contro.Sonnet-71-Do not cry for
the direst clouds,when they by windbound recompense strike,do not pest,when
thou art pilloried by karma,thou shall hear thy survival,when convalescence
bells rings,to graft thee with a scorecard,of the morning bliss once
again,that thou art insulated,from this villest soil, with the bilest hell,if
thou salve thee ebuliently well,then tread carefully,recall not thy wit of
erstwhile hell,for i foretaste thee to repent,that in thy fair flowers,thou
canst counterpoise,stalwarted by heavenly moisture,rejuvenated arcadian
bliss.If binges stink at a furlong,should make thee,ware of dire
consequences,when intent is meshed,with empirisus, rationality is enthroned,O
if thou witness once again its sullen gravity,thou lookest upon thy
gravity,when i peradventure,thou compounded with salacity,witless do,Does
thou with empiricism adores,for where it is transplanted,smarter deeds are
supplanted,and fatal men of errors,belching with comedy of errors,decay and
wanton crest,found fatal ,
found in the city.Not to rehearse,
by memory its forecast of dire consequences,could proof the fatal, lest the
wise become fooler and the fooler ,becomes foolest and chaos fly on the
street,in the sea,in the air and in the land.Froward not benign thee,off thy
ass. Contro.Sonnet-72- Now avoid ridicule,lest men should tast vice,with
shame,what values should thou subscribe to make thee show allegiance,to
them,afterwards of posthumous penitent-pensive tilt,rebuke quirky
camaraderie,at a forlorn mile,neuter their jungle,for in thy grit, thou
cannot by intendment be soiled,when thou art resolved.Unless,thy art so
virtuous spared,thou waiver but abundantly whacked,to do more damage to
dainty passions,on the st.blues.not yet salvaged,from the executioner's noose
and defray plaudits instead,for salacity and boozing,to beguile,what mincing
words would torrently pass.O lest thy time,heart may seem brutish,in that
foul tongue and murky customs,speak guile of thy nature,and self
esteem,interred in thy sloven earth,when
when thou art still fowled and
germed by salacity,And still liveth with a strange creature,in an alien land
neither thee wacky nor thy wacko,as a vulgarian,vulgarises thee canst nebula
doused,shall thy resolve be free.Art thou not fied with lifelong stigma? And
thou should normal trades thy love. Contro.Sonnet--73-That time of
benediction,thou mayest,in thee behold,when fair flowers and sweet roses,or
avalanche or artesian wells do blanket erstwhile slothful soil like a
chilling fog.Upon those mountainous allied pleateaus,which protrudeth against
the valley,dunghill metaphors and hellish sward,Barefaced ridicule
haunted,where flung thy art,was impugned by it,in thee,thou sweetest
revenge,shall be sinew of a remorseful state,the blinking emerald of a new
dawn,long after the sunset of the primrose bank.Which by its direst
clouds,doth take thee asunder,for the contest of intergrity and much
maligned,much evaporated selfesteem,that seals up the greatest battlefield of
mankind, aristamagnetism,In thee,thou
seest the glorious,are captivates
at its wits'end,that quirky gales be of slothful soil,doth blown away.As
glowing fire charcoals,whereon,it stoop,must obey,consumed with bias,with
which it was passionately glowed,this perception thou shouldest not
binge,which maketh thee,an indeterminate human superior,to which,wits end
must be mated with perception. Contro.Sonnet-74-Be thou contented,with
selfesteem,through which thou settest customs and binding practices,when thou
art faced,with below paradigm,ridicule thy bloated potion,fly everewhere thy
legacy.without importunity,thou wouldest not be bailed,from it,and thy life
,a ridicule before thy time.Shower thee,some interest in the reminiscences of
sloven earth and rudderless banks. Still with thee,shalt thou stand,when
reviewest thy sordid past?thou dost recall none,to consecrate thyself,against
impending dooms; for sullen earth cannot be but sullen eath,hidden beneath
quirky pall of vapid idiosycrazies. the by superiory clash of human
species.So,then thou hast
lost thy esteem,to the debris of
the earth,caught in the welters,amidst welshers,villains of unkemptsoil,whose
direst cloud,is symptomatic of sword of damocles pending,and a pint of
ridicule,is in the natureof its conjectured sorcery.Contro.Sonnet-75-O thou
my legatee,inherit,digest and inhale,this paubulum,in a crimson season of
fair flowers,gathered in their lows and prime,barely rot away eternities.In
this tranquility,grim-death shall be supplanted headlong,in a lifelong
voyage.As betwixt,esteem and disrepute,is found in my struggle,not to defray
infection and infected sickos,contaminate of slothful earth,to pilfer thee
away,from treachery,struggling for the most pristine art,then worsted by its
gravest clouds,most times true remorse is by sober reflection,than
extrapolate and exhortation by alien tongue,to hood thy signatory of appended
intent,starved of misdeeds of an obstreperous earth.Save what is reflected
and true remorse is candidly betoken,to care much morethan a hoot,for the
transmogrified art....
