...and I'll give you half an ear.  
[L9:  Robert.  And sent a pic when returned.  And yes, I loved him, shame to say.]



(sonnet #MMMMMCMXCI)


Where gloaming filters out in greyish thence
And fading halflight, children's voices trail
Some barking canine as no birds detail
Calm whispers whose soft breath tugs at me hence
Likeas to stay my footfalls with that sense
Tis now, and here.  Ne stars yet in blue's veil
Except the evening star alone oer pale
Dead houses, and how sunset burns low.  Whence?
Indeed.  He's gone to Burning Man as twere
Or some take off that, romance forfeit too,
Else I'll wish for a date with each in poor
Excuse, how's that?  The problem is...that you
Are not here.  What are cool winds' murmurs?  You're
Who gives dusk romance.  Tell me that you knew.

23Oct16c

...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

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

"...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

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

(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

Ya, weeds.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCMLXXXI)


Now April dogs our sunny minutes, pale
Blue skies with nary cloud to mar that sense
As orange 'non splashes buildings in defense
Of rosy sunset just where dinner's bail,
The biscuits cut ere that eye cease t'avail,
And curtains drawn while steamy soup fr'intents
Give us cause to reflect, black night what'd fence
Dessert as we talk oer the future's tale.
I roll the first words 'cross my tongue as't stir
'Fore butter gives flour cause to be anew
Sheer dough, that haunting sense light rouses fer
Auld memries of lost days what winks unto
My soul, though's but March first.  Is it sae poor
To feel it in our bones likeas twould woo?

01Mar18e

...as Mum taught me.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCMIX)


Did sparrows gaily call as wont, t'avail
Espresso with Dad's lecture of a sense
Long since forgotten, just where blue skies fence
Is't Sunday morning's placid airs as frail
White clouds lent April's winking eye a pale
Note of grey yonder, what? for aught intents?
How Janry owns the jest was poor as hence
These naked wastes look dead, likeas to scale.
O yes, they market florals ere March tour,
Cuz stylish girls must be the first to do
Um, April Fools a proper notice.  We're
All shivring in wool rollnecks now, but you
Just want mair golden hours to cull what'd stir
That keener sense Spring shall anon debut.

28Jan18a

Yes, I teasingly told him "I might even write you a sonnet," never yet informing him I'd already been doing so since the day we met.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCXIII)



O Thou whose eyes perplex me from th'all hail
When you cut into conversation, whence
"Hi!"--and--"I'm Joe." did more than simply hence
Just intro you, but left me in betrayl
In arms oer what that look you gave'd avail,
Yes, who when I was sassy cut that sense
Short with again, a look I'd puzzle thence,
Today--what?! kiss my hand likeas tis bail?!
Call me, "my lady," with a flowr plucked fer
Th'occasion yes, in tow.  I fell for't too.
Or rather, sweetly thanked you like in poor
'Scuse that was perfect.  O what did I do?!
If any saw they'd know we were what? your
Late project?  Shall I be yours now, think you?

15Jun17a

I could swear the way the men clustered around me after meeting they thought this below was a mere pretty fantasy....and perhaps you alone know differently, Adrian.

(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCIII)


Lo, how I hear the Beatles' cherished scale
Of "Yesterday--" 'non waltzing, like the sense
We know by instinct, though by Shakespeare thence
I thought to ink--what? cycling through the tale
Of prairie grasses blackbirds' rakish hail
Mocks?  Or those blue skies cloud fluffs whitely fence
In lazy, um, battalions?  Or from hence
As Will said, how I feel, likeas t'avail?
When you say "lacy," to ask me if your
Prompt, erm, hit home?  And how I long to do--
Not home-made popsicles, nor when in tour
I lost my first tooth blowing up that new
Um, kiddie pool--but you know.  Is it poor?
Cuz summer's so short-lived, but I love you.

