Cheeky Missy

Come, What\'s Thirty, Forty Years Ago?

...please do NOT tell me I\'m old.
 
And Why On Earth Does Thirty Years \'Go Cue?
 
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCII)
 
 
Tax Day. Blue heavns white cloud fluffs sail through hence
In lazy fashion look benign, the trail
To yonder outlined as chill winds assail
The budding trees, and aught else with a sense
Of May in tow; blue violets in a dense
Patch somewhere \'long my path a mem\'ry frail
And sweet, ah how the light swears t\'willl avail
All of yes, Summer ere we realize whence.
What happened to the season I as t\'were
Have waited so long for? Tis here, nigh through
And full of sweets now at its end. Was\'t poor
I thought Spring so much more than this? All woo,
Yet May is in the wings as if\'t bestir
Whenas my back is turned. You\'ll swear I knew?!
 
15 Apr25a
 
(prolly NOT)
 
Do You Remember When, Oh Reader?
 
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCIII)
 
 
Back in the day, lo, forty years ago , bail
Was slim, yet as the day waned, folk lined thence
The sidewalk, snaking \'round post office, dense
With import and the need for stamps? t\'avail
Them of the note their taxes were filed, frail
As on this day itself, on time. None hence
E\'en bother now as lo, the deadline\'s sense
Is lost, e\'en paying, because of which detail?!
I do not know. The cent\'ry turned as t\'were
With grand excuses for sheer folly--do
We still use that for aught else? They\'ll pay fer
My failure and I\'ll win if I don\'t through
The years e\'en file?! Forgive what, eh? Is\'t poor
I file and pay each year? Or now where to?
 
15Apr25b
 
Pity.
 
If I Could Have Known Forty Years \'Go?
 
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCIV)
 
 
Youth dreams of grandeur where age owns mair sense,
And I was as both Keats and Gray, though bail
Was never farther. Their works published, they\'ll
Have honour where I am unknown, defense
Elusive \'cept where I kin stand fr\'intents
In Samuel Daniel\'s path and thus avail
Me cuz it is my calling, that detail
Alone enough, since laurels are pretense.
Nor Poet\'s Corner, nor the bays mine fer
Aught, what is left is all I ever knew.
Keats orphaned, yet gained traction as it were,
Was published ere untimely death, and through
Lit books now reigns, though poor. And Grey\'d bestir
A notice ere untimely death. Where to?
 
15Apr25c
 
*...there\'s not a man who doesn\'t know how to work me.
 
Don\'t Ask Me What I\'m Pretending
 
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCVI)
 
 
The squirrel checks out my tote as if I\'d thence
Put stuff out where I only cleaned t\'avail
At last, his love of breadstuffs what\'d derail
Aught storage outside in HIS playpen, whence
He scolds and visits, and I\'m guilty hence?!
How sparrows gaily call as light is frail,
Though e\'en is still far off; on that detail
Get back in gear--I\'ve too much sans defense.
*Wash dishes and craft smoothies for as t\'were
The second day this work week, one more to
Be rid of brown bananas, if in tour
Thou will\'t, oh LORD, and oh, how yummy too!
Not as dear Popeye, ate it, but\'s sae poor
I love my spinich in a drink? And you?
 
16Apr25b
 
*sigh*
 
If I Knew That, I Wouldn\'t Be Here
 
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCVII)
 
 
They ask what snacks we have?! Like, huh? Avail
Whom of the pop tarts, brownies, chips fr\'intents,
That they ask...me?! I don\'t buy aught, stow thence
The bag of gummy worms at last, and bail?
On two hours\' sleep I am in tour too frail,
Perspective not so diff\'rent as from hence
More clear, I\'m fasting as it were cuz whence
Is not a dream. Or which beloved detail?
Put lo, the kettle on for Barry\'s tour
Cuz it is Wednesday, and have shortbread too,
Like this year\'s style, then showr ere breakfast fer
Convenience is\'t? Eggs, roast potatoes to
Yes, hummous, pita and tomato--were
There else, I canna say. LORD, I need You.
 
16Apr25c
 
[that\'s the time to write]
 
Whilst Nary Cloud Dares Blot the View
 
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCVIII)
 
 
Steam whisps in ghostly white ascent, a sense
Of all I\'ve lost and cherished in their tale,
If only t\'were sweet incense, t\'would avail
Perhaps, likeas the prayrs of saints which thence
Go up before Thee, LORD, as offered, whence?
But would all be the better? That detail 
A frequent thought, how shortbread melts like bail
Within my mouth where Barry\'s seems defense.
He teases me, yet I don\'t mind in tour,
Sweet morning golden with a dancing crew
Of baby leaves now on display, astir
Whilst birds court and sing from all corners too.
White blossoms in dawn\'s eye, green lawns as twere
On ev\'ry side, oh LORD, save us, won\'t You?
 
16Apr25d