Cheeky Missy

NOW You\'ve Gone and Done It

Should I...What, Eh?
 
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMDCCCXCVI)
 
 
October first is sweetly cool t\'avail
The soul, at noon e\'en, \'spite an omelet thence
Cooked up late, where to craft guac for intents
Is like a question left unasked cuz bail
Does not exist if you refuse, was\'t? Hail
Which fact as mem\'ries swirl sans answers, sense
Confused, yet wherefore? Whom was ere defense
Is still the same; and givst all...as I fail.
My camra\'s not pulled out  to show off fer
Whatever cause how grand all is.  I do
Not have a reason anymore.  Is\'t poor?
Buy Starbucks drinks and cups; take photos too,
Yet stop, nor post...cuz why should I?  Bestir
Salvation, LORD.  Be magnified anew.
 
01Oct24a
 
Oh, my! I thought.....
 
My Day Off\'s International Coffee Day
 
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMDCCCXCVII)
 
 
Munch challah dry, chix sausage for meat, thence
In lieu of bacon, cant\'loupe to avail
Our omelet, blackb\'rries gone south, guac\'s detail
Like that is yummy, and what is\'t from hence?
October\'s breath is dry and cool, a sense
Of why I love this month best in\'t like bail
For waiting this whole year, where all I\'d hail
Before is lost to time\'s wastes like pretense.
Dad does not brew my coffee likeas fer
So many years he did; yet I still brew
And drink it COLD and old.  I muse as t\'were
Sans joe for solace, over tea.  Light through
The blinds is golden, sparrows not astir,
Or elsewhere as the dryer hums...where to?
 
01Oct24b
 
I Think I\'m Trying Too Hard
 
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMDCCCXCVIII)
 
 
Where morning was quite busy, which detail
Can vaunt or vie for now?  I need from hence
To turn the ham to salad, feeling thence
Like what?  Could I but wander fields t\'avail
Me, or deep woods whose crackling noises hail
Impending Death, t\'would not suffice.  The sense
That tugs upon my sleeve knows but pretense,
For which I have travailed for nought.  Where\'s bail?
Kentucky thin-sliced ham diced as it were
Wi\' bread and butter chips, all mixt up to
Effect should do, yet still seems ver\'ly poor.
Would lapsing into silence as night\'d woo
Help aught?  Ne words, just being.  Whilst dreams bestir,
Oh let me see afar off unto You.
 
01Oct24c