05Jun17b

Kick me for feeling too smug over this pretty number which happened to write itself.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXVII)



O! how I yearn to wander through the tale
Of naked woods likeas a nymph from hence!
As if I am the sister of, fr'intents,
The trees whose boughs like arms reach up, t'avail
Me of the light is't? or that sense of pale
Keen longing to just breathe, non listning thence
Unto the softest whispers passing whence
We canna say twixt all the leaves, t'exhale.
I want to search for violets, like they'd stir
Now that rain's melted half the snow anew,
Whiles lo, winds toss the firs whose voice as twere
Sounds hoarsely in this fragile warmth's debut.
Yes, I can feel it in my bones--that pure
Note of sweet life which calls buds as it'd woo.

13Mar19a

You are allowed to guffaw at me, considering what came before this.



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCCCLXXXI)


Snow.  Likeas if what, eh? mists' fragile veil
Haunts gathring darkness as white caps from hence
That thought of April in the wings, suspense
Put back to sleep with frozen kisses' scale
Of niceness was't?  Rain's tripping through t'avail
Culled naked lawns in yellowed Death, which thence
Are tucked 'neath that chill coverlid, and whence
Straps on its boots 'gainst crunching forth, hope pale?
Nah.  It is Janry still, and violets' tour
Shall not be guaranteed until the dew
Once more rests silver on green carpets fer
Soft light and warmer hours lost under blue
Skies nary iciness skulks in as twere.
Tonight we'll shiver, glad the furnace knew.

14Jan18c

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

Why on earth did Sunday AM's cosmetic ad tout "erasing dark circles with concealer" when that was what the mirror answered I needed done?  Talk about coincidence, or what?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMV)


O!  Watch that greyish lace called firs' detail
Upon the blacktop gently shift from thence
To playful winds, where pavement is fr'intents
Likeas some chalkboard smudged t'effect and pale
In afternoon's more lazy eye, in frail
Excuse, myself dead tired cuz coffee's sense
I maunt resist last night did punish, whence
"Erase dark circles with concealer!"'d hail.
Who gives a hoot that I look nice as twere
Eh?  None but older men, ungodly too
Seek me.  Old scruples were mair strict in tour
But faithful as the LORD Whose Word is true.
Blue skies are warmly clean of clouds; winds stir
These naked boughs to nodding; and what's new?

11Mar18a

I suppose we never are.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLVII)


As steam wafts up in whitish tendrils' pale
Dance, likeas figures which cavort from hence
In ghostly silence til the ether thence
Half swallows them--as spirits in betrayl
Taen into heaven ist?  Look past, t'avail
Me of the world beyond this window, whence
See how fir boughs nod to chill breaths for sense
While lo, the Maple's naked yet, calm frail.
This first cup black, we're being good Swedes I'm sure,
And savour all the more what Daddy'd brew
Upon that note.  Remember too as twere
My sister'n'law who'd drink joe like I knew
Old seasoned captains would:  black.  And in poor
Still voiceless naught, the radio chatters too.

09Mar19a

Here, just listen to this:  [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LjgndGuy77o]  




(sonnet #MMMMMMDCCCLXXVII)


Lo, coffee in wee tazos as from thence
How sparrows gaily call is't? to avail
Dawn's warming light which wears Spring in betrayl
'Spite frigid airs, me chattring to Dad hence
About when buds will 'gin to peer fr'intents
Upon the distant tree; and whiles I hail
Such notions, he sez Winter's in detail
Too young yet, noting he's no hopes for sense.
I was not happy, was I?  Just in tour
Seeing how that April haunts the waking view,
Likeas October did one June as twere.
Snow melted by the brief thaw's rain, these blue
Skies oddly wear an eye akin in poor
'Scuse to late March.  And really, what is new?

13Jan18

(or, what I did 02Mar19PM)



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXLIII)


Crunch M&M's whilst listning to, t'avail,
Karl Lagerfeld on lo, his craft and thence
Why he scorned social media for intents:
Cuz artists need to keep the channels they'll
Use to inspire such feats as we'll in frail
Excuse half worship clear of aught else hence,
Which I have learned ere now in sheer defense
Of this mine own work, whence erm, nod, t'exhale.
Chanel and Fendi lost a master fer
Their grand success these decades, likeas to
Effect they'll never know again in tour,
Methinks.  Ah, Shakespeare, Shelley, long gone too,
Carl Philippe um, Emmanuel Bach--what were
We thinking was ahead?  Mars candy'd do.