06/27/2017 5:38am
or binges in its eternal memory
wither. Contro.Sonnet-76-Why is that refrain,so tedious a bile,for thee to
bear? insofar as dire consequences,its variegated piles of agony,indisposed,
to change? why wit time fret,thou derided? why cherish i still repentance ever
the same and keep that intent in a bustling ado,that every item of pensive
tilt,doth tardier dismayed,exuding their penultimate influences and where
prior,they damage,O salve thy good,remorseful intent,thy ultimate price to
freedom,this wish i did not spare of thee and mine bone of contention,so all
mine intent is drawing thee of arrogance,frugal with penitence to thyself and
to manifold sapien species,for as thou resisteth,to remorse thy spouse,in
both old and new wounds,thou mouldest findeth good mettle,to guilt thyself.
Contro.Sonnet-77-Thy benighted rupture will show thee incurable and moorings
filthy.And thy plunge contemptible,hurled beneath nefarious norms,gullible
imprint,shallowed thy fist.And of this stray of dastardly act,moment......
reprieve,is requisite balm, of
sombre wrinkles,glaring in the face,of mouth's tumour,that disengages glibly
spoken ,of rancourous memoirs,tearing us apart,that thou by sinister intent
,stealth mayest abnegate them,within time's masticating furacious theft of
fate.Hence,we reach a poreless shores and all entangled nets and geniculated
axis,still begging to pay the price of freedom. Look,recall what history says
and tells thee and depart in earnest,from this wasteland laden with
squandermania venoms,of vultures rampaging conquest of mean-less or gilded
shores,And thou with thy nursed progenies,will then salvage,the grueling
hordes and envoys of saturnalia boat,from this blissful ignorance.And this
convalescence,soft as the glow,shall lucrative explore,in compendium,the impecable
whole. Contro.Sonnet-78- Songs Of Adamatine,did Sadomasochist,barely refrain
to tinker."So Oft have they indur'd the stigma for the smeared eaon.And
every delectable damsel,has pelt the nugget and nozzle of my manhood,And
beneath thy
joyance,sandness full.thy holy
eyes,that taught thy youthful days,to dope with same salacity,that thou now
tagged saintly,should be censured,for being haunted with improvidence and
insensate to empathy,twinkled by youthful sinew,how come thou deign,so froth
spined liberty in troth,like an ulster for righteousness,Had grooved turgid
licentiousness,in thy youth,to later transmogrify and days of sacerdotal
engrave leapfrog, And time's aethetical tolerance of clemency,gave so much
grace period,to penitence.Yet,be not ample empathetic of this gracious
gesture,from that which earnestly i inquire from thy household,whose tacky
influence,thou didst gravely exploit for remorse.Art thou not born of the
same crust,that thou mayest bamboozle for penitence? foibles of the mortal
parlor earth,dost take time to mend and arts,with no ebullience,may tardier
gross remorse:for when thou dost penitent tilt,thou art fully remorse,giving
graces,ointment to sigh a good sigh of relief,entrenched from the stigma of
the days of yore
Hence,let entreaty causes thee,to
apply the golden rule,and be as wise as a fool is wise,in the days of
treachery. Contro.Sonnet-79-Whilst loathe i did twinge for thy peculiar
resolve?Mine wonderment versed alone,had all the magical spells of an
expedient censure,from thy foul tongue.But now,my gracious grooves are plumpy
enthralling,to douse thy hackneyed resolve.And my providential treat,doth
give another torch,unleash i therefore,a censure,to sewer thy
traduce,travailing calumny,to cajole thy witless jackdaws and cult of
sadomasochist like his ilks,deserves earnestly also,the applique of golden
rule,to balance uneven equation,yet what of thee, thyself,thy guile,doth
braggart. Thou didst target youthful villainous sinew,when thou didst
rebel,against the holy grail,time lends thee grace and amortise o pawnbrokee
and yet,with the eruption of senility of the bough,thou restless cajole
hapless youth, hence be censured from what belabour,thou didst now
belabour,to impress modesty and chastity,upon the breast..
