...I tell you no lie."
Quoth Mammy, "Ask Me No Questions--
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXVIII)
Where "lonely" seems akin to ev'ry dense
Cold statue carved in stone and set t'avail
Aught passersby with its wrought likeness they'll
Ne'er rec'nize 'cept they see it daily thence,
Eyes which can't meet theirs, mouths whose breath fr'intents
Is gone, and figures caught in one pose (frail
As lives which had a liquid movement), hail
None with aught greetings, but it is pretense.
How dawn begins to warm a Sunday's tour
Of duty, region clouds with lighter, to
Effect, now cast in surly blue none stir
Save semis and else trav'ling yonder through
The dark of night now yielding up as t'were
To day, Thy mercies, LORD, lo, ever new.
13Oct24a
...or else I never knew
I Forgot Where This Was Going
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXXV)
Roll "pancakes" cross yer tongue with half a sense
Of better days which childhood knew, t'avail,
Or visions of the "Wild West" where to scale
Rough cowboys used an open fire fr'intents;
The griddle all they'd have, or kettle thence
All in black iron, and mull sich dreams like's bail
In lieu of what is called "today" is't? Frail
Before the thought of yonder, search defense?
How did I think t'escape, was it as t'were?
I tried lo, many things yet naught would do.
And now when, for the umpteenth time in tour
I howled, then, bang. Yet whither, now it's true?
My head left spinning, schedule lately too
Awry, craft pancakes Friday morning. Poor?
18Sep24a
Neither cameras nor words quite capture what the heart instinctively sees, but we try...
Where Shadows Subtly Gather 'Cross the View
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXXVI)
Orange remnants shiver in October's frail
Warmth, naked boughs with darkened fingers hence
Sae bony yet sae fragile, grasping thence
At thin air as tree skeletons detail
Aught path with notes of Death, green t'avail
Still on the distant, clustered woods for sense,
As blue heavns smile sans blot, so crisp fr'intents
And pure likeas erst wont, chill on th'exhale.
Tis sweet to watch the vista like as t'were
I did so many years ago, aught cue
Mine to 'non love. What's in the light all stir
'Neath, which half whispers in my veins anew?
If only I could lose me here--is't poor?
Oh LORD, return, we wait so long for You.
18Oct24b
-
Author:
Chic George (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 20th, 2024 09:56
- Comment from author about the poem: Can you believe it's nearly November again?! Where has the year gone, and why does it fly so swiftly to... what end???
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 28
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange, jarcher54
Offline)
Comments9
Is there a Roman numeral for 5,000? You'll run out of M's soon. lol.
That's what I've been wondering likewise. Funny you ask since one of my brothers also suggested that. Back in the day when I was over passing 5k then I swear I looked but couldn't find what to use.
There\'s M with a dot or a dash above it, I think. That may be 5,000.
Three sonnets opening and ending a Sunday way with the middle memories of childhood and pancakes. Lovely
Just goes to show that poetry is good medicine .. I was feeling a trifle bloated and a tad morose at the prospect of a week long period of being on call .. but having taken succour from the respite this page afforded, I can, with my hand placed firm upon my fluttering breast (left off centre of course) categorically state I now feel much better .. Neville
Oh good. I'm thankful you're feeling better, nor "under the weather" anymore. Thank you for kindly commenting, Sir.
"Neither cameras nor words quite capture what the heart instinctively sees, but we try..." There you go - a very succinct summary of the activity hereabouts...
Well said Missy.
Oh wow! Thank you very much!
Wonderfully descriptive sonnets that are very fitting of the season. And no, I cannot believe it is almost November already! Truly hard to believe! Now, let me ask this, do the Roman Numerals indicate that you have written 8,926 sonnets? If so, 🤯. Regardless, these three are simply beautiful! Again, wonderful job on this trifecta of sonnet blooms, a floral arrangement of Sunday tours, breakfast and death's cold embrace tightening its grip as we pass from autumn into winter's approach. Brava! Well done!
Aww, thank you so very much! Yes, 8, 935 by this moment, crazily. It's ridiculous, but November is less than 10 days away now. Thank you again so very much!
You're welcome! Wow! 😯🤯👏🌹 As some who writes A LOT, I am blown away by that number! I'm rooting for 20,000! LOL! Great job! Seriously! You've mastered the sonnet, hands down and I can't wait to read more!
My original goal was 500, only to be up to par with Wordsworth. After that I didn't care, as my failure to write daily proves. Having joined a local poetry group when in Elgin, Illinois, a prompt from our facilitator last year or a couple years ago revived my goal to write daily, a drive only begun when a personal year-long challenge to write one sonnet daily [which I took only to enable me to hit the 500 mark more readily] taught me to love doing. I'll post still on here as I find the time and convenience to do so, the LORD willing. Thank you again so very much!
Some more fine writing here. Cracking lines. Loved it.
You're too kind. Thank you so very, very much!
Bit of German there? Deja-vu! No use asking me about languages. I can't even put the accents on 'deja-vu'. I'm sure there are some.
I spent so long finding out what 'carpe diem' meant, that by the time I found out it was dark, and no day left to seize. Doh! lol.
You're English and you are teasing me surely, since it's French last I knew. But the Scottish have generally liked being cozy with the French, especially looking at our cookbook...
Thank you again, you're fun.
I'm quite sure I've heard all this before somewhere.
Haha, good one! Thank you!
Great fun... love your dense language and playful inventiveness...
Why, thank you so very much!
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