Or?  Go figure.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXIII)


What? as night's blackness is passe in frail
Excuse, the hours now merely for good sense
Um, stacking up whiles I close down from hence
This slim machine for lack of aught else' tale,
And this where Twitter promised to avail
Itself of all my minutes--all's fr'intents
Too dead, dull, boring--I've moved on, pretense
Worn to a frazzle in aught that I'd hail.
Remember:  "I should write more--" to bestir
Me, yet ideas have flown off unto
Is't nether regions?  cuz I "watched in tour"
Who cares who?  Fashions.  "Follow her--what you
Should wear is...THIS."  I've MY own style, in poor
'Scuse, am ergo at odds with all, cool too?

25Mar19b

...on my head --that should do us both good since YOU're not keen on aught knowing YOU love me too.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXXVII)


O madness of these dolls my niece'd avail
Herself of cuz they're popular and thence
What aught who'd buy her favour purchase hence,
(Where I was far too poor to dream in frail
Excuse of any such things in betrayl,
When I was just a child)! The vid'os' sense
Of, well erm, foolish joy in these--pretense,
I cannot even like the dolls to scale.
Nor did adulthood change my view as twere.
Goodwill in lieu of e'en the mall MY cue,
They all look now askance at me in tour,
My peers thus none too blind.  What did I do?
Or wherefore is't I'm on the fringe, 'til YOUR
Love is a marvel none explain, O YOU?

23Nov18a

Yes, you can laugh in my face.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDII)


So Hollywood makes films of books, and hence
The De'il Wears Prada, or somesuch detail,
That purse I found at erm, Goodwill in pale
Excuse the thing itself, I guess.  Good sense
And taste, what Vogue swears by, oh sweet pretense!
It's leather, red and black with accents they'll
Approve of--buckles, rivets is't? t'avail
Hauteur in proper style.  Don't ask me whence.
I do not dress like some old frump as twere
Nor paint my face, although my nails would do
Some good if I could find some polish fer
Them.  It's a lie decked out as if's not true.
Yes, true.  But we put Trump in cuz it's poor
Nay, worse than poor:  cuz they are devils.  You?

08Nov18b

Wake up to the AA, never a day without.
look to the news, schools out?
Its only April.
Another protest i cant make,
another protest
another protest,
yet no change.
My youth being killed everyday unjustified because of people's hatred.
A threat he was
12 he was, 14 he was,15,16,19,40,36,32.....he was a threat.
17 killed today because of "bulling" i suppose, he was just ill an broken,
poor him right? right.
1000 more suicide a 1000 more hate crimes at its lowest this month.
more murders than anything against the people who just want to love; who want to live the way they want.
My friends heartbroken
families being ripped apart, wondering if they'll be the next to go.
Our leaders are full of hatred, making fun of the ill, no respect for the women.
because of that i no longer have rights to my body, not like i had them really anyway.
No means No,
but your distracting the staff ma'am that's against school dress code,
go home and cover up your collar bone.
I'm 14.
You'r making it hard for the adult staff... ya'know
The ****'s we hired to teach you, the ones that make YOU uncomfortable.
cover up,
that'a all we ask. ;)
                                                   yours truly,
                                                          ­          . . .

The eyes that pierce me,
with threats beyond words.
I cant help what im going through.
I can't have it; no not at all.
Can't live without me,
but i dont want it inside me.
I can't have it... I can't.
It's my choice;
isn't it?
I cry and I cry.
But they don't care bout my pain,
They care about the cell who cant even ******* breath yet.
The cell that can't let me breath yet.
The cell that was forced upon me, the cell that hurts me
when i even try to think about it.
That's the cell they care about....
not me.
                                               yours truly,
                                                          ­     . . .

What was that about ironic?


(sonnet #MMMMDCXLII)


They swore I should be published when my frail
Attempts proved that my alphabet was thence
Down pat, a couple verbs and nouns from whence
I made a twisted bit of nonsense, pale
And certain notes that I owned more than bail
For their now wasted cries of sheer pretense,
Nor would they quiet down 'til their defense
Was trounced when I could speak and **** the tale.
Yes.  Now that I trip off much less obscure
Lines, even sentences which march straight to
The point, I've lost my following as twere.
Come, did they like the early babble?  Few
Can make it past the toddling stage, whence fer
The grand achievement, I'm alone.  Boohoo.


(sonnet #MMMMDCXLIII)


Please don't say either that I was from hence
Givn this quite fair, though transient gift's detail
To hone its more exquisite sense in pale
Excuse for being alone, nor that twas thence
Deemed fit cuz twould be yet destroyed (whose sense
Of worth was fragile in sheer truth's betrayl),
But grant me something more, as if for bail,
And say that love will pay for my intents.
Walk through the library amassed as twere;
Yea, listen as my spirit filters through
The tapestry of lines, until in poor
Reply its voice half alters subtly too.
Did I leave innocence behind?  Twas your
Fault who taught me what life is:  loving you.

06Mar15e,f

I don't know what sprouted this mischief, the first 2 lines teased.



(sonnet #MCMLXVIII)


I'll have me fun in solitude as where
No supercilious frown may cast a pall
Upon my gaity, if't must be.  You all,
Who sniff at silliness, can with an air
Of sensible hauteur drink your despair
In prim tea cups, but as for me, grey's shawl
Cast off as t'were, for brief fun, why sip gall
If laughter tickles sans grim reason's glare?
Its in my blood, I think they said, that sense
Of jolly merriment a thread which'd run
From old to young 'mongst relatives, though whence
It came I can't quite guess.  And when 'tis done
I'll sit with you and be too glum, pretense
Of better ways a front.  Don't you have fun??

10Feb13d

Try this!  Another site I rarely visit [long since extinct by 2017], had that weekly challenge and this time it read as follows:

Using the poetic style of your choice, answer the question “Who am I?”, without using the pronoun “I”. Instead, write your “poetic biography” in 3rd person.

Here was my submission....does it make sense?

Yours Truly

(sonnet # CCCCXLVII)


No butterfly, perhaps a moth? just lent
Some precious time to try to fly while night
Reigns, ere the morning dawns.   A reckless wight
E'er chasing carefree; mayhap too, half bent
Unwitting on a troubled course, intent
On fun and happiness whilst grief its plight
Imbues with sob'ring grey, as if t'indict?
Where time's misspent in tracing romance' scent?
"Forgiven" as a blessing daily sought,
Its nameplate hangs for all the world to see.
And if Truth's lessons seeming dearly bought
May mercif'ly be granted taught, 'twill be
A better ending than this vain life's wrought,
If when time's up, it flies, O LORD, to Thee.

07Jan12
D66d
By Jennifer S. Gordon aka Cheeky Missy