Hello. Although these technically are NOT a trio of linked sonnets, yet the same thought dominates them until that effect is nearly achieved. Or?
Is't Caught Red-Handed?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMDCCCLXXXIX)
Oh subtly moist hours romanced by suspense,
Mist's fragile whiteness haunting each detail
Now distant with mystique, these racks which veil
Blue heav'ns, foresworn as wont in Autumn, dense
With that appeal I cherish whilst leaves hence
Arrayed in yellows, hints of orange, t'avail,
And still much green reply that all I'd hail
In photos 'hind my documents ask whence.
Complain cuz traffic blots the image fer
A spell, and what is't that I'm chasing? Who
Shall say, but tis fore'er a dream in tour.
Have all in hand, yet see what is. I knew
The other long ere now, yet's taen. Bestir
A mem'ry when, oh LORD, how I need You.
28Sep24a
"...the spiritual man is mad--" (Hos 9:7)
Shall I Quote Samuel Daniels?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMDCCCXC)
"The world is too much with us--" Wordsworth'd hail
None other than the dream I too fr'intents
'Non chase, the poets born of prophets, whence
We'd see afar off, yet imperfect, fail
Upon the threshold of sweet yonder; frail
As aught excuse, oh how we muddy thence
The waters til the vision is pretense,
And truth's obscured for what we swear'd avail.
Etern'ty's on our tongues, yet we demur,
Cast 'bout and rattle off vain lies, til who
Would know must now forsake us as quite poor,
Whilst yet the germ of Truth we spout all through
The ages, never seeing quite clearly? Stir
My mouth to sing Thy praise, oh LORD, of You.
28Sep24b
...I know.
Hello, There's NO Excuse For Me
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMDCCCXCI)
Craft scable-doobies, fin'lly, with a sense
Of bygone days whose sweeter essence'd hail,
'Cept all is lost. My aebleskivers fail
At first, all blackened, whilst in time, what hence?
But I am munching Danish doughnuts thence,
All plain, nor decked out with surprises, frail
As hopes and mem'ries, cuz, why bother? They'll
Not sup with me on them, who were defense.
The dream died ere aught did, til all was poor
And I reproved since none, or very few
E'en wanted sich treats. Wherefore now bestir
Sweet pleasures long since quite foresworn? I do
Not really know. Come, left behind as t'were
In truth, what do I chase? LORD, I need You.
28Sep24c
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Author:
Chic George (Pseudonym) (
Online) - Published: September 28th, 2024 16:21
- Comment from author about the poem: Having originally meant all day to happily write about successfully making aebleskivers finally, the thought as usual was derailed until I began the third sonnet. Interesting how the original thought traces itself, isn't it? Enjoy?
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
Online)
Comments4
"Please, Do NOT Enquire What I'm Thinking Nor How I Am" I am going to respond to your titles, I think, Missy:
I can empathise with that - because these questions are most commonly a matter of form only. Further, the query itself may interrupt some very profound thought.........🙃
Dunno who you are arguing with in your comments , . Just ignore, or (as I've found very recently Block/ignore). Best wishes.
Take care of yourself, Missy.
Thank you very much, Sir. There's other ways to skin a cat, you know?
hmm well i would say that if someone wants to better understand what you write that means they take interest in your writing and your words or would just like to clarify what it means to better understand your work. i assume there was someone being a jerk to you. but i would take someone asking about you or your work a complement
Thank you for your input. The issue is an old one which curiously raises its head repeatedly, this online forum unable to show clearly what is, aka Britishers alleging I'm not on the other side of the pond and etc. Thank you very much for your insightful comment, and for dropping by.
WOW!! 😲
Powerful penning
thought provoking and
captivating all three!! 👍
Awesome presentation
expressed superbly! 🏆
Best wishes 🍀 🤗 🌹 Thad
Thank you very much.
There is no loose thread here is there .. they are all tied in .. or at least look tucked away safely .. Neville
They tried to be. It was only a tad disconcerting they apparently required no less than three sonnets to pull it off, though.
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