...Robert visits too. [He didn't want to use the terms "boyfriend" and etc. five years ago, whence, what of all we knew together, that he told his acquaintances, "she's just a friend," yet holds my hand in public to show all men "she's MINE," and kisses and hugs me, yet also dated another woman right under my nose while doing all this???! I remain totally confused.] British tourists in Chicago too many years ago saucily informed the whole busload how to properly pronounce Worcestershire....
The Madness Of a Day OFF
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXXXIV)
They're smoking pot indoors, my vent from hence
'Non wafting subtlest skunk notes in betrayl;
Liz Taylor's scent White Diamonds to avail
Whilst taking out trash, then strolling thence
To th'office for my package, gloaming'd fence
My passage, winding oer twa bridges, trail
With but one other I let get in frail
Excuse ahead, December's charming, whence?
From cutting up twa melons in a tour
Of breakfast treats which have NO flavour, to
The pineapple which tops fair hopes as t'were
By sheer perfection; beef thawed ere I knew
It, peppers, onions, Worcestershire added fer
Aught else, and salad with't, ask what is new?
16Dec 24
Yes, I've photographed the mini Bodum and etc. proving playing barista on the job was passe, but somehow the luxury of being unfettered and free at home was too good, kick me.
My Head's Been Spinning For Too Long
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXXXV)
Fresh coffee is too novel, til t'avail
Me of biscotti, choc'late melting thence
Upon the cup's rim, yields a warm sip hence
With knowledge tis half foreign in betrayl;
Cold coffee is my norm, this lux'ry some detail
I quite forgot to dream about, or whence?
At home, sans pressures, coffee fresh owns sense
Of long ago with sonnets read for bail.
Roast up potatoes for our breakfast, poor
As ALL the food, from sourdough buttered to
Half omelets, pineapple as well in tour,
Twas days off not my wish but nice, I'll rue
It later, or be thankful? LORD, bestir
Thy mercies where all wait as e'er on You.
17Dec24
Oh! but I never thought to be tempted until letting in the delivery driver with that huge bag from McDonald's.
Pink Earmuffs...and Lo's, Wednesday
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXXXVI)
Her Micky D's bag was so huge, whilst sense
Made me say, "It's not mine," how I'd avail
Me if, if only. Yet the home-cooked tale
Of breakfast is far better, and pretense
May still taunt me, but I've at least defense.
Why's choc'late lose its savour til, in frail
Reply, orange essense flown, its flavour's stale
(Or tastes like powdered milk)? What of th'expense?
Akin to foolish thoughts of love as twere
Late shattered in the face of facts I do
Not understand, how choc'late's junk and poor,
His only sadness, with a tear or two?
"I would not lose another friend." Bestir
What now the ugly truth grins? LORD, where to?
18Dec24a
...this is too fun.
He Can't Be Old, Cuz I'm NOT
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXXXVII)
Oh tender, glor'ous hours whose calm detail
Seems fraught with mem'ries and with dreams, suspense
Whose Xmas plans are quite forgot fr'intents
Hereby, is dancing to the strains all hail
As I am sleepy, up since midnight, frail
Though half a shift with time for birthday sense
But no ideas. We have fun, defense
This time together as the hours own bail.
Ergo, I catnap, craft for yet in tour
The third day, hoagie rolls with beef, the view
With not much else, our salad good as t'were...
And how the day seems ver'ly fled ere to
Effect we've done much, is't? If only Your
Great mercies, grace and peace might carry through.
18Dec24b
-
Author:
Chic George (Pseudonym) (
Online) - Published: December 21st, 2024 15:33
- Comment from author about the poem: [...just do NOT hang the mistletoe over any doorway while he's around.] That aside, we're having way too much fun-- now off to make Cranberry Velvet, the LORD willing! Enjoy?!
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
Online)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.