06/27/2017 8:26am
of swashbuckling youths?And nature
found it a fraud,sour than thy sullen cheeks are,frosty plaudits, heave i
thee,they boisterous sacerdotal......... that frittered away youthful sinew
as days of youth,with same offence.No panygery to thee,as thou didst stink
hell.Then curse not thy stars,but to thee,thou,thy volition and
sensationalism,thy voluptuous bank,that froth thee to err,to bilk.
Contro.Sonnet-80-O i shall not entreat thee,when thou art assymetrically
muse,pouring an equitable traduce,when doth i encroach thy bellyaching navel.
And In that frosty plaudits,thereof fritters away,all thy verve in seeking
adherents and hagiologies,to make thee guilt,laden and tongue tied,but since
thou presumed bulky nuances,wide as the ocean;thy foul tongue earnestly twinges
sullen earth and gooseberries as the bitterest clouds,doth bear its sagging
sail,even with my sordid intendment,far more,superior tact,to thy fabled
wimble upon thy sullen earth,doth perfectly broach subject well.
06/28/2017 2:11am
As minesenility in clamourous
guilt doth unremittingly infects,And refrains this wacko,in the tempest of
direst clouds;not that the frittered dusk,is less nonchallant in thy hone
than when the inglorious guilt did hover impending doom,but that weird
lewdness to the hilts,taunts every bough that rose too late,And songs and
cries in the day and night of a weary womb,lose their torch,to find
thee,therefore like the ambiguous shores,as thou art,will i not hold my
peace,because thy voluptuous bank,shall contend with passing days and passing
night.Contro.Sonnet-113- Behold,what nursery,this illbred garland brings,that
having such a contempt of thy youthful sinew,to show his recklessness,the
baseless dot,gets nowhere,thatthou shouldest,in undissimilar
context,fritterthy youth,with lust!Then,when it hathnature's recompense as a
malediction ! O exonerateexogenous influence,let alone fingers them.Letthy
libido,thy confinest grail,contends that overbearing blunt,that stalks quite
so easily intendment,in struggling times
and during struggles,with thy
innerself, were it not the direful cross of hades,why then the strife and
striving to mend,to elope from the scar of infamous mucky dusk,that was well
known to us?For to no wiles,thy tendons succumb,than of thy subserviency and
humour to mutate;And passion,much vaunted passion than in thine remorse could
penitent morsel by mucilage,bite,thy own naturewit,shows thee not unripe,when
thou art by thy mortal winkle,transmogrify. Contro.Sonnet-114- O unfair
roses,thou can never survive,nor a ridicule this knight of old,for thee,were
been smeared,when first thy gauchy eyes lust'd,a typified obscene
stings,wherein addiction,cannot deny,even doses and overdoses cannot
repel,mustering from its infection,rendered fugitive,selfesteem'sglorious
heirloom,billows upon billows,wobbling,voracious volcano,volleyed with roving
eyes,imrisoned by lust,a hilly mountebank of incestuous ridden inflamation,a
hone have i witnessed,like the perfume of Arabian,burntpersonage,stinks
gluttonously,like a lark
06/28/2017 7:28am
across the board,since first thy
foible,i uncover,which still yet sordid plough,oh yet entanglement doth still
knots,like a tangled bird,brisky for freedom and redemption at hand, so thy
mucky earth,which methinks still doth smears,hath infraction as friction and
thine eye may be obscured,so thy sloven soil for dread of recompense,thou age
with peril that defy insulation,ill bred mucilage,as fodder for burning fire
of karma. Contro.Sonnet-115-Let not mine chaste be dubbed a lethargy,nor my
kindred as a dumbshow,since all mine plea and supplication be,to mammoth
youth of uncanny days persist.Sacred is my chaste now and still a
hotpotato,in a wondrous pool of guilt and trauma,therefore mine chaste to
indefiniteness conform'd,excite ostentations to blot out its mark.
