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Jenny Gordon Mar 2016
(sonnet #MMMMMDXXXVIII)


Now moonlight glances in to splash from hence
My silent comforter, then floor, its pale
Eye keener than aught voiceless notice, frail
Calm frozen in reply with snow's pretense
Beyond these darkened hours, as if the sense
Ere waltzing through a pegged load on th'exhale
Which fingered jonquil nubbins like green's bail
Is gone as swiftly as our love's defense.
Oh Tyler!  I could never dream as twere
Of all you held in soulmate, bashert to
A breathless fault, whom none compare to, poor
As saying is.  You were all and more, aye knew
Me better than I dared to think, and your
Love in my veins, though dead, I love you too.

22Mar16a
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mBmCcSz6HWw]...and weep sans comfort or be stoic.  Aha!  But lo, now, 22Apr18 we are happy to report to the world that he did not at all give up the ghost, rather some close, close "friend" of his lied to me, severing us both effectively, torturing me these past two years he's spent searching for me.  The only man who's ever been A Dream Come True.  The LORD be thanked, he is both alive, and I am MY Tyler's.  I cannot be happy enough.
Kahara Jones Jan 2014
What’s in a life
that makes it feel tangible
-not moldable-
but legible at times, when
you’re so close, you can’t blink without swatting their cheek
and
so that you feel you can grasp their stress
and peel it away
like ducktape
with little nubbins of glue
like gossling fluff
left over
Whatever film that separates two souls
was put there for sanity or practicality
And I want to ask...
What is it like in your soul?
Is it disturbing  
or loving for me to ask?
Mary-Eliz Jun 2017
I wish I could spend every moment
every moment here with you...
reading all your words,
each line and sentiment

words of love and anger, longing and despair,
words of compassion,
of confusion and fear
all your words of pleading,
all your words of prayer

though the page begs me to stay and read
time will not allow...
it simply won't stand still
it's counting every second,
counting them with speed

so much here to read but so little time
feeling guilty if I do,
more so if I don't
lured by the richness,
seduced by the rhyme

knowing they're here for me to find
I hate to miss the diamonds
or overlook the gold
dabs of wisdom,
nubbins of wit of the rarest kind

it would be an extraordinary coup
giving time
and
contemplation to them all
reading each one,
reading the whole way through

though that's what I'd love to do
I can't seem to find the time
so I'll read on,
it may only be a few

but I'll give my full commitment
while I savor every word,
each deep-felt thought
of those I  discover
by happy accident

because I treasure what you share
gifted writers that you are
gifted writers...
poets extraordinaire
A bit of fun with rhyming and (attempted) rhythm. :-) Hoping it's not too sappy.
Jenny Gordon Mar 2018
...that is invisible.



(sonnet #MMMMMMXII)


So...we'll feign's not sae bitter as snow thence
Is gone with yesterday and skies t'avail
Are softly blue, like April waltzes, hale
Green nubbins of both tulips and ah hence
What Wordsworth knew as jonquils was't? now fence
These warmly golden hours with hopes' detail.
For daffodils' bright yellow shall soon hail
Again and purple violets wink fr'intents.
I do not long for summer's heat girls stir
Blog posts and comment for, because they do.
Yet O!  to wander in the shadows fer
Sweet ****** white-and-purple violets dew
Half lingers on in silver droplets were
What I could gasp to own 'til I see You.

14Mar13a
Yes, it's...March after all.  What's left to say?
Jenny Gordon Mar 2019
sigh* as evidenced by which pieces "trend" being depressed is tops, while beauty is left to rot.  Whateffer.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXXVII)


Blue skies.  And golden light with shadows' pale
Forms on the yellowed lawns and blacktop hence,
Sweet minutes whose eye seems tis April's, whence
My heart yearns 'gain to walk free and avail
Me of which blossom?  Daffodils to scale
Shall send green nubbins up til for intents
Their frilly golden heads can nod from thence
To playful breezes while wee violets hail.
Yea, soon Magnolia petals shall bestir
'Gain to soft winds, and pink-tinged satin woo
Thoughts of a bride upon the aisle as twere.
For now we'll have our refried beans and do
Dessert in birthday style with cake in tour
And ice cream for the Ides of March' ado.

15Mar19d
What would you like to discuss, eh?  Floor is open...
Charles Smith Aug 2018
And the Lord said, “Get thee bent!”
Here your empty money’s all spent
Among the **** and ashes of last month’s rent,
In the dead end downs, that is my town.

I’m a bit of a disco dancer,
Frequent romancer
That half pint, any change? Bit of a chancer.
I would read her star sign
But I know its cancer,
In the dead end downs, that is my town.

No easy escape,
From that ****** that vapes,
On the bar stool under the gym.
He eyes up the napes,
Of the barmaid’s shapes
Who looks like that girl in his ***** tapes,
In the dead end downs, that is my town.  

No crisp fiver,
Just her salvia,
Dripping from your lips and gubbins.
Behind the red eyes and ***-end nubbins,
You love those filthy, back street rub-ins.
In the dead end downs, that is my town.

You just go home,
Another sexless twilight roam,
You smash up some middle class **** called Jerome.
Hair full sweat, you’d **** for a comb,
It is me or the ***** or just a syndrome
Face full of holes like honeycomb,
You just can’t write anymore of this poem,
And think to yourself “well, when in Rome”
In the dead end downs, that is my town.
In the dead end downs, that is my town.
In the dead end downs, that is my town.
In the dead end downs, that is my town.
In the dead end downs, that is my town.

— The End —