...oh! but it's like the homemade ice cream from the 80's, melted.
And How About A Melon Milkshake?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXL)
French toast of dried baquette, an omelet hence
And roast potatoes, sourdough buttered, frail
As who cares what for brunch, how sparrows hail,
Playing on the deck, pure blue skies, children thence
Chase fun in snow on hill and dale, a sense
Of all we cherished in such games t'avail,
My ugly Christmas sweater's llama bail
Where green tights set off red and white fr'intents.
It is the shortest day and gloaming'd stir
With romance ere it seems we fully knew;
The Cranb'rry Velvet made at last in tour,
Oh LORD, let us praise You. Where peach' adieu
In freighted calm, take out the trash. We were
But children, dreaming, when Thou savst us too.
21Dec24a
...it's green and very fake.
I Still Don't Have A "Real" One
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXLI)
We never had a live tree to avail,
Each Jan'ry stowing caref'lly all fr'intents,
T'unwrap aught in December with a sense
Of its antique charm, silver tinsel frail
In ancient, crackling papers dragged out, hale
As t'were in mem'ries frae Mum's childhood, dense
With import, numbered branch by branch, stuck thence
T'effect in place, old orn'ments hung for bail.
Construction paper chains strung 'round in tour
And 'round with homemade orn'ments put up too,
Til how the scraggly tree looked grand! We were
Content, though I would wonder oer the crew
Of folk who'd cut theirs down. Ours'd hum, astir
Like some old grampa who'd tell what he knew.
21Dec24b
...I grew up?!
Funny, I Never Realized
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXLII)
Mum's Christmas glasses with poinsett'yas thence
All round, which she'd serve eggnog in to scale,
Are mine; faint visions of lo, gradeschool hail
Now I use them likewise, as if fr'intents
Half sacred as they seemed back then; a sense
Of her care using them revived, I fail
It seems, still but a child unfit t'avail
Me of the grown-ups' stuff and that pretense.
Should I now scuttle off to bed in her
Dear mem'ry, that which, erm, adults may chew
The fat, discuss the world laugh in tour
Whileas I drift at length to sleep? I knew
Someday I'd be like them, but when, as t'were?
I'm still just me, her glasses what now, too?
21Dec24c
-
Author:
Chic George (Pseudonym) (
Online) - Published: December 23rd, 2024 19:34
- Comment from author about the poem: Please tell me I wasn't having too much fun. An epiphany following, the next day would capitalize on, but more on that later, if the LORD will.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 2
Online)
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