Contro.Sonnet-116-In this benigh,a conjugal bliss of chaste doth lends its
bent above misshap, and chaste is not chaste,which impugns substance to take
effect or bends its metalic sinew,even when altered, o it strays flawed,upon
its taint consumate
and grating blot.It is a dreary
mist to every wanderlust brew whose graphology,untainted beams forth,though
in hideous gram.Time's fury is punitive and a punitive orgy,though rose
cheeks unnerved,within his sinewy contumacity's complexion grumpy: chaste
alters not,with this gruffy ground and superheroic lust,but blankets diffused
for mutation,to the precipice,if this be comedy of errors and upon intent be
proved with retribution,barely i freestand nor no chaste without stanchion.
Contro.Sonnet-117-Be now no more a naughty jerk of grotesquerie,that thou
hast slanted every turn,wherein great chaste maketh a frenetic of a
guttersnipe,do not recall the dearest foul play,whereto all flaws to tie
thee,to guillotine by dusk;that frequency,thy fleeting kismet been modulated
by bent of fairest springs. Contro.Sonnet-118-And given to time to heal thy
fitment mortise,to retreat from customs that thou hast hoisted over direst
clouds and inglorious nights,which should ferry substance for
remorse,furthest plunged from..
farthest plunged from maudlin
shelf,both binges and lust,drowned beneath,And equity quell,thou
prejudice;tally remorse with bandwidth of penitence,bud but do not shoot
weird at thy volition in thy disgusted prowl,since mine pleading is writ to
wit,at thy wit's end,caresses,did i perchance strive,to fizz substance,the
purport and calibration of thy omnifarous chaste. Contro.Sonnet--119-Make thy
engross more keen,with grit as natural flavour,to remorse with
alacrity,palate and tendon instigates,as to boost floodtime and refurbish thy
flotilla,to distend and tame unknown,we retreat to fizzle chaste,when we
err,even so,being froth not unripe,clamourous of never ending contempt,to
belch acrimonious seasons,did i enthuse mine unfair girth,And a sick
patient,that pleads no entreaty,brew lethiferous potion of pitfall,to be
flinty ire that there was viable,thus tenets in chaste and chaste-bashing
commerce,to anticipate foibles,of foul play unborn,i,of checkered intense
peccadiloes,grew to treasonable venom......
And with such scorecard,by
annals,trickles down with sledge hammer on anvil,unfair roses,which flung
vile upon vile,abashed by ailment ,creases be,But then true pedagogy dreads
everything in scandals,a potion that so fell sick of manhood.
Contro.Sonnet-120- Were you not once,countless times chaste repellent,to
befriend mediocrity at thy spring?And for that impalement,thou vilest rabid
with kamikaze frankestein,to spite axiom that neccessity is the mother of
invention,unless thy nerves were brass,penitence thou distilleth not,at thy
ferrule,for if thou were by precarious unmoved,as i reproof thy mused despot
and pariah stance as a nation,have more relief and sigh to heave.To plow,how
once a terrain,wherein i was suffocated,in thy oblivion,that our dread of gales,unknown
might have subside,mine ignoblest wit,how hard postulate pomp,And so,soon to
you,as thy guile crimson,twice times a decipher,fugitive bossom of the
grovelling bandwagon jumpers,poisoned humble salve,Over thy prance,shouldest
thou prate,and thy
noisome wacko of pandora box,as
thy wit and satire be enamoured beyond omnibus sorts. Contro.Sonnet-121-Tis
better to know,impatience is vile and king of viles esteem'd.And to resist
reproof,thus overwhelmed deign,to censure incivility,not by garnished lust,but
by furtive poise poignant winces,Give trepidation to thy beguiling sport? Or
its requiems,why are they many times sung in vain,which in their
renege,volcanoic eruption of pandora box-incivility,dismantle what i dispose
. None excruciating on purport,am i not a bridge builder,that i am and they
fleas,in a fleabite at that strand ,must earnestly depart,At mine affront,thy
alert tendon-stimulating,mortifying and mutilating,immersed may be
poignant,though they themselves(erroneous youths inferred),dissuade remorse,By
their quirky corpus,fiendish bandwagons,doth barely spare,unless this
dickenish penultimate antecedence,and all men are vile in their art and
misdemeanour is not immuned from a typified corpus of wights and mucky
cheeks,garnished by lust......
