Cheeky Missy
Ask Me Tomorrow
Large, or small?
Care For A Serving, Eh?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCIV)
Tis five days into Autumn and we\'ll thence
Put Peter on the wide-screen to avail
Us of his where \'bouts as he hides, like bail
Is being quite out of sight, as if defense
Was easy when you live with us: pretense.
The breakfast hash at long last with to scale
Yes, spicy sausage (called for), which detail
Can render it as edible?! Ah, whence?
Try scrambled, cheesy scallions on as twere
Rye toast, Brioche toast just for taste, the two
Would try to lick the butter off in tour,
And Noosa yogurt raspb\'rry flavourd to
Round off that cue, ornge as the cherry, poor
As late, erm, breakfast, LORD, save us, won\'t You?
05Aug25a
[Don\'t ask me whence this is; I had an idea and writing derailed my plans as it unfolded itself.]
Got A Cellphone, Baby?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCIII)
Barbed-wire topped chainlink fencing that detail
Which I erst owned a healthy erm, good sense
And sheer respect of, as thus hiding thence
The grandest secrets, barring all sans bail
From, like a covert for who knows to scale
What, now for years passe, I wonder hence.
Roll \"prison\" \'cross yer tongue because defense
Is gone, and freedom likewise, what\'d avail?
George Orwell, like the prophets \'fore him\'d tour
This future we move in, because he knew
What lay ahead, though he\'d not taste as twere
Its measures, cloaking aught from plainer view
By metaphors, oh how bereft and poor
Are we that none, oh LORD, dare call on You?
05Aug25b
You know?
It\'s Funny How Things Go
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCV)
I dallied on the fence two years, to scale;
Was that too long, and folly? Givn from thence
My old request where I agreed fr\'intents
I wanted it, why am I fat sans bail?
Cicadas throb within the evning\'s hale
Warmth, as the golden light yields to the dense
Grey shadows swall\'wing all we knew, suspense
Mair subtle in this calm, til what\'d avail?
Did Robert say he\'d come? Tis off. Was\'t poor?
We have this night unto ourselves anew,
The kittens quite content. I am as twere
Resolved to thus forget and joy, nor rue,
Yet how it bugs me. I\'m too hot. Bestir
Thy mercies, LORD, redeem us now, won\'t You?
05Aug25c