Please tell me it wasn't.
Last Night Was Too Indulgent?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXLIII)
Come, stollen frae "the Fatherland" t'avail
Our eggnog in Mum's 'settia glasses thence,
Authentic, thickly lade in white for sense,
(Just as our vistas in pure snow's detail),
I'll savour that for now, likeas sweet bail
In lieu of Mum's 'loved fruitcake? or fr'intents
To spur me to craft that ere New Year's hence?
Whilst night 'non cozens all, tree lit, th'all hail.
Life far surpasses dreams, yet those as t'were
Fore'er cavort to trick us til the view
Seems lacking if we fail to chase in tour
Their vap'rous essence, juxtaposed tae woo
Til our demise is certain. Joys bestir
On ev'ry side whence, LORD, let us praise You.
22Dec24a
My aunt and uncle were thinking we'd meet at some cafe; I meantime worked overtime to craft a breakfast worthy such a setting, forgetting mine was the place I was inviting them to. Just like the stories I'd read years ago, the aerie foods wilted before our repast, an accident on I55 delaying them where I'd succeeded at being ready early when I'm usually late.
What WAS I Thinking 'Gain?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXLIV)
Of course, things could not be mair perfect hence,
E'en if you tried: The omelet's wilting, frail
As acc'dents and being ready early; they'll
Be fine, just late. Grey sausage patties dense
With hope, grow cold, potatoes roasted thence
Likewise, and I thought only books'd derail
The kitchen plans, not MY life. To avail
Us was th'intent; but don't ask 'bout pretense.
Besides, when I serve "brunch" to us in tour,
Tis allus close to noon, or after. To
Attempt a sooner time was folly, poor
As self improvment. Aunt and Uncle too
Arrive at last, and how sweet tis! Bestir
In us to do Thy will, oh LORD, of You.
22Dec24b
I can't believe...it's only Monday?
I'm Truly Living In A Dream?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXLV)
Watch, half aware, as blue 'non swallows pale
Day in a subtle calm where Christmas hence
Is on all lips with plans for it, suspense
Gone batty with the visions we'd avail
Us of if only we could get back (frail
As needing to be on the clock fr'intents
Where bills must be paid) dear hopes' vain pretense
Before our eyes to stoke a scene with bail.
Or so it seems. And I've been up in tour
Since last night was't? The dream culled like tae woo
Tchaikovsky's, shattered by the facts and poor,
Cuz I must work, still lost to that dear view
Whose sugar plums and faeries dance, astir
With strains I cherish as, LORD, I need You.
23Dec24
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Author:
Chic George (Pseudonym) (
Online) - Published: December 24th, 2024 18:36
- Comment from author about the poem: Christmas Eve... owns swirling memories. After that, you should know me by now: I'm having way too much fun! Enjoy?!
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 14
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Online)
Comments3
Good for you...
Thank you so very much!
Yep, lol
TIs truly good for the mind body and soul innit .. too much fun that is .. Hope you had an extra egg nog & cranberry velvet cocktail for me .. Hope todays bash is just as good with a cherry on top .. Yours Sincerely, Neville
Why, thank you very much, Sir! Me works and works, and works today, whence... what I'm mulling is precisely when to craft my own eggnog complete with ALL the ingredients.
A fun read of the commotion that proceeds and accompanies the holidays. Nicely written and very festive.
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