Dear Sydney, please pardon me.
I Guess, HaHa On Me?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCXLIII)
Ere dawn, whilst region clouds' masque robes the frail
Hope of beyond, and pink is fragile hence
With yellow just in tow, dream of fr'intents
A transient chance of sleep, as if t'avail
The thought of dearest need; how card'nals hail
And robins scold, the sparrows calling thence
Like old friends once I'm home, til that pretense
Half seems the truth, nor lacking is it...bail?
If morning's old once I drag me in tour
From bed, how Monday's coffee will quite do,
His boasting of his "fresh ground" coffee fer
All that far too famil'ar--would he woo?!
Don't let me think, oh please, lest I bestir
Who knows what on that note. LORD, I need You.
25Mar25a
Perforce.
And I am Reconciled To My Fate
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCXLIV)
Now I've begun to study whom, fr'intents?
But David Grey, whose final work's detail
Oft moved my soul to weeping ere, his tale
What haunts me, yet wherefore? Lost in a sense
Upon the banks of Luggie, wand'ring thence
The moors and heaths of bonny Scotland, frail
As aught excuse, where ev'ry last detail
Quite charms me, come, is not all sheer pretense?
Til reading Heddrick's memoir of him, poor
As all vain visions, I believed him to
Be blonde. Yet no. So tall he stooped in tour
And dark haired with dark eyes, like Keats he drew
Up scenes of grandeur, Poet's Corner fer
His end, naught was e'er realized. LORD, what's true?
25Mar25b
Oh well.
So Much for Freighted Dinner Plans
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCXLV)
Sweet afternoon with blue heavns to avail,
And cloud fluffs framed by golden light as thence
The touch of snow last week left grass green, whence
Buds seem the more pronounced upon that scale,
Life once again a pretty picture, frail
As aught else 'neath the surface, is't pretense?
A begger on the corner hawks from hence
Likeas they do in lesser cities' tale.
The world that I grew up in's long gone, poor
Though all what, eh? No ice cream like we knew
For our dessert, but "frozen dairy--" fer
Vain hopes; it's choc'late too. What do we do?
I could not bear the wreckage so as t'were
Look past all; LORD, if only I'd see You.
25Mar25c
Funny, but I'm...thankful.
If My Head's Spinning, What Is New?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCXLVI)
The thought of rain ere dawn, with Barry's thence
And shortbread, fades somehow whileas t'avail
I craft our breakfast, omelets' pretty tale
Still too Amer'can nor quite French, ah whence?
This project still has long to go fr'intents,
Is't? Starbucks for the drink my niece would fail
To get in her own cup, yet praise, the trail
As t'were to cherished haunts seems like defense.
My fav'rite her'tage greens old, lunch in tour
With rolls, I'll try to do my taxes, to
Be foiled as wont until a friend comes fer
All that erm, to my rescue. Dinner through
His visit just the party I'd bestir
Last night and far too perfect, LORD's of You.
26Mar25a
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Author:
Chic George (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 2nd, 2025 16:48
- Comment from author about the poem: Pardonnez-moi, tis the last. Enjoy?!
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Tristan Robert Lange, Poetic Licence
Offline)
Comments4
Such beautiful images of nature you paint in these sonnets Chic. A fave
Time flies so fast it’s been a dizzying first quarter. I guess we’ve an innate surf reflex to tide us over, might as well have fun when the surf’s up 🌊 🏄
Thank you so very much! Yep!
Much welcome CM🙏🏻🕊️
Yeah, nothing new with my head spinning either. These sonnets are wonderfully natural and beautiful, my dear friend. Much enjoyed as always. 🌹👏🕯️
Aww, you're too kind and sweet, thank you much, dear friend!
You are most welcome!
Lovely imagery of nature and food in these writes, and get those taxes done!!!, enjoyed the reads
Did, and have one refund already in hand, to boot. Thank you so very much, sweet friend!
You are very welcome
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