Cheeky Missy
Of Lavendar, and...Candles
Oh well.
I Could Nigh Revel \'Cept I Maunt
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCXLI)
If morning\'s breath is chilly, that shall fail
Since it\'s the end of April; warmth is thence
In tow, til cooking\'s dirty games from hence,
And we\'ll anon wish for cool air\'s detail
In vain, is that? She said the eighties trail
Is nothing hot cuz she is allus whence?
But cold, where I am NOT. Alas. My sense
Fore\'er too warm, I cherish chill, sans bail.
So they mow by midmorning as it were,
Whilst I am busied crushing garlic, to
Add this with onions to the beans, then, poor
As my complaints, fry onions diced, th\'ado
Once finished \"refried\" beans--our staple. Stir
Hope in the LORD, my soul: I\'d wait for You.
28Apr25a
...to say \"I grew up in Colorado\"? [*L13: my mother said they were just kids when they had me.]
Why Does It Signify So Much
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCXLII)
A blue jay\'s call from lo, the distance, thence
Half far yet near, is like a friend\'s. T\'avail
Recall still childhood in his voice; detail
The Rocky Mountains, blue, with snow fr\'intents
Upon their peaks, and prairie grasses sense
Of endless land to Russia\'s border, frail
As aught, and skies expansive blue to scale
Without an end except etern\'ty. Whence?
Oh Colorado! I grew up as t\'were
Sans care and full of dreams, all that we knew
A vista to such unknowns we\'d bestir
Grand hopes of yonder, better lives than two
Kids* ever\'d known, who raised us seven. Poor
Though earthly visions, LORD, bring us to You.
28Apr25b
I still think I\'m right.
Of Sweetest Odours and Beyond
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCXLIII)
How sweetest scents of lavendar derail
My search for lesser things, as if what hence?
I swear she howled oer those being French, a sense
Of countries in such odours, like t\'avail
Her of the English fragrance owned aught bail,
Where now she sez tis colour. Oh pretense!
The image shows as purple for intents,
Whilst these are faded lilac--scents must fail?!
The dove\'s voice from afar calls as it were
Unto my soul. Perfumes may ver\'ly woo
Yet there is highr. Burn candles when in tour
These hours are full of light? No. That won\'t do.
And how the dove still calls beyond aught. Stir
In me to hear Thy voice, LORD, to see You.
29Apr25a
[I ran around the house with a 9X13 cake fresh from the oven, to keep my brothers from snitching on it before I could frost it...when I was...12?]
Besides, I\'d Rather Make A Bundt
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCXLIV)
Who could have told me nothing changes, whence
I\'m going bonkers oer the same detail,
Full of the same impulses I thought\'d fail
With time, it\'s just I\'m not twelve or fr\'intents
Thirteen, my brothers still quite knowing thence
Just how to stir me up, their smiles like bail,
The fact I\'m fifty meaning to avail
Me as I did back then has no defense.
Tell me I should have learned and that tis poor
To be aroused with such erm, notions. True.
I\'ll think on other things, submit as t\'were,
And try to be grown up. It will not do
To run with cake, I know. They love to stir
Their sister up. LORD, save us now, won\'t You?
29Apr25b
...remember that scene in My Fair Lady?
\"...But, Whatever Does It MEAN?!\"
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCXLV)
Three weeks ago...who could have known t\'avail
Him of these pages might mean...death?! A sense
Of danger loomed, but I am reckless. Hence?
How sparrows call at intervals, the pale
Light golden as a calm pervades, this frail
Chill some relief, our pizza party thence
Not ordered but marked down in frozen, whence
Tis fresh likeas Dole salads where hope\'d fail.
\"I would not live alway\" Job pleaded. Were
There just cause, LORD, I feel that yearning too.
What is my life here? What have I? All\'s poor,
And striving but in vain. What did I do?!
Why, as the rolling dale is lush green? Stir
In me to sing Thy praise, LORD, and wait You.
29Apr25c