...as a rule [and I still do.]
I Used to Wear Pink on This Weekday
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCLXVI)
Where dawn sifts through these silent buildings, thence
Twixt blinds late ope'd for morning, I avail
Me of a shortbread cookie and sweet bail
Known as lo, Barry's, with a fragile sense
Of yonder undefined, grey shadows hence
In play with golden shafts of light, th'all hail
Of whom beyond? Geese have an odd call, they'll
Be doing what, with that?! who knows? ah, whence?
Grind coffee beans and let the French Press brew
A fresh pot I'll not drink til's cold in tour;
Get porridge cooking and the bacon, fer
A start, cut up potatoes cuz they do
Not fail at breakfast, roasted up as t'were
All fluffy, and oh LORD, let us wait You.
07May25a
Alas.
Not Candy Canes, Mind You
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCLXVII)
How after noon's uncertain mien'd unveil
The light once I've passed through, as if what thence?
Geese graze, squirrels gambol, and the fountain hence
A cur'ous shade of blue, what'd not avail?
An older man rests for a spell to scale,
His cane what vexes me since it's pretense
And far too short--he has to stoop, the sense
Of sheer support a cruel one sans aught bail.
A walking stick would meet his needs, yet's poor
If I suggest it cuz all know canes do
For old folks, left now cripples as it were,
And with back pains, cuz canes are too short. Who
Shall listen, though? Grass fin'lly cut in tour,
All looks much better. LORD, save us, won't You?
07May25b
[oops, I got choc'late brownie cake crumbs on my page]
Please Tell the Killdeer I AM Listening
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCCLXVIII)
The plover's piercing call from out the dense
Black mirk of night begs what, by that detail?
This frosted brownie cake seems fitting, frail
As aught 'scuse, where I'll swear the night fr'intents
Is not that long whileas I've work from hence
To do, its sheer calm grand likeas t'avail
The soul thereby; and where does time sans bail
Go, whilst my back is turned is't? oh pretense.
In twenty days more June will be in poor
Reply 'non barking at the door, this view
With baby leaves and soft chartreuse astir
Gone like the vision that hope sweetly drew
Up and gave us for half a minute. Were
There else to do meantime, LORD, we wait You.
07May25c
-
Author:
Chic George (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 21st, 2025 09:53
- Comment from author about the poem: Frankly, I think I've been wearing pink all week. Enjoy?!
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
- Users favorite of this poem: Poetic Licence
Offline)
Comments5
Once again Chic you have produced a trio here. Food and pink and all but the kitchen sink. Lovely
That is some breakfast!!!, can I ask what a plover is??, the second a pretty good description of me!!!(Old man with a stick), enjoyed the reads
Plovers' cry is perhaps more familiar: "Killdeer! Killdeer! Killdeer!" I knew them from my childhood in Colorado and love them here in Illinois. They're interesting birds with long skinny necks, not very big but a slimmer than the robins. My best friend misusing a crutch a couple years ago, I accidentally discovered 68" walking sticks which beat the traditional cane all hollow. I just wish I could tell everyone else that cuz it hurts me to see people suffer, and it's painful for watch 6ft tall men bent over using a 3ft cane simply because that's the traditional support for people who need a bit of support. Thank you so very much for kindly commenting!
Thank you for the explanation
My pleasure, you're very welcome.
Excellent work. I love it.
Thank you.
A piratess in pink...who'd have thought? Never the less, concept introduced with such delicacy from our premier sonneteer....
Me thanks thee, kindly good Sir.
You are, as is considered an appropriate response in these parts, very welcome.
Some fine pieces, Missy. Nicely done. And I do like a drop of rum. 😀
Thank you very much, Tom!
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