William Drummond of Hawthornden a Scottish courtier, and early sonneteer superbly opined nature was preferrable to society. Until I worked in retail, I liked it...
Oh Drummond, How You Knew!
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXXX)
Say "retail," and then think of which detail?
Department stores and small boutiques, pretense
With boredom hard in tow, as tripping thence
Across the threshold, ladies men t'avail
Join, or else tiny dogs, pass through, a trail
Of lesser beings left in their rear for sense,
Who scuttle in and out trying for defense
Where money's not so plentiful for bail.
When I'd adjust the racks, or take as t'were
Their orders, party to the tales of who
And what, where money flowed like water (poor
As Daddy's saying it did not grow for you
On trees), I'd not aspire to their ranks. Stir
The same, til LORD, how I wait Thee: where to?
21Oct24
Ahem. While I freely admit dreams are dreams, why mine perished I still fail to accept...
This Feigning I Don't Care Is Dead
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXXXI)
Hark to the sparrows' cries like whither hence
Might have a voice to guide me on the trail,
And wherefore now recall the sweet detail--
How ere small children's voices trimmed aught sense
Of being with happy notes, the hours sae dense
With their 'loved noises I'd hate rooms th'all hail
Could not be heard in, where keen silence'd veil
The shadowed places' lack with aching thence.
Why am I stuck here, left behind as t'were,
Right where I'd oft deplore the folk that knew
Cold silence as their norm? Why maunt I stir
Life 'cept in plants?! I hate this empty view!
Being all growed up was s'posed to be in tour
The ticket to that joy. But not for who?!
22Oct24a
What a complete farce! [I left the sliding door open when leaving for work the night before.]
Six Hours of Werk Is Called A Day Off
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXXXIV)
Cold, likeas ev'ry Winter knows to scale
Quite well, sifts through the hours where I'd fr'intents
Giv'n up on wearing knits and woolens, sense
Drowned in the heat of Summer whose detail
Has chased me nigh six months, til I'd bewail
And search for chill but find t'was mere pretense.
Now thet the heat's been off in sheer defense
For so long, boil up Ramen to avail.
Oh! How I see the snow beyond as t'were
These blinds, lying on the fields foresworn anew,
The chill which eats through aught famil'yar, poor
As freezing in October, where frost'd cue.
What am I seeking that this see-saw'd stir
But keen chagrin? Oh LORD, how I need You!
24Oct24
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Author:
Chic George (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 26th, 2024 10:23
- Comment from author about the poem: So, haha, guess my original assessment 14 years ago still rings true, and after that, hmm. I forebore to post these dainties til I had toppers which hopefully will be posted as well sooner than not. We'll hafta see.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 9
Offline)
Comments2
Your manner of writing is most entertaining. A fun read
I swear upon the teeth of Bodhidharma I shall visit you every day for as long as you keep drawing me here .. 😉🐧👍
Hahaha! You're too sweet! Thank you! Have a loverly rest of your Sunday.
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