Cheeky Missy
On the Other Side of...the Fence
Yes, it is hereby confirmed that I apparently had way too much fun, else I\'d not be rather dumbfounded it\'s....over.
You Had To Grow Up Sometime
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXLIX)
Tis Christmas Day. Crawl home ere dawn, the veil
So thick with night\'s sheer darkness, I\'ve hope thence
To snag some sleep \'fore morning, ergo whence?
Go straight to bed, and wake (like that\'d avail)
Just after eight; I feel like trash, and frail,
But Barry\'s with a wedge of brie adds sense;
Pop breakfast in the ov\'n, and showr fr\'intents
Ere dining, cuz whatever....is it bail?
We could light up the tree, but don\'t in tour.
Ope now T-Mobile\'s glass and\'s perfect, to
Effect, the hol\'day full with strains astir
As wont of old, where choirs intone all through
The day, or music lilts so gaily, we\'re
Kept in the Christmas spirit by each cue.
25Dec24a
[I knew all month this moment would come, it\'s just, I guess I\'m too fatigued presently to be sensible. (looks sheepish)]
I Guess the Madness Is DONE?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMML)
Rain forecast, how mists veil beyond, ere thence
Wee droplets flirt with yonder on the trail
To work, where Christmas Day means to avail
Yerself of not the meat and cheese tray hence,
(Cuz guess my colleague took that home) but whence?
Portillos sandwich! ah, roast beef! Night\'s veil
Descends on calm, where Silent Night could hail
With sheer perfection likeas in defense.
Her Christmas plans all canceled, talk with her
Til she breaks off to mix up cookies to
Send to a friend, the hol\' day done in tour
Where I\'m still clinging to the thought. Tis blue
At gloaming as deer wander \'bout, astir
By half. I can\'t b\'lieve tis but Weds\'day--you?
25Dec24b
...yet I swear that\'s the root of this.
\"Day After\" Had a Nasty Ring
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLI)
Rain trips so gently tis a jest t\'avail
Whom canna bear worse (like yours truly) whence
See how the hol\'day\'s oer in just from thence
A blink, thrust sans aught fanfare on the trail
To yonder, where the festive sense\' detail
Does NOT exist but tis a dream pretense
Won\'t pull up til next year, whileas defense
Is not what I thought, but still mine and bail.
Where I\'ve been screwed \'til anger boils in tour,
Thy Scriptures \'lone can temper me--I\'ll rue
It when? Who cares? I\'m ruined. Was joy so poor
That all seems wrecked with lies to gall me through
The hours til I forget? What\'d I do? Were
There light and hope, oh LORD, tis only You.
26Dec24a
...ahem. Myself.
I Fooled Just Whom and When?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLII)
Black night returns my searching look with dense
Naught, like, if I\'d find who knows what t\'avail,
It is not here. How \"Silver Bells\" detail
But taunted me, whose sprite knew that fr\'intents,
Yet, chasing joy, found twas a cruel pretense,
Or what\'s my problem? Outta fresh plans, hail
Which now no dreams cavort likeas sheer bail?
Spent ere today, go where from here for sense?
I \'gan to watch the Swedes pull off as t\'were
Tchaikovsky\'s faerie tale last night, their view
Refined. Did that steal off my mind in poor
\'Scuse til I canna dream? Tis raining through
The subtly waltzing hours which pain in tour
Haunts, as I\'m left jist where? LORD, I need You.
26Dec24b