Cheeky Missy
There, Are Ye Satisfied?
...And Don\'t Forget the Eggnog
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMII)
Thanksgiving meant a turkey, stuffing thence
Inside and out, with gravy too, the tale
Of green beans, mashies, cranb\'rries cooked for bail
Until they popped, with cranb\'rry velvet\'s sense
For aught else, sweet potatoes, olives dense
With finger fun, and rolls I baked t\'avail,
The actual dinner late, with cass\'role\'s hale
Solution for the end bits, sweet defense.
Yes, pumpkin pie was Grampa\'s rec\'pe, pure
Home crafted whipped cream dolloped on it too,
With not much else but love, til twas as t\'were
No more. And I\'ve not known it since. The crew
Of styles since then are NOT Thanksgiving. Stir
But mem\'ries in the wilderness, will you?
29Nov24a
I know it\'s downright terrible, but the holiday was defined by home... and to enable me to bear it, I\'ve put it all behind me. Yet, trying to join society,...
I Miss My Parents Now, I Do
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMIII)
Why do the Colorado prairies hail
When I think of \"Thanksgiving Day\" for sense?
Did life stop there, more than how many dense
Brief years \'go? thirty eight since that detail?
My photographic mind snapped all t\'avail,
And shelved it \'gainst which future day fr\'intents?
I wanted wine, though but a child, pretense
What drew up visions like more could own bail.
If now I\'d rather work cuz all\'s lost to
The dogs and ravages of time, is\'t poor?
I\'ve nothing left to cling to, as it were,
Except the Scriptures. Aught we ere then knew,
Like childhood, is long gone. Steak now in tour,
And deserts I ne\'er dreamed of-- I\'ll seek You.
29Nov24b
Whatdya know?
Quip, \"Here We Go Again,\" Eh?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMIV)
Pink smudges on the East long after sense
Was on its toes and I upon, t\'avail,
The clock, I\'d NOT warm til three hours sans bail
Passed, frozen to my toes til in defense
The sun now blinds me. Nary telly hence
Tae drive sense out of count\'nance, which detail?
Dark choc\'late pieces, pie, dip, porridge\'d hail,
With coffee from my birthday like what thence?
I am a wreck? The wind comes like as t\'were
A guest, just as John Clare wrote ere, thin blue
Skies fraught with streaky clouds, trees naked fer
Effect as how November\'s last day, through
Ole Winter, looks as wont. Blue shadows cure
The golden light as, LORD, all wait on You.
30Nov24a
The plaguey queries which could not be satisfied have nagged on me to pen the answer now for lo, a week. Ergo....
My Business Is MY Bus\'ness, Thanky
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMMV)
At least lo, I could get his answer, frail
As all the sheer mystique and keen pretense.
Twas as expected, like the novels hence
All told us, guard posts set along the trail
To turn lives inside out, as such derail
Our peace of mind and private lives, defense
Flown on the wings of whom, or what, fr\'intents?
I\'ll not abide yer int\'rest, nor avail.
He was too nice where I am leery. Were
There just cause? NONE. They had fun with him, too.
But I had more. And no, we\'ll not meet fer
All that agin, that I know. We\'d review
And laugh, then part ways; wave \"Bye!\" and in tour:
\"That\'s all for now, folks!\" Oh, all that we knew.
30Nov24b