...for half a day, at least, haha.
I Finally Know Which Weekday Tis
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLIII)
Rain lightly dances, where in that detail
An om'nous note seems lurks, til driving hence
Oh, how the highway's white, with tracks cut thence
Through by our passage, as ice or snow'd avail.
Work, as wont, turns all 'round til we'd 'most fail
To see ahead straight, yet Thy mercies, our defense,
Ne'er fail, and, new each morning, leave pretense
Aside to give us hope while dreams ask bail.
When all is oer we'll see again in tour
It wasna so bad after all. We knew
E'en fun in measure, if to smile's not poor.
Likeas Thy psalmist wrote, to count maunt do
For they're more than be numbered. Come, bestir
In us to sing Thy praise as we wait You.
27Dec24a
...Walker's shortbread cookies, to be precise; then memories of the Scottich cookbook my parents had resurfaced, whose recipe for shortbread sported a long essay the upshot of which damned me as "...only a BAD COOK will add things: shortbread ONLY HAS 3 INGREDIENTS." or somesuch. And I used to make that recipe way too many years ago.
So, Nothing Extra Fancy Here
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLIV)
Mull groc'ry shopping til I'm wanting thence
Lo, Sco'ish shortbread. Craft it to avail
Me, all myself?! The antique cookbook, frail
As dreams, is not mine to use 'gin fr'intents,
So Google rec'pes with the ling'ring sense
Of that page whose keen warning yet'd detail
Aught finds: "...bad cooks will add stuff." t'will derail
Some, but I know where I am headed hence.
I knew twas only three ingred'ents fer
All that, or maybe four, no more, else rue
Thy folly, "bad" cook. I'll need butter. Were
There else, I have't. "Have with tea," is that true?
Me wants to try that. Sco'ish, known as poor
Back in the day, what's new? LORD, save me too.
27Dec24b
So there. [What's with a gigantic motorhome the other day, and today a semi, literally driving out of their lane to push me off the road when I speed ahead on the ramp, then going back into their lane on the interstate as I try to figure out who's trying to kill me????? I didn't believe in PTSD until now.]
Don't Ask and I'll Not Tell
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLV)
From semis with an urge to kill sans bail,
To nary sleep 'cept two nights all week, whence?
No less than three sites Friday: if my sense
Is badly screwed, thank all the madness. Frail,
Yet trying to stay atop, oh LORD, avail
Me, for despite my efforts, all's pretense.
I'm begging for dear sleep, recov'ry hence
In mind, if only, fearing to ask'd fail.
Thanks, thanks for all Thy mercies which in tour,
New ev'ry morning, never fail. I knew
Ere this week t'would be tough, and feared for sure,
Yet Thou art my God and all is of You.
Tis Saturday; I'm fragile. Come, bestir
Thy mercies, save me now. I wait anew.
28Dec24
-
Author:
Chic George (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: January 2nd, 2025 00:33
- Comment from author about the poem: Surprise, surprise, I've been writing daily but insanely busied until I took rather drastic measures, but more on that later, perhaps. Either way, hope you're having fun likewise. Enjoy?
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 15
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments3
Queen of sonnets I bow here are three fun reads great post holiday poems. Thanks for sharing
I am always enjoying your sonnets, dear friend! Happy New Year to you and family! 🌹👏
Happy New Year to you, kind friend and fellow poet! Thank you very much for dropping by!
You're welcome. 😊
Some cracking pieces here, Missy. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you very much for reading and leaving a kindly footprint.
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