03Mar19a

...oh, I dunno, a variety of intros could suffice, whence, none might as well, no?

(sonnet #MMMMMMMCCCXLIII)


I caught the ghost of mists likeas a veil
Down in the valley where trees clustered thence
'Hind shifting white's detail, rain waltzing hence
Without a voice as't tiptoes 'cross the tale
Of weedy blacktop; firs mair silent, frail
Calm hanging 'til winds ply the Maples' dense
Green, and the distance lost to that suspense,
Whiles I chid rain for being light; to exhale.
You listen to--is't my complaints? and YOUR
Response of "you're amazing" fails me too.
So I wish to just kiss and tease you fer
All that to...chase me--which you say you'll do.
Right now seems but a pipe dream, mists in poor
'Scuse on what lies 'fore:  I belong to YOU.

20Aug18a

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pgdQf34SYSo]
I swear, I love him.  *Note, the eyes (back in Edmund Spenser's days) have been known as "lamping" which L11 tries for cuz of rhyming.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCXLVIII)


Cold blue peers thinly oer the rippling sense
Of greener carpets laid out for thet pale
Eye's scrut'ny ist?  Grey, fluffy cloudbanks scale
Hours down in more uncertain light as hence
Ah, golden shafts look fragile whiles they fence
Long naked trees with thoughts of warmth's detail,
Winds trying to whisper, and the firs exhale
In hoarser notes as wont, me silent thence.
Cuz Andrew does not put his finger fer
Aught on my lips, no.  Yet he does 'non too.
Are my lamps shining in betrayl as twere?
I swear, he humbles me without a clue
Or touch, and reaches for my heart, to stir
What's been long in the tomb, likeas we knew.

06Apr17a

Keats swooned over a world that never was, except in dreams, and I've no use for that.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXIII)


In lieu of aught we know:  blue skies t'avail
Sans blot of clouds 'til puddles mirror thence
Heavn's eye...take up the chalice to drink hence
That fragrant draught which yields as if to scale
More heady visions than we've drunk, t'exhale
Like sailors on the faerie seas, pretense
Our dainty meat; as lovers swoon for sense
Oer plighted troth, not as we know; sans bail.
Go into raptures likeas Keats would stir
And Byron knew to write, as Shelley drew
Up in his Ode, faint cuz ye know in tour
What minstrels sang in ballads, weaving to
Effect those silken strands to snare souls fer
The Devil's heights.  Cuz what we have won't do.

11Mar19c

...the bride."



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCLXXVI)


My parents said their vows with stardust thence
In their too happy eyes, years 'go in pale
Excuse:  today.  Put cake in each mouth:  bail
For forty-one years 'til Mum died, and whence?
I should be thankful that I perish hence?!
Likeas the violets which own June's exhale
As cruel, whileas their smiling faces fail
Before the summer's breath without defense.
So, la, a p'liceman stopped them this night, fer
All that cuz of Dad's license plates, to do
Was it a bow when he saw Mum's dress?  Poor
As memries, how we cherish all we knew.
And why am I forgotten, LORD?  What were
My faults?  Forgive me, please? and hear me too?

24May18c

Alas.  Absolutely NOTHING is inspiring.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLIII)


Firs hang their boughs in silence as in pale
Excuse it looks like some big snowman thence
Erm, toppled by whom, eh? lies headless hence
Upon the "island's" rim cuz oh, t'avail
Last weekend some tried to move snow sans bail,
As la, his forklift needed to fr'intents
Be wrestled from captiv'ty, as for sense
The icy pile swore it would NOT move, hale.
Now as a fragile touch of pink'd bestir
Itself to trick out blank racks 'cross the view,
Likeas a chalkboard blushing faintly fer
Effect, what drives me to complain?  Naught woo.
Nor have I watched aught movies.  What, as twere,
Culls this dull sense that nary joys now cue?