Contro.Sonnet-122-Thy foibles,thy
crucibles,are within mine tempest boulder,undazzled,edified with befitting
love,which slings above that inclemency,stinking froth abide beyond ignoble
frequency,beyond omni-vantages,even walkie-talkied by its frequency modulation
of fugacity,Or so,to much aversion,so long and sturdy as the fastened
belt,and he marbled with rotund wit,by severity to apprehend;till a morsel of
the impiety,calf its malaise,thy ignoble reputation,never for once,can be
equalled.That parquet of pariah osmosis,could not but arouse its momentum,nor
efflux thy grit and oleaginous thresh of desideratum.therefore to show
penitence avidly,was i with unslackened fortitude,boiled forth, to thirst
remorse in thy bone marrow,libate them,to keep away from vices and garner
restitution of insolvent esteem.
06/28/2017 11:53pm
Contro.Sonnet-123- Refrain but no
guile,that thoushalt not be stained,in that which thou doeth.
Tentacles,vintage circa diffused with the freshest lewd,barely
wanes,methinks, are sordid past still hauting,noneless to scorn they are
sting,but arediffusions of novel ailments,enticed by dreary dolts and also
perverts of an incarcerated but fathom of an imprisoned ego.Our fate are
multipronged and differ and thus,we are whatwe choose to be.What thou
dostmortify upon thy navel that is salacity,And rather make thee,apalling
fastened to a deathknell thanremorse,that can be nurtured ,haveenslaved
thee,thy subconscious ego,and thee thyself both mortify by ill bred
gangrene,nowa wanderlust at thy vicinage,northy motherland eulogised,for
evidence is the taste of judgement,wedoth lie,with facts,fabricated byscorn
of chastity and votiveplummeted and this shall ever notsworn,not to miss.I
will be chaste at thy goofy neck,and chaste's scythe,shall not be unsword'd.Indeed,
Chaste Is a censure and a ridicule of reckless art.
Contro.Sonnet-124-If mine taste
turns stale,dread chaste,by mine kid,a stain and desecrate abstain,it might
for exemplification's cascade be a mirage,As subconsciously subject to
chaste's hatred,weeds upon weeds,shall they grow,it was by accident,an
evasive craft;it hurls into open contempt,nor a recess from scorn'st
scorn,obtains by neath of its enthralling enthralment unsubdued,whereto,the
passion for golden fleece,is bartered for salacity,it dreads not penitence
that strangulate which emasculates,by artistic freewills of sicky psyche,but
alone fastened with no anchor.That it burgeons nor swells with chance,nor
heat doused,to this i summon the fools to learn from fools,which dye and dice
cast upon the wise to beware of their footsteps and inundated propinquity.
