I guess so.
So, Is Today the Day at Last?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCDLII)
Too sleepy for aught last night, craft fr'intents
The guac this morning, garlic crushed in frail
Excuse its heat and flavour like t'avail;
My brother sez it needs to sit from hence,
Whilst I burp garlic. Yet oh! like defense,
I saved our Monday's pot of Barry's hale
Recure for um, a good night sleep's detail,
To brew a huge pot of the same from thence.
I've got to rustle up a batch in tour
Of shortbread cuz now we are OUT. These two
Fine projects done, but smoothies are left. Stir
Up blender, old bananas, spinach too,
Add strawb'rries, yoghurt, maple syrup. Were
There else? Oh LORD, redeem us now, won't You?
10Jun25a
...mebbe not.
I Think I'll Quit Meowing
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCDLIII)
Mind full of kittens, how aught last detail
Is measured in their presence, like from hence
It won't be long; and how I dream! Good sense
Plays tic-tac-toe til dear hope falters, frail
Upon the threshold of beyond. T'avail
Would be grand, yet is all but mere pretense?
While shadows draw up fingers whose grey's dense,
The eye of Summer sets off aught to scale.
Dreams could envision here what is as t'were
Sans substance, grass so green with shadows' crew
Upon it, picnic table shattered fer
Who knows what cause, the light romances through
These shadows aught in view. Come, what is poor?
How trust in Thee with all my heart, as due?
10Jun25b
...it never was, you know.
Tomorrow's Not A Good Excuse
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCDLIV)
How morning owns a cool, sweet wind to fence
The thought of yonder and such heat: t'avail
Us ere midday's a mercy. Barry's hale
Recure, and oh! fresh shortbread crafted thence
With lo, unsalted butter's grand for sense,
Steam wafting up in columns, tendrils frail
Forms' dancing, and he sez tea's huge pot's tale
Was fine on Tuesday, so we have defense.
Cook porridge, breakfast hash and bacon fer
Repast, eggs too, ornge, nect'rine; when tis through
Head out on errands, Raising Helen, poor
As aught 'scuse what we'll watch at lunch tae do
The purchase good, where I'll mourn as it were
Cuz movies beat real life. LORD, I need You.
11Jun25a
Oh yeah.
Of Bunnies and Tigers, I Guess
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCDLV)
The bowls are set out washed and ready, trail
To yonder seeming full of dreams fr'intents.
A plover rises from the darkness thence
As I drive into work, then cries to scale
Once I'm upon the clock. A bunny'd fail
To see which way to go, my headlight's sense
Of fear 'non catching him in panic, whence
I pray for all of us. Then which detail?
Night is a quiet thing wherein as t'were
We mull whate'er, like sleep is not for who
Need that, but others. I've a pile in tour
Of stuff to finish, where night seemed t'would do,
Of stuff to finish, where night seemed t'would do,
Yet I am stumped upon the threshold. Stir
Thyself and save me, LORD; how I need You.
11Jun25b
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Author:
Chic George (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 28th, 2025 14:15
- Comment from author about the poem: Bunnies... yeah, um ask me later. Enjoy?!
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 7
- Users favorite of this poem: Poetic Licence
Offline)
Comments4
Did you put garlic in the smoothie? Garlic and strawberries makes my stomach jump and flip. A fun set of sonnets
Nah - Gotta ask now. I'm anxious for bunny. Not clear - did you take him home, offer a nice cup of Barrys and revive him with your garlic breath? Resuscitation?
Firstly banana and spinach, and was bunny saved or did he bite the dunlop dust?, enjoyable reads
for your delectation, a short poetic response: "when garlic is prayer"
the sleep was thin, but the guac held its own— garlic loud, like a hymn with elbows.
we brew Barry’s tea not because it saves, but because the steam remembers.
shortbread crumbles on the liturgy of plates. a bunny forgets direction, and we are startled by how much we understand.
the to-do list is a gospel, and in the fridge, the spinach wilts with quiet resolve.
LORD, if You’re listening— we are small, but we have washed the bowls.
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