07Mar19c

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

I can't EVEN breathe



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCVI)


There's some conspiracy, I'm sure.  Good sense
Was feigning to be mine, likeas t'avail.
But now I've had to pull up Queen's detail:
Put on "We Are The Champions" in defense--
Cuz folly has the upper hand from hence.
I had rehearsed that "nothing happened--they'll
Ne'er know--I was a fool--" and in betrayl
As King Saul said, "I've played the fool." O whence?!
Dear reason, now I beg of thee, be pure.
Stop letting false joys caper 'bout and woo.
Tis Saturday.  I'd meant to own as twere--
Oh!  I give up.  My hands are shaky too.
Will some one tell him he can laugh at her
Who nursed a crush, til now, what is to do?!

23Mar19b

for Courtney S. Jennings' "upon the surface of the deep"--



(sonnet #MMMMMMCMXCVI)


Depression's clammy fingers slip fr'intents
'Non twixt her empty ones cuz in betrayl:
She is a woman.  Like some ghost t'avail,
That mist creeps through her veins til ah, from thence
We feel it in our bones, as if good sense
Bows low the head to yield to that detail
Which eats small joys erst wont to be more hale,
And she melts through the floor, a puddle hence.
Thus I embrace November's ghastly tour
Of Death and call grey hours MINE likeas due.
Find solace in these naked boughs that stir
But dimly to winds' chilly breath, as't woo;
Yearn thus to wander through the firs, in poor
'Scuse?  Nah, cuz Thy voice seems there, or is't who?

07Mar18b

I can't find the words to translate this.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCLVI)


Frogs chorus from the hollows, moist earth' scents
'Non wafting on winds' softest kiss, th'exhale
So lightly fragile 'cross my cheek t'avail
As I hark, lips half oped to hear from hence
In sweet surprise their voices, wondring thence
If crickets also fiddle?  Robins'd hail
At gloaming, to yield notes of Mavis' scale
Of ancient lullabies I'd list to, whence?
Forsooth.  As if my soul's restored in tour,
Likeas a sleeper whose long nightmares to
Effect are broken, nor but dreams and poor,
I feel now I can breathe, yea see anew?
Perhaps...who knows what shall be?  Love'd bestir
As in the wings is't? now that Summer'd woo.

05Apr19b

...and yet I do.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXXVII)


Don't tell me that it's April Fools, the pale
Eye of these region clouds as mockry thence
Upon my first thoughts, passing through, a sense
Of morning's pure hopes on my tongue to scale,
Where I caught sight of, likeas to avail,
Dawn's fragile blushes like a maiden's, whence
I rolled this line across my tongue fr'intents:
"Ere dawn, whenas pink skirts the West--" for bail.
To top it off..."he's" on the job, and fer
All that my heart swears that he likes me too.
Go laugh at me and cite off what day'd stir--
Sich lofty visions; yet please hear me to
Effect, O LORD.  Have mercy on me, poor
Though aught 'scuse, and say that he likes me's...true?

01Apr19a

Feigning since I'd freshly painted nails and was going out after dinner to poetry class that I didn't care that he hasn't talked to me...



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCLIII)


The fragile ghost of mists likeas a veil
'Non gathers in the waning light fr'intents,
As puddles shiver to rain's dimples hence,
And how the clock declares work's done, to scale.
Whileas the timer counts last minutes' tale,
I do a sassy dance, and sparrows thence
Go silent as I play out sans defense
Was it a naughty thought lo, sans erm, bail?
O how the firs now whisper hoarsely through
This freighted calm as I serve dinner fer
Us three, and carry that big soup *** (poor
For just us few?) 'non to the table, to
Dish out his bowl and mine, rolls too in tour
With butter, marmalade as fog yet'd woo.