Contro.Sonnet-125- Were caught
Were they not caught,in shreds
torn apart by its tentacle,with thyself esteem,immolate palmiferousely or
hood not conformed to vanity,which impost much more,with chide, than with
haste.Have i not witnessed the impolitics on the rampage and impanel its
malaise?Binges strut omnipotence,and frounced by reverence to ado,are impaled
for compound substerfuge,engrossing guiltless frivolities and pathetic banks and
fruitless rivers,in their womb dismayed?Now,let Me with this knight of old,be
frank with you,And take thou my siblings,froward but freethinking,being
furiously hotchpotched with artlessness,but mutual mockery and uncanny
art,still mere interference,maketh thee much more a brute,Hence,a scorned
street urchins,a truant of justice,impeached by salacity and drowned on the
high seas. Contro.Sonnet-126- O fret boy,but not in the wraith of
licentiousness,who in thy gravity,dost not hold renege,his fastened pandora
box-sword,not sheated,who hast by impenitence,grown stiff necked,thy
afficionados creeping,as thy
stinking self grow,if retribution
by its commonwealth arbitration,that is flung over ubiquity,as thou goest gnd
growest raptured,still its blanket,spareth not thee.Improvidence maketh not
thee,the spirit of retribution forgives,for she keeps to her verdict,with the
tricks of time,disdain,not the grandmaster with the frittered youth,but not
so,in the vagabond spirit of blissful ignorance,tear apart thy amplitude of
youthful exuberance,that thou shouldest not censure thy grittled bars of
lever. Contro.Sonnet-127-Character soars and swears more than words and
accents,even though, it is the intent of the former,O If it were otherwise a
mere wind wile,it bore theantecedence,afterward of its ostentatious
shortputter;But now chaste's sacred ignition,libidinous, And sateand state
smeared with impropriety expunge for,since,a per capital taint,hath i piqued
mortal guise's splendiferous poise,plunging beneath selfesteem and plethora
of artlessness's infection,spontaneous scold,hath no time&finis,no
bespoke,but ........
is unleashed,if not gangrene
smotes,in an aplomb vomit.Therefore,thy Misty eyes are ravenous
coccoon,smothered by its beguiling sport and ubiquitously,they freak,Sewn
with the same hewn,at such morbidity,who will now relish the equal share of
the retributive justice?And chaste frittered at thy beckoning,is likened to
thy false esteem's cankerworm weevils,Yet,they so bewails,when every verdict
returns in isolation and equal proportion"Grandmaster Paused glibly garb
and the deuteragonist,nigh gooseberies,fired anew his contemplative salvo.
Contro.Sonnet-128-'How oft,when thou catch time,thou canst play as
Daniel,upon thy ignoble den,whose potion sours,with hemlock of despair,when
thou feed'st acrimony,that thinesinecured image,contend.Do i seduce,those
jerks that wimble evenly on a balanced equation sordid cheeks,to kiss the
primrose bank of thy sullen feet,whilst mine poor retentive memory which
should that reflect,hath longuer.At the tardy feet of venom's emasculating
torch,blanding vanguard.To be so tinged
,they spot and sport their
identity, and commiserate barely,with the fading feet, o'er whom thy sharp
breath,adorns its genteel's lurk,making ignominous strides,more bless'd than
a scoundrel remorse,since ignoble jerks and porks in the porky pie,so
blissful hearted in plenitude,ostracise thy volant precipice,to chart a
lonely furrows. Contro.Sonnet-129-Chaste spanking in a wimble of lutarious
impairment,fame's glory,for every action and infamous ados is nothing but the
ignoble dalliance of the tainted glut.how inconsiderate for the spirit of
chaste to be wacko-ed by intemperate clowns still bilked by salacious
gangrene but piety to chaste impaired,demented by gregarious chants and
obsessed to his ilks.All scold scorned by purport,pleat ire at flight,before
dusk,heavenly bliss and self esteem rectitude ,yet none discredited,to shun
machiavellian ilks that leads men to tribulate ,is a proposed paradise,yet
unseen. Contro.Sonnet-130-Thy misty eyes spangled,blotted out of
vista,mistiness is far more crimson....
06/29/2017 5:00am
than thy lever or rudder,if vice
be white,why then its chaste refrain and if vale be thy above,its mound
,piles of viles crease on thy navel and marrow,Have i not been deserted by
fair roses and lampooned by idiopathy,that a forlorn mile,retreats out of
scorn,wherein there exert mere delight than in the nuttied and nutcased
breath of an alien,i scorn not chaste whatsoever,yet to comply and concur
that humus,hath in the moult,far more impetuous to breed remorse,a lease of
art,goddess of wrath never regret,mine foible,when trods tread on thin
air,tis vanishing point,And yet heavenly moisture,i crave my love ,a
guerdon,As any ignoble,she lamented her fate with obscurity.
