...just spirits.
Oh, But I Don't Believe in Ghosts
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCDXXIII)
Mists rise from out the hollows, white and frail
As I head home, still stinging from what thence
Was petty meanness which I aught fr'intents
Let go like water off a duck's back. They'll
Know who the ghost just after midnight, pale
As naught, was, setting off the cam'ras, sense
Denied yet half swore must be true, and whence?
Was that the reason for my grief's detail?
If traffic's sluggish for the same as twere,
Get home by sevn to find that Tigger too
Is up and waiting for their breakfast, her
Assessment once tis served that it won't do,
Sets me to serving cream which they'll in tour
Lap up like water. LORD, we wait on You.
10Jul25a
Dunno.
What IS My Problem, Eh?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCDXXIV)
French toast, Canad'an bacon 'longside, thence
Our fare, I pack mine for th'appointment, frail
As never touching breakfast whilst my tale
Of tires was being switched 'round, as if pretense
Is 'live and well; the waiting room large hence
And full of ears, me on the phone t'avail,
Til scribbling for today is shot, where's bail?
I'll feign I'm dumb, ist? like that is defense?
And Starbucks thinks ten cents off is not poor,
Though stars, and twenty-five at that, is, who
Shall argue to effect? I give up. We're
Nigh through, I guess, and very sadly too,
The game a fun one while it lasted; were
There else, what is't? Oh LORD, how I need You.
10Jul25b
Eh?
Which Part Was Truly Overrated, eh?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCDXXV)
Craft salad, cold cut sandwich like t'avail
For late lunch, and both Tigger sniffs all thence
And Peter too, but shan't partake fr'intents,
Cuz wherefore, eh? My travels done, detail
What after, now I'm home for good? If's bail,
What's off that we shall argue like's good sense?
I should craft smoothies but, just when from hence?
Tis too much food, whence I shall not, and fail.
How lightning flashes at elevn, where as twere
I'm stumbling off to bed. Sans thunder to
Is't frighten? how the kittens yet demur
To join me, staying with him as if t'will do
Far better than, is't bedding down? Is't poor
I leave my dinner til the morrow too?
10Jul25c
Guess so.
Learning, Is It? Ever Learning?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCDXXVI)
Turns out they'll eat the shredded cheese fr'intents,
If only you'll leave dinner out sans bail
Til nearly morning; nor will they t'avail
Rise to th'alarm I've set, if I'll not hence
Get up sans fanfare. Sip all 'lone from thence,
The dim half light of few or none to scale
Too grey for me to see the steam's exhale,
Like incense, prayrs, or dancers sans defense.
Oh, they were up nigh midnight, playful too,
Where I was far too spent to eat in tour
My dinner, and went off to bed. Was't poor
I fell asleep by sevn, nor woke anew
Til just ere midnight? They're HIS cats?! Bestir
Her comp'ny when I showr?! LORD, we need You.
11Jul25a
..but, (the infamous "but")
Right Now A Salad Would Be Grand
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCDXXVII)
Think hash and porridge will suffice for bail,
To find me hungry with but crackers hence
And some old cheese ball left for my defense
Ere noon has drawn up plans, or where the trail
Is trod by others; failure to detail
A lunch proves I'm undone, as twas pretense
Which swore that'd be enough til when? and whence?
I coulda grabbed tamales to avail.
Think of the fridge, so laden aught demur
To stuff more in, and I just maunt think through
Precisely wht to bring to work?! If's poor,
Tomorrow I must pack a lunch to do
All good, and not think silly things as twere.
Burritos, pizza, or tamales...you?
11Jul25b
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Author:
Chic George (Pseudonym) (
Online) - Published: July 17th, 2025 08:53
- Comment from author about the poem: Okay, mum's the word, if you know what that means. Enjoy.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
- Users favorite of this poem: Poetic Licence, Damaso, Friendship, Tristan Robert Lange
Online)
Comments4
Packed to the rafters with culinary delights today, naughty thou keeping the fluffballs waiting for breakfast, very enjoyable as always
Thank you, thank you, thank you! By the way, don't tell anyone else but, I spoil them.
I would never have guessed that!!, but I will keep it quiet
Didn't believe in ghosts until I heard them now I'm not so sure. I remain neutral. Good write Chic
Well written, your poems revolve around the mundane aspects of daily life, such as meals, waiting, and the relationship with pets, particularly a cat named Tigger. The poet reflects on the trivialities and frustrations of everyday routines while intertwining moments of introspection and a search for comfort or divine guidance. The subject matter is a blend of domestic life, personal struggles, and the quest for fulfillment, highlighting the often-overlooked details that shape our experiences. I love your contemporary setting. The dates provided (July 10-11, 2025) suggest a recent composition, hinting at a personal journal-like quality where the poet captures thoughts and reflections in real-time. The repeated call for divine assistance ("LORD, we need You") emphasizes a longing for support amidst the chaos of daily life, bridging the mundane with a spiritual quest.
My sonnets are literally diary pages, whence, if you enjoy such, that's lovely.
Missy, I swear your kitchen should get a writing credit. From midnight cats to the politics of porridge, this whole set reads like holy chaos wrapped in rhyme. “They’re HIS cats?!” nearly made me spit my drink. Seriously — your daily life is a sonnet cycle waiting to happen. 🌹👏 On another note, I suppose you won't be calling the Ghostbusters! Slimer is sad! 🤣
Hahaha, you're too kind where I'm besieged and too busy presently to think. Thank you, thank you so very much!!!!!
You are welcome, my friend. See you on the other side of that chaotic work?situation! LOL!
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