Cheeky Missy
Isn\'t Deja Vu, Like, Badly Overused?!
...I tell you no lie.\"
Quoth Mammy, \"Ask Me No Questions--
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXVIII)
Where \"lonely\" seems akin to ev\'ry dense
Cold statue carved in stone and set t\'avail
Aught passersby with its wrought likeness they\'ll
Ne\'er rec\'nize \'cept they see it daily thence,
Eyes which can\'t meet theirs, mouths whose breath fr\'intents
Is gone, and figures caught in one pose (frail
As lives which had a liquid movement), hail
None with aught greetings, but it is pretense.
How dawn begins to warm a Sunday\'s tour
Of duty, region clouds with lighter, to
Effect, now cast in surly blue none stir
Save semis and else trav\'ling yonder through
The dark of night now yielding up as t\'were
To day, Thy mercies, LORD, lo, ever new.
13Oct24a
...or else I never knew
I Forgot Where This Was Going
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXXV)
Roll \"pancakes\" cross yer tongue with half a sense
Of better days which childhood knew, t\'avail,
Or visions of the \"Wild West\" where to scale
Rough cowboys used an open fire fr\'intents;
The griddle all they\'d have, or kettle thence
All in black iron, and mull sich dreams like\'s bail
In lieu of what is called \"today\" is\'t? Frail
Before the thought of yonder, search defense?
How did I think t\'escape, was it as t\'were?
I tried lo, many things yet naught would do.
And now when, for the umpteenth time in tour
I howled, then, bang. Yet whither, now it\'s true?
My head left spinning, schedule lately too
Awry, craft pancakes Friday morning. Poor?
18Sep24a
Neither cameras nor words quite capture what the heart instinctively sees, but we try...
Where Shadows Subtly Gather \'Cross the View
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXXVI)
Orange remnants shiver in October\'s frail
Warmth, naked boughs with darkened fingers hence
Sae bony yet sae fragile, grasping thence
At thin air as tree skeletons detail
Aught path with notes of Death, green t\'avail
Still on the distant, clustered woods for sense,
As blue heavns smile sans blot, so crisp fr\'intents
And pure likeas erst wont, chill on th\'exhale.
Tis sweet to watch the vista like as t\'were
I did so many years ago, aught cue
Mine to \'non love. What\'s in the light all stir
\'Neath, which half whispers in my veins anew?
If only I could lose me here--is\'t poor?
Oh LORD, return, we wait so long for You.
18Oct24b