On Ole Saint Patty's Day Itself...
...I only text that greeting to my close friend daily.
But I Don't Really Say "Top O' the Morning!"
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCXVII)
Today is when the river's green t'avail,
Or so I have been told, and when fr'intents
I heard one lady warmly quip for sense,
Tis one of only two days in the year owns bail
For [whiskey]--"It's a DRINKING day!" th'all hail
Not so much novel (for the Irish) thence
As not where I'm from: we don't drink. Ah, whence?
If I'm beleageured and seem failing: wail?
I found a card'gan--kelly green as t'were,
And just right for the job--a green scarf too,
Yet being so insufficient, all seems poor,
Since what's the use of proper gear as due,
If all else lacks? Sip coffee like's recure,
Yet wonder if's in vain. LORD, I wait You.
17Mar25a
M'hm.
A Happy Saint Patrick's Day to All
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCXVIII)
What? as March' roller-coaster temps give sense
A run for money is't? Tis THAT detail
Of chill which gave me leave to thus avail
Me of dear kelly green like in defense
Of all that's Irish in me. Ne pretense,
We had our Barry's with lo, shortbread, hale
In warmth, steam tendrils' sheer ascent in frail
White whispers
likeas erst wont: ghostly. Whence?
Let's do the pulled pork cuz the whiskey's tour
Of duty is today, folk say, Lunch too,
I hope is Reubens, cuz corned beef as t'were
Must be had; breakfast hash too perfect through
Mere chance, I wish each soul I can bestir
A "happy" day, as LORD, how we wait You.
17Mar25b
So don't get any ideas.
It's Not Like I Had Any Skills
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCXIX)
If I should pull out my guitar t'avail
Me of its voice, would tears still drown the sense
As since my mother's passing? Wherefore thence
E'en try? Why wonder now of late? Is't bail?
I sleep with my guitar case' firm detail
Just 'bove mine head, and fear to try fr'intents
Lest I break down anew and weep. Ah, whence?
Shall I but dream, nor ever try 'gain, frail?
A poetess years 'go said to me, like's poor?:
"You don't look back (at what [I] write)--" tis true.
I canna find a path to yonder fer
All that, except I put aught that we knew
Behind and see today. Should I bestir
Keen echoes of what's lost...LORD, is't of You?
17Mar25c
Please.
Don't Say I'm Having Too Much Fun
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCXX)
Oh but I would not trade the chance fr'intents
To lookl straight in those piercing blue eyes, hail
Exquisite seconds bandying words to scale,
And see those smiles, grey beards, long hair--a sense
Of Dad in such notes was't? Fist bump from thence
Whenas we knew we both were Sco'ish, frail
As being Amer'cans too; yet to avail
Me on the heels of ole Saint Patrick's hence!
Two girls gave me a bag of Lays in tour,
Once after hours, the pot of gold as due
And rainbow on't, til what of aught else? Were
It lonely, I ne'er knew. Each little cue
Of happiness, though brief, was worth it. Stir
Me to sing Thy praise, LORD, as all's of You.
18Mar25a
*cough, cough* [Oh yes, I guess he knows I've got a crush on him]
So, Anyway, There You Go
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCXXI)
There were no handsome guys to swoon oer. Stale
As who cares what, 'cept they are married thence
With small fry and a wife they'll drop off hence
At her job ere they show up here. Derail
His sense it's just a job cuz I'm too frail,
Been up nigh thirty hours and jest fr'intents.
Put on a show of weeping [tis pretense]
To ill'strate some
point, and what, to avail?
He shows me photos of his kids in tour
And oh! his babies are so cute! I coo,
And leave for home. The neighbor's cute. Bestir
No hope, my dear. There's nothing left for who?
I am too picky?! All that's left is poor---
Divorced and jaded. LORD, save me, won't You?
18Mar25b
...all mixt up.
What Kind of Shake Am I?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXXII)
Not on Saint Patrick's when to drink is thence
Passe, but Tuesday night the fine detail
Jack Daniel's whiskey pulled pork to avail
Us for our dinner is delicious, whence,
Kick me, but that was perfect in defense
Of all, no? And turns out if or'nge pops' tale
Melts to pure liquid, cream and all sans bail
Is but a gulp. So much for grand pretense.
My poor head after thirty hours in tour
Maunt figure which day tis, so Thursday to
Effect it must be, though it's not. In poor
Reply for needing sleep, I slept all through
Today and stay up late, like's cool. Bestir
Bed after when?! Oh LORD, save me, won't You?
18Mar25c
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Author:
Chic George (Pseudonym) (
Online) - Published: March 23rd, 2025 10:30
- Comment from author about the poem: If you must choose, isn't this...better? Enjoy?!
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 2
Online)
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