04Apr19f

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

...but I couldn't recall where to fit the line when I'd finally a chance to write next morning.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXLVIII)


Likeas a naked bulb which can't dispense
With all the gloom, but draws up shadows' hale
Forms to leer from aught corners in betrayl,
And close in on that bit of light, I thence
Half realize Instagram details what hence
Has allus been:  lives so far distant they'll
Laugh in my face (as ever) that in pale
Excuse I thought comradrie's not pretense.
O THIS just after midnight when in poor
Reply I'm not yet back asleep, though to
Effect I've not been to the app in tour
In lo, some days.  It's just that thought I knew
Last time I watched "their" vids scroll by as twere:
I'm fooling but myself, still half blind too.

04Apr19a

Prolly.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXXXVIII)


Those Sonnets From The Portuguese culled thence
From lo, a pure heart set on fire t'avail
His love who ransomed her from Death to scale
The heights of heavn on earth, I've read til hence--?
Forgotten like some reject none would sense
But with keen scorn for sins I in betrayl
Do not know I've committed--which detail
Could buy my ransom likeas hers, fr'intents?
Thieves, scoundrels have deceived me in vain tour
Of better than this thought of Hell we to
Effect think that we know on earth, til fer
All that I make "naive" look false.  None woo
Save to steal parts of me.  Dear hope is poor.
Love is a jew'l I'm not good 'nough for too.

28Nov18b

Ah, aka JF suggesting I could pull off "4 or 5 sonnets"--I took that and this was the final in that half hour just before midnight.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXL)


Ya, we sipped tea where whitish tendrils thence
Drew up that airy note of yonder, pale
And ghostly, likeas spirits in betrayl
E'er non in sheer ascent, with toast fr'intents
Ne conversation but that hallowed sense
Of I don't know what, til my brother'd hail--
Then talk, and back to work upon that scale,
While I waltzed through a dream like's not pretense.
Now as the furnace growls, the Scriptures fer
All that in Revelation, nothing's new.
Yet I'm confused.  How midnight knocks in tour,
The myriad influence of all I knew
Half urging me to chase down sleep to cure
This madness.  But that's not Thy Scripture's cue.

01Apr19d

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

...the saint he ever is:  with a twisted halo.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCMXI)


Yes, Shakespeare loved SouthHampton.  Likeas they'll
Flout in these twisted days?  No.  Like fr'intents
As David cherished Jon'than.  With a sense
"...Beyond the love of women," on that scale
E'en wonderful (if I'm correct), t'avail
What drove black ink to cry anon that hence
Lo, "...single thou'lt prove none."  and weep from thence
Because his "lover" lacked a child for bail.
Friends closer than aught brothers as it were,
Which gave his jealous erm, contention, through
That, just cause for the notes prefixed in tour
To those long poems, and also therefore, to
His lines about that mistress who'd bestir
Such mincing lies in love's name.  Or, what's new?

29Jan18a

What my men lament, I suppose.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCXCIV)


Lo, how mists shroud the world til aught fr'intents
Quite disappears!  The clustered houses tale
Lost to that fragile whiteness, firs detail
The edge of haunting yonder likeas thence
I knew high in the Rocky Mountains, whence
My soul takes off on that note, like the veil
Hides steeper ledges and ravines, this pale
Eye of thin warmth with puddles in suspense.
An essay on erm, Samuel Johnson fer
Is't thus another angle on just who?
I thought our lit'rature taught us in tour
His name at least.  Perhaps I'm wrong.  He knew
So much tis reckoned better he as twere
Was NOT a lawyer, brilliant.  Is't fog's cue?

06Feb19b

NOTE:  L4 and on was tricky since you can't very well dictate what the sonnet shall say, but I wanted to note that down for posterity.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMCDXXXV)


Mists shroud the thought of yonder, ghostly, pale
White none pierce 'cept by halves, a keen suspense
In tow as traffic rushes on fr'intents
These rain-wet highways; one sports car'd derail
Ere we are out of town, left in betrayl
'Non facing all who'd been in his wake thence,
While box-trucks, dump trucks join the race from hence
As cars, vans, pick-ups and ourselves chase bail.
My niece declares she wants to touch as twere
Thet fragile thing called mists, whose haunting cue
Blots out all we'd known heretofore in tour.
Yet likeas spirits none can finger to
Aught satisfaction, we tell her "That's poor--"
And how our souls maunt see, LORD, 'til with You.

