That's a little project, to be certain, and I'd how many today?!
We're Crafting Refried Beans TODAY
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCXIX)
Sleep, mercf'lly, nor wake til who climbs t'avail
And settles on me? Murmur; they leave thence
Ere I awake at last, and how from hence
They run, bounce off the walls, as if to scale
To say the party's started now, sheer bail
My presence is't? Put on the kettle whence
With Brie again, how Tigger licks defense
And nibbles too, whilst Peter haunts the trail.
Of Grape Nuts, Shredded Wheat, with cer'als fer
Sheer sweetness, neither Cheer'os, Oat Squares do,
But we'll have Life--ah, Gerber's! milk as twere
To make it mush, the baby food taste'd woo.
Sweet honeydew and Milo, start in tour
The kidney beans to soften; LORD, where to?
10Aug25a
...albeit, Tigger does not subscribe to that club.
So, Gravy Lover's Is A Thing
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCXXI)
Of Philly Cheesesteaks I've a mem'ry hale
In pleasure; now reheat the beef til thence
The Worcestershire sauce in that gives off keen scents;
Melt cheese on top and pile all on t'avail
An onion hoagie roll for lunch, detail
A half cuke each, and do the dishes hence
Before I leave for work, their canned food dense
With "gravy lovers" chunks til it lacks bail
...for Tigger. Peter eats the saucer, her
Gig watching til it's finished like t'will do,
Yet that is all. I changed their litter fer
Lo, his complaints, but it was fine. I knew
Twas fine, but. Finish off the cake in tour
For our dessert, as LORD, we wait on You.
10Aug25c
[Get this: the plover cried for four hours, TIL I wrote this.]
We Knew So Many Things
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCXX)
Oh fair day gone in just a trice, ah whence?
Deer have long tails! A fawn leaps down the trail,
His held high, and so long! A plover'd hail
Me as I drive in, like I'll hit him hence,
The forest watching as I pass through thence,
And aught we had before a mem'ry frail
Before long hours of work, til what'd avail?
I settle in upon the clock for sense.
At least their collars are all ready fer
Them: hers in pink, his cam'flage, tags on too
Now with their names, my number, that trip's tour
Likeas a dream fast fading. How we'll do
It, I dunno. For Peter's skittish. Were
There hope, tis Thee 'lone, LORD, we wait on You.
10Aug25b
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Author:
Chic George (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 17th, 2025 12:12
- Comment from author about the poem: So, yeah. Enjoy.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
Offline)
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