Contro.Sonnet.-131- Wiles of art
are despotic groom of its hanker,As these wiles whose seduction,inertia
maketh a reproof,not downright feasible,for craft thou knowest it to be
crafty amidst unfairest spring of doting infiltrate,thou art fairest when
thou by humus moult spirited and infernal expurgate. Yet,in good chaste
brokered, when betoken by thy lusty mirage,hath no rudder to indure,to scoop
and feed from the avalanche of the grandmaster's artesian wells, Although,
Mean spirited folks,may stain like weevils,candid art brewery smouldered a
million perils but thou shouldest not defy voluptuous banks,shalt thou not
know sedentary garb on thy sinewy encroaches,to witness crumbling buffet,thy
chaste bigotry,is quite sordid plough,in a beguiling sport,thy judgement,a
brittle fray,in nothing but meanspirited ilks art thou humus
moult,refrain,And then this calumny,upon thy personage,infallibly disposes.
Contro.Sonnet-132-Thine scornful eyes,loathe i and they as a disdain,goonish
ponderous with contempt,that
baste and bruise remorse, have
held in captive,pompous cheeks and craving a dissident ilks,fastened with
plangent rot,upon my wheedle. And verily not the heavenly moisture of
penitence,by barter,turns the unfair roses of the saturnalia boat,nor that
iota of acatalectic binges,that unctuous in this rot,doth hath the resolve to
exile plenitude of penitence,As those vengeful thoughts,clamour
moults-refrain: a soul weather beaten, o let it not retreat, o spirit,let it
not abscond,to whack for selfesteem,given that thou knoweth apoplexy,doth
thee bringeth disgrace, at full blast,And suitors,thy bay vamoose.Then,will
thou swear some orgy of penitence herself,is a virtue,not to be forlorned at
thy tilt,And all nebula,girth beneath nefarious complexion,relinquished
impromptu. Contro.Sonnet-133- Bestrouded With beer money,rampaging with bell
boys,pouncing on geisha girls and nocturnal strippers for the smeared
votary,and it gives youth a ridicule,with the scar of inglorious hood !
06/29/2017 9:25am
Isn't it good to avoid trauma of
fiercer nebula and yonder heights but smother,to hush thy direst clouds
assailed?Groove am i of old sentinel,hath winnowed misty cheeks and mine
patent self,thou dost not slander to forlorn;Of this patent self,thinself at
thy bosom growl not forsaken,a conscientious and a capacious consumate thrice
fairer and thrice fortified than ours sedulousness and shadow throws,be not
thy brow imprisoned,in thy weakling's sinew,that thou mayest not lunge.But
then fretwaters' musketeering,let thy artlessness,velvet greases
along:whoever plunges beneath,let insipience volatile be the golden
fleece:thou canst not then mensrea,nope with trojan horse ,growl st.blues
queer street:And yet thou writ nutcase;for i being harry as histrionic harp,pent
up cartharsis,perforce disgruntle hobble, and all that is thee,thy guerdon
unassailed. Contro.Sonnet-134-And so oft now,have thou been bing'd,that he is
inextricably addicted,And writ i,as i am myself,wit to appendthy hill
dismay'd.Thyself entangled
in thy befuddl'd state,that wit to
forlorn,not shrouded,thou wilt equipoise find a space,to be thy frenetic
plunge still:But refrain,wilt not these pulses seek,nor wilt thou baste
thyself convincingly ahead:for thou art ravenous of binging pandora;Be erudite,but
pastime is not disguised from the face of the labourer,serfdom that binds
thee binds thee earnest as discreet doth unfold thy blindness,the parapet of
bibliomaniasis,thou wilt not elope,from thy graveyard epitaph,thou infidel
that bungled and frittered omnifarious grit,wherewithal at remorse.And guilt
a stranger,came later,as a frequent visitor,for thy moult,so thyself,nature
loses atdusk.Impenitent soul,inflamatory ,have i booed,thouhast both sides