08Oct18a

...and know that I am God."  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXXIV)


Some dog barks from the clustered houses' sense
Of sheer commun'ty, distant as th'all hail
As twere of sparrows and the Cardnal.  Pale
Warmth is a tender kiss we feel from hence
While frore winds drive last Fall's leaves sans suspense
Across the naked blacktop.  Donne's poems they'll
Assure us are good reading lies t'avail
Next me upon the stoop, and whither thence?
Hark! as the dove's soft coo wafts 'non in tour
Likeas a note from yonder.  Say we knew,
Yet would not dare acknowledge aught that'd stir
Except by halves, blind, deaf, and sorry to
A fault cuz we'd not praise Thee, LORD, in tour
Was it?  Nor give Thee thanks.  How firs call too.

31Mar19b

Hint:  see his sonnet on his second wife Catherine, specifically the line--"...vested all in white--"



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXVII)


Snow.  Was last summer traipsing through a tale
Of mirey puddles?  Ah.  Tis wet fr'intents,
But with frore air presiding all's white hence
Or icy, like the curving claws that hail
From silent eaves, no scimiter--in pale
Excuse for fancied heights--but fringing thence
The void twixt roof and far below, a sense
Perchance of grasping in their scope's detail.
I look out half surprised all's buried fer
The umpteenth time, as flakes cavort now through
Unnumbered hours likeas soft mists in tour,
Sip that espresso foamed milk crowns anew
In thoughtful silence, not unlike that pure
Calm listning as snow falls in silence too.

17Feb19a

It's what you call a "rhetorical question."



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXLII)


To see as through the tele-scopic lens
Of is't December?  Oh, I could avail
Me if, if only!  Sunken in betrayl
Upon the threshold of what is, pretense
Quite withered, lovers but old memries whence
I cull chagrin:  I am depressed sans bail.
Nor money I don't have, nor nudes in pale
Excuse, nor all I am yield aught defense.
He plies me for mair money likeas fer
All that the black holes outer space has to
Effect.  And now I've none, accuses poor
As saying, his promises all lies I knew
Ere now I should not have believed in tour.
O LORD, I cannot see afar...to You.

30Nov18a

Damning enough, that song was literally Saturday's theme from start to finish, into Sunday's wee hours.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXIX)


O that delicious sense of being to scale
Gone from this world!  Lost in the realms of thence
Fair dreams likeas our folly draws up hence
In heavn's keen eye, yet by sleep drugged, t'avail
So far beyond this mundane hour's detail
That I ne'er heard lo, his alarm, lost whence
I canna say, just that twas bliss good sense
Chides, whilst I relish that sans, erm, aught bail.
Why Ringo Starr's performance of in tour
"Act Natrally" haunts both my rising through
Th'ensuing hours til even now as twere,
I canna guess, but toasting breakfast to
Effect found me in serving it, in poor
'Scuse singing "..greatest fool you e'er saw--" too.

30Mar19a  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a6yWYO1vYms

Correction:  When I finally asked her enroute to class, my friend said the information does not indicate a bar, but rather a bookshop.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCLXXIX)


He did not talk with me, but her.  T'avail
As we were coming slowly up from thence
The stairs to leave, she stopt for breath, and whence?
But he'd turn back to give his card to scale
To her with "Oh, you too--" as he'd regale
Me now with chances of beyond: events
We might attend and play in for intents,
Likeas this festval reading--oh sweet bail!
O yes, I was excited, envy her
And still mourn is't my folly oer th'ado?
I'll never learn, I fear.  Laugh at me fer
Fond dreams ne'er lost to biting sense will you?
We'll read in bars now is't?  Don't say that's poor.
Cuz after all, he looked at her.  What's new?

30Jan19d