe clouds' veil
Known as white racks that keener eye'd wax pale
Through as how orange paints bits and pieces hence
Whiles yellow flutters to the sidewalks whence
Tis trod whilst fills aught cracks in sheer betrayl;
La, bony limbs cast 'gainst these heavns look frail,
How vines run riot in deep reds' intents.
Hot soup for dinner, I wear plaid now fer
Ah kicks, a kilt to boot, as if being new
Might salve the galling void I can't endure,
Yet must.  Talk of espresso gadgets to
Think ya, the French Press grand.  And tea.  What's poor
Is blindness cuz the LORD's our life, ne brew.

19Oct16b
We've always patted the suffering on the head, proffering a steamy cuppa for consolation haven't we?  and...nevermind me.
Jenny Gordon Mar 2016
(sonnet #MMMMMCCCLXXVII)


I'm not asleep.  But wakened, tiptoe thence
Through every minute like to dare exhale
Is not allowed, as if to breathe would hail
The end of visions roused to caper whence
No concrete line shall say, whileas suspense
Knows Janry shows our breath in sheer betrayl
As snow feels that chinook's touch, waxing pale
Though I still walk upon its face tward sense.
And hear a distant blue jay's cry bestir
Young Saturday's thin silence like he knew
What I maunt parse out 'til what aye? as twere.
Oh yes, the sparrows' playful calls heard too
Whilst carving out the eggs, and thought in poor
Excuse I'll be half good, erm, just for you.

09Jan16b
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mGODBXc8WC4]*looks remarkably...was that innocent?*
Jenny Gordon Oct 2016
...the Word of God.



(sonnet #MMMMMCMLXXII)


Oh yes.  I wimper still oer Mum.  Care thence
In silence as ne words assuage nor bail
My soul, except the LORD's in sheer betrayl.
Orange kisses treetops, yellow nestles hence
In sidewalk cracks and dips, vines paint a sense
Of scarlet through the copse no phlox detail
Now, and lo, I submit a sonnet they'll
Not choose, remembring Mum last year--and whence?
I swear, the Word of God my home as twere,
Replies as through a parched land we ensue.
Grey hours rain drips oer, deep blue heavns we were
So fond of seeing twixt yellow Maples--do
Not have my ticket anymore.  In poor
Scuse I watch Pride and Prejdice.  Where are you?

16Oct16b
No less than a mad 6 hours of an excellent movie rendering of Jane Austen's classic Pride and Prejudice (well, I still think we could have skipped his bathing and swimming, like, was the ****** movie made for women?! ahem, obviously.)  And I stupidly forget people will tell you to cheer up or that they "care" if I carelessly mention I still miss Mum too dearly, but I don't appreciate their "kindness" any better, kick me.
Awesome Annie Nov 2016
Words seem to cut the soul, jagged edges distorted with color. Always avoiding the gallows, though I deserve to hang like any other.

Betrayl is a bitter pill, caught in a circle to burn us from inside. Walls I  built with magic dust, to help me better hide.

I called for peace but he wanted war, bellowing like thunder to the sky. He drew a sword and I my pen, then he dared to ask me why.

Kaleidoscope kingdoms never last, casualties scattered in every direction. He stole my youth and robbed my virture, beauty fading with age and imperfection.

He finally fell from his throne, the empire he built with deceit unable to stand. I'm moving on to catch the sun, with hope held in my hand.
Jenny Gordon Jan 2019
cough, cough*  



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCLIII)


Yes, I woke after one, as if t'avail
Myself of sleep ere tucking up has sense,
To find that notion snowplows were fr'intents
Upon the prowl in grinding form to scale
Long ere a Friday evning was past bail
Quite true, as snow filled that lone light's beams thence
With whiter mists, a blanket none could hence
Pierce on the blacker world in sheer betrayl.
If rolling phrases 'cross one's tongue in tour
Is grand, choice words the key 'fore their debut
On lo, this wrinkled notebook page, what were
They as I slipped into my nightie?  To
Effect:  "snow AFTER midnight--".  None too poor,
I spose.  And how winds craft dunes 'cross the view.

