Don't Mind Me, But It's True
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCXII)
Despite the bitter temps, tis Spring's eye hence
Upon these frozen 'scapes which calls t'avail
Lilt oer in merry notes, til aught detail
Swears it is but a cold change, no pretense,
Snow lying unmelted but in wee piles dense
With hope's import, buds on bare limbs th'exhale
Toys with in reckless fashion as wont, hale
Yet fragile, with sheer life 'non bursting thence.
If I'm beleaguered like the vista, poor
Though aught excuse, how dale and lea renew
Their aspect, merely waiting fresh growth fer
Affect, the bitter air but teasing, to
Effect 'neath heavns whose light winks as it were,
Full with the note of Spring which'd ver'ly woo.
26Jan25a
Finally.
Who Could Have Guessed, Eh?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXIII)
Craft shortbread [fin'lly!] not for hol'days, frail
Though aught 'scuse, but likeas a staple hence
For Barry's--like mine Sco'ish her'tage thence
Proves needful is't? "can't have sans tea," I'd fail
At oer the years and hol'day; now t'avail
Me's nigh perfection, seems; and like defense
For aught my fathers knew, from porridge dense
With comfort, to this fav'rite tea tops: bail.
I never realized such a simple, pure
'Loved, seas'nal "cookie" had so much, like to
Effect all of my Sco'ish her'tage'd stir
By way of sheer tradition, yet tis true.
Perhaps I've stumbled on the way home, poor
As not e'en looking is't? LORD, I wait You.
26Jan25b
So there.
Monday 'Fore Yes, Groundhog Day
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCXIV)
Oh tender dawn! No cal'ndar proves the sense
Which now pervades as Spring lo, dances, frail
As aught excuse ere Feb'ry, like'd avail
On schedule, songs from ev'ry bush to fence
The charming thought where buds swear leaves fr'intents
Shall not be long in coming to detail
All naked limbs as winds tease, where th'exhale,
Though chilly, whispers through the firs of whence.
I canna help but smile as joys bestir
On ev'ry side to cheer the worn 'scapes through
These hours, where how the light winks, as it were,
With promises in tow 'neath skies so blue
We can't but feel within our blood in tour
That life renews its lease. LORD, we praise You.
27Jan25
-
Author:
Chic George (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: January 31st, 2025 16:53
- Comment from author about the poem: You're prolly heartily weary of me at this rate, besides which, I notice from my used to be last post nearly a decade ago that I didn't know Spring wasn't defined by the calendar, whence it's apparently a fairly recent discovery on my own part. But I'm fully convinced and "preaching" it! Enjoy?!
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange, GenXer Shamrocker ☘️
Offline)
Comments6
Thank you for another enjoyable read especially liked the first, with the forthcoming arrival of the much waited for Spring.
Thank you, rather, for sweetly commenting! Glad you enjoyed it. I was just rereading the one my note alluded to, mulling the similarity of that day to this, curiously.
You are very welcome
Spring and shortbread what more could a person want except maybe some sonnetts Nicely written Chic
I never tire of you, your sonnets, or your professing Spring. By all means, profess...declare...evangelize the Spring away! I always enjoy it and feel a bit warmer! LOL! Well done, Missy! 🌹👏
Aww, thank you, sweet friend!
You are welcome. 😊
Surely an invocation to hurry up! 👍🏻🙏🏻🕊
Seems like it's been Spring in my parts for nearly two weeks now. Thank you for your kind comment.
Oh, even better! 🙏🏻🕊
I think I would pro'lly be happee with spring all year round .. and barrowloads of shortbread and pork scratchins to keep me company .. well one can dream .. 💛
You're welcome to the collection of pork rinds I haven't touched, if you can figure out how to get your hands on them. After that, thank you very much for dropping by and your sweet comment!
Powerful work, this is a different kind of symphony. Love it.
Why thank you very much!
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