Cheeky Missy

Well, Well, Well...Interesting, Eh?

Hello. Although these technically are NOT a trio of linked sonnets, yet the same thought dominates them until that effect is nearly achieved. Or?

Is\'t Caught Red-Handed?

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMDCCCLXXXIX)

Oh subtly moist hours romanced by suspense,

Mist\'s fragile whiteness haunting each detail

Now distant with mystique, these racks which veil

Blue heav\'ns, foresworn as wont in Autumn, dense

With that appeal I cherish whilst leaves hence

Arrayed in yellows, hints of orange, t\'avail,

And still much green reply that all I\'d hail

In photos \'hind my documents ask whence.

Complain cuz traffic blots the image fer

A spell, and what is\'t that I\'m chasing? Who

Shall say, but tis fore\'er a dream in tour.

Have all in hand, yet see what is. I knew

The other long ere now, yet\'s taen. Bestir

A mem\'ry when, oh LORD, how I need You.

28Sep24a

\"...the spiritual man is mad--\" (Hos 9:7)

Shall I Quote Samuel Daniels?

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMDCCCXC)

\"The world is too much with us--\" Wordsworth\'d hail

None other than the dream I too fr\'intents

\'Non chase, the poets born of prophets, whence

We\'d see afar off, yet imperfect, fail

Upon the threshold of sweet yonder; frail

As aught excuse, oh how we muddy thence

The waters til the vision is pretense,

And truth\'s obscured for what we swear\'d avail.

Etern\'ty\'s on our tongues, yet we demur,

Cast \'bout and rattle off vain lies, til who

Would know must now forsake us as quite poor,

Whilst yet the germ of Truth we spout all through

The ages, never seeing quite clearly? Stir

My mouth to sing Thy praise, oh LORD, of You.

28Sep24b

...I know.

Hello, There\'s NO Excuse For Me

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMDCCCXCI)

Craft scable-doobies, fin\'lly, with a sense

Of bygone days whose sweeter essence\'d hail,

\'Cept all is lost. My aebleskivers fail

At first, all blackened, whilst in time, what hence?

But I am munching Danish doughnuts thence,

All plain, nor decked out with surprises, frail

As hopes and mem\'ries, cuz, why bother? They\'ll

Not sup with me on them, who were defense.

The dream died ere aught did, til all was poor

And I reproved since none, or very few

E\'en wanted sich treats. Wherefore now bestir

Sweet pleasures long since quite foresworn? I do

Not really know. Come, left behind as t\'were

In truth, what do I chase? LORD, I need You.

28Sep24c