Who knew?
Thy Mercies So New EVERY Morning
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCDXXXI)
Mists in the twilight ere day dawn, a veil
So thick romance seems cozens aught from thence
Til I'm left breathless at the sight; suspense
Killed in the onslaught of sheer labour (frail
As aught excuse) where lurid tales derail
Sweets, til I'm left beseiged and blind from hence;
Morn blossoms in sheer beauty, with a sense
Of peace, as songs flit from all sides, t'avail.
And all are up once I get home in tour,
So put the kettle on for Barry's, to
Find they don't care two bits for cream as twere
Today, nor cheese, cuz wherefore? What'd who do?!
Don't tell me Tigger's glad to see me?! Her
Meows are just for that?! LORD, I'll praise You.
13Jul25a
Think what the word Panera means.
Go Swear I Shoulda Knowed
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCDXXXII)
Panera: I forgot's a bak'ry, scents
Of fresh-baked breads 'non wafting 'long the trail
To is't the door? Oh me! I swoon t'inhale.
Delicious by suggestion, with a sense
Of home and solace in those airs which thence
Half tug upon my sleeve in leaving, frail
As what? temptation and resistance? Hail
The thought, and find what after in defense?
Two loaves of bread, as if, let me demur,
And Thou wilt give it yet to us?! Who knew?
Come, where Panera offers salads, we're
Givn Chic-Fil-A t'enjoy, yea, yoghurt too,
Until I wonder what is truly poor?
Oh LORD, my God, let us anon praise You.
13Jul25b
Hahaha.
Now I'm a Ghost Of Myself...
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCDXXXIII)
Stromboli by suggestion that detail
I wanted, saved for later in defense
Of pleasure, bakes up in a trice from thence
And is a tasty treat now we avail
Ourselves, with salad, roast potatoes tale
That rosem'ry tricks out, and the kittens hence
Pass by; how Barry's kept me going, sense
More fragile sans aught sleep, til night owns bail.
Both Peter and sweet Tigger check as twere
Our dinner out, to want none, nor the cue
Of cream, nor cheese, til he sez that, thoughs poor:
They're BORED. Oh please, come off't--is that quite true?!
Besides, I'm failing now the day's oer; stir
Thy mercies and redeem us, LORD, won't You?
13Jul25c
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Author:
Chic George (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: July 23rd, 2025 09:15
- Comment from author about the poem: Yes. Enjoy.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: Poetic Licence, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments5
You must must have more hours in a day than normal, it never seems to stop, enjoyed the reads
Yay! Thank you, thank you so very much!
You are very welcome
Another fun read Chic
Tremendous work.
Thank you.
Verily, thou whose quill transformeth common morn and simple feast into hallowed verse, art a rare alchemist of language. In these sonnets, thy voice doth dance ‘twixt devotion and drollery, weaving sweet incense of gratitude from bread’s warm scent and twilight’s misty shroud. Thy playful marriage of archaic charm and modern whimsy revealeth both a learned heart and a merry spirit. I do applaud the gentle boldness with which thou findest the divine in each modest hour. Continue, I pray thee, to pluck fresh petals of wonder from life’s unlikeliest blossoms.
Wowee, what a marvelously sweet comment! I know not how to thank you enough. Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!! You're too kind.
Most welcome 🙏🏻🕊
Missy, these are sharp and oddly comforting...fog, bread, Barry’s, and God all tangled up in the same breath. That last line in the third sonnet hits like a sigh and a prayer at once. Wonderful job, my friend. 🌹👏
Thank you, thank you, thank you, you're too kind!
You are most welcome, my friend. 🖤♰🦇🪞🩸🕯️
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