19Jan19a
Sorry for the poor quality of my latest posts:  it's a new year.  Lo, and behold, my writing, topics are shoddy and not worth a perusal.  Mebbe some better day will show its face?  Who knows?
Jenny Gordon Jun 2017
A purple petunia (is it?) lies dried on the inside cover of this latest spiral notebook whose title above it just chances to be:  "Something Very Like:  Don't Look Now,"  and I never guessed when I happened upon that title 7 days ago that we'd be...here.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCXVIII)


O!  Now I'm scared.  For since the minute's stale
Touch, long past, when our eyes first met, to thence
That kiss he pressed upon my hand to fence
Lo, giving me a flowr:  Joe's in betrayl
A dream come true, so wonderful, in frail
Excuse I hes'tate to believe him hence,
Afraid to grasp what might dissolve, a sense
Of all I wanted beckning to avail.
I'm slow, but he takes that in stride as twere,
Til ah! I wrestle with this wakning cue
As if I had more I could lose in poor
'Scuse than is gone already.  Rain shrouds blue
Skies with metallic grey, and dank hours tour
While fragile rays pierce gloom, and I'd love:  you.

17Jun17a
Hi.
Jenny Gordon Mar 2019
"...nothing really matters [anymore]--"


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCIII)


Where blue heavns softly yield to orange' detail
And robins 'gain renew dear Mavis' sense
Of April gloaming with that song fr'intents,
E'en breaking off to scold as wont, the frail
Warmth sifted out while lo, a plane t'avail
'Non passes over, sparrows gaily fence
This calm with chatter, traffic likeas thence
Wont: I would sleep; yes, laugh, in sheer betrayl.
Don't let me cull to mind what tis as twere.
Who gives a hoot tis Friday night?  I do
Not care so much if I could just, in poor
Excuse, forget, and breathe.  Pink 'gins tae woo,
Now gathring on the East, and Nigel's tour
Of music oddly plays, the Scriptures too.

22Mar19c
Oh! leave me here to fade into nothingness is it?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oozJH6jSr2U
Jenny Gordon Oct 2017
FIRST:  the poem which inspired...oh, yes, laugh--it's reminiscent of, of, would that be the old "the house that jack built"? ie, Joshua Amos Graff/aka Graff1980's poem--

Graff1980
4h@18:04, 29Oct17
Untitled

The phone store
is closed,
but I can still see
the sharp blue glow
of those
bright screens
blinking out at me
from the window
to the streets
where I am walking slowly.
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2187429/untitled/

SECOND:  the comment his poem inspired and which he too generously told me I "should post."--

[He said Jenny Williams]--Like a ghost none sees, catching the lurid eye of those eyeless windows to the black hole of an eerie yonder, the speaker treads as if slippered through the darkness which itself is alive and aware, the scene commonplace, yet rendered thus with a poignant ghastliness, a delicacy. Thank you for sharing.

THIRD:  the sonnet which I told him I'd endeavour to compose from that same comment, yet which is a frustrating reminder why as Stella Armour was it? told me years ago she did NOT want to force thoughts into sonnets, and I heartily concur:  I'd far rather pour the unformed thought into that "most exquisite form of poetry" than try to squeeze a complete thought into that "gilded cage"--

...for Joshua Amos Graff's poem--



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCCXXII)


Likeas a ghost none sees where streetlamps fence
The blacker shroud of night, how in betrayl
'Non catching lo, the lurid eye's detail
Of those more eyeless windows harking thence
Unto the black hole of an eerie sense
Of yonder, how you tread as if t'avail
Now slippered through the darkness which in pale
'Scuse ah, itself's alive and 'ware.  What hence?
You only put down for the page as twere
That lonely walk through naked streets left to
None else.  Yet where dead cellphones look in poor
Excuse out, la, you render thus anew
What's common, but whose ghastliness in tour
Is poignant, delcacies I cherish.  You?

29Oct17a
Haha, I gave my notes in laying this out, frustrated upon completing this sonnet because, as wont, it has lost the tantalizing thought's keen sense which provoked it, the thought itself being formed as it tripped out on the screen under my fingers, a thought I never had until the keyboard rendered it up, yet which now punishes me for forcing it out of existance into a sonnet.  *cue a wry smile*
Jenny Gordon Jul 2017
The drama is Korean and called "Save The Last Dance For Me."  I loved it until the final episode.


(sonnet #MMMMMMDXIII)


I watched those silver curtains whose thin veil
Down in the valley blotted trees with thence
But ghostly figures 'hind thet rainy sense
Of nowhere, while the greener Maples' tale
Just whispered on this hilltop like to scale,
And thought dreams were too pretty hence
Wrapt up with love in those refrains, til whence?
But how we punished these in sheer betrayl.
La.  Why must even dramas skew in poor
Excuse the heroine?  She suffered to
Effect and then some, 'til when fin'lly fer
All that they had all, she was crippled through
The villain.  Wherefore must we ruin as twere
E'en that?  The rain gone, midnight glowrs, deep blue.

23Jul17
That goes beyond saintifying her.  I watched movies and read novels to escape this reality, not be faced with it again.  And yes, I still cherish the drama.
Jenny Gordon Apr 2019
Hopefully if you're unfamiliar with that song google will comply and locate it for you.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXXVI)


Blue skies out West look deeper in a sense
Than Illinois e'er knows, clouds in betrayl
'Non floating laz'ly in such vast seas they'll
Assure ye rare pools know, til I from thence
Half ache to be in those dear prairies hence
As childhood fondly knew, swept to avail
Clean of these houses clustered sans aught bail,
And where the Thunderbirds roar through fr'intents.
I said I'd join the Air Force, but Dad fer
All that said: No.  And that is better too.
Yet oh! the Rocky Mountains!  O those pure,
Unfathomed bluest skies!  What is't that'd woo
Me from their depths?  I feel it 'non bestir
My soul, just watching from afar.  And you?

31Mar19d
Or mebbe I'll record myself singing it one of these days...only the chorus, though--"Colorado, THAT's King Sooper's Way, That's King Sooper's Way...." Is it called Aldi's in the armpit?
Jenny Gordon Aug 2017
It's funny how I actually love how you reason with me, instructing me and turning me back where I belong.


(sonnet #MMMMMMDXLIV)


Friends.  While soft blue skies gently fade, peach thence
Upon the heels of all we knew t'avail,
Ne wind now but a whisper that'd exhale
Twixt silent leaves ah, search the keener sense
Of:  that.  From Jonathan and David whence
We see lives traded cuz of that detail,
To what I knew with Mum, to in betrayl
My darling brothers, to yes, you, come hence.
The LORD called us His friends if we'd ah, fer
All that, keep His commands, yea told us too
What He shall do within this world as twere,
And love, forsooth, is crucial in that cue.
So then?  We love, and yield our lives in tour:
For friends, as skies turn now a deeper blue.

07Aug17b
Turns out I can perhaps despite aught, churn out a sonnet, while you meantime own every minute and then some.
Jenny Gordon Mar 2016
(sonnet #MMMMMCDXV)


There was a science to extraction.  Pale
Morn's wintry eye does not observe the sense
I rather feel as boiling water thence
Steams up the pipe, to settle without bail
Above my waiting carafe, as't fail
To know the vacuum meant it'd drain from hence.
And none else trouble-shoots the Pebo, whence
My griefs **** weary thumbs in sheer betrayl.
I know Mum would ask why I bother fer
The umpteenth time to make this work, and brew
A *** of grim frustration joe in poor
Excuse shan't bless.  Dad cites my dreams, to stew
By halves oer this grand failure.  I don't stir
Aught grounds, pray, miss Mum, and what'd aye, subdue?

28Jan16a
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dyM2AnA96yE]The review on wired.com said she got the Pebo to drain half the time, and everyone seems to call it an experiment.
Jenny Gordon Jun 2018
(sonnet #MMMMMMMCCXLIII)


So, if I wait until the morrow, pale
As aught excuse, we might continue thence
This theme:  I meant to scribble--for intents.
Espresso.  With sweet conversation, bail
For many years, passe, lost in betrayl
Since April was't?  This morning likeas hence
We'd never ceased, I sip with Dad, a sense
Of sweeter hours in tow as if t'avail.
And Wordsworth oer last bits of coffee, to
Effect where Sunday afternoon in tour
Could don a sense of happier years we knew
When Mum was still with us.  O tis a poor
Suggestion.  I cooked lunch with mishaps fer
Reminders of the LORD's great mercies:  new.

24Jun18
My boyfriend saying he'd like to see this, now ally'alls can too.
Jenny Gordon Oct 2016
...besides the LORD, and my menfolk:  Nobody.


(sonnet #MMMMMCMLXXXIX)


I meant to 'gin:  Officious.  Sunday thence
With echoes of religious duties they'll
Assure you's needful, 'til in sheer betrayl
Tis sin to not be there and an offense
To sleep-in, whilst the shabby bow from hence
To cold hauteur and know god has a scale
Whereby we measure worth by gain's detail--
But I've forgotten whither, in a sense.
Come, which is better?  Oh yes, to be sure
Like he said 'long ere:  "say whatever--" to
Add, "--but stand on it too."  If church is poor
Cuz that's pretense, so is aught falsehood.  Do
I be a hyp'crite in love too, well you're
Allowed to censure me.  Who owns me?  Who?

23Oct16a
Yes, we've a Dukes of Hazard car which counts this intersection routine, passing through for years now, and I can't begin to number off the rest, in addition to diesel pickmeups and don't let me begin on Harleys with straight pipes.  Sunday.  Is a lovely day in the Fall.
wave Dec 2014
'Twas the way she said,
...be sure to call me, don't forget...
then turned off her phone,
3 days net

I cast her a line
will she bite or let free?
readily lost from mind
the bait was me!

Oh mused from her loving
her plaything, her joy.
I spat out love poemz
Less haste did annoy

Lifted kindred spirit,
no more wobe-gone for me
was but a lie from a Strom
too blinded to sea

"You and I are going to have
a great love affair."
Should have been warning
Foundeld on note in sunlight morning

I asked the project wood
It for-told me, "Why Bother?"
Alone in my room, to ration or despair
Ignore nature's warning,
'tis up to me, I declare.

Sealed my fate...
I'm strong, been here before,
I'm ready for this...this...this time winning!
FOOL
Her's unslaved, mine unscathed
night,
was just the begining!

Oh the joys,
Such sweetness up to the edge,
but not quite *****
As promised her lore
THE everything abash
Irie romming back,
gonna get IT,
this time?
Maybe mohr

The musing doest stop,
genuine dost frey,
Lovings subside
Betrayl dost pay

"It will melt your mind"
Were the last words I herd
all in due time
her torture, my absurd

Communicate?  
Communicate she says?
Why were not those words
so heards
Whence whining and pining decays?

Hypocrispy so blatant
it must be ignored,
and the melt of the mind
gets restored

For it was up to me
All along on this journey
The most painful part
Is I always did see

This dance with the devil
The game of fairie,
My loves lorn lost
To the leanhaun shee
There are but a few "good" fairies.  Should you find yourself under their spell, look up keats  "la belle dame sans merci" 1819 and artwork by sir frank dicksee 1902 of the same name, and others.  Failure to act is choosing an unprotected fate.
Jenny Gordon Apr 2017
Um, my apologies to Lindt, dunno where that flavour originated when I first tasted it.
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y7FeeKWVi5Q]


(sonnet #MMMMMMCCLVIII)


Lindt was the standard for good choclate, hence
Gone to the dogs as Dillon's to avail
Tastes like the thing itself, whilst in betrayl
Swiss choclatiers own powdered milk for sense?!
And our Wisconsin pride on top fr'intents--
Or what? I nibble one and t'other, frail
As private testing is, and call both pale,
Milk choclate nothing to the real stuff, whence?
Charge me with aye, a fault and swear tis poor,
I'll put on Broforce' soundtrack, thinking too--
Ha, what?!  Being "friends" is--stop there as it were.
Trust in the LORD with all thine heart--and do
Not figure.  I love Andrew.  Rain blots fer
Effect aught blue skies, and no choclate's you.

10Apr17b
I swear my chocolate-stained face and fingers, look incredibly innocent, I do, I do.
Jenny Gordon Mar 2018
...by sheer droves in erm, Hawaii.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMIII)


Frost's hoary whiteness in the valley, pale
Blue heavns 'non warming as pink blushes thence
Fade softly, and how twilight's greyish sense
I canna 'scribe haunts sweetly, til the veil
Is pierced, that golden eye in sheer betrayl
With yellow fingers twixt the trees, and hence
How shadows draw up silent figures, dense
Yet lacy on dead lawns sans dew t'avail.
Ya, dew.  May shall own silver droplets' tour
Upon green carpets as I know frost's cue
Would be if twas not frore at dawn as twere,
And how the light is ghastly on the crew
Of naked trees, yet prettier thus.  Flowrs stir
As daffodils and tulips search for...dew.

10Mar18b
Chide me for wanting to see silver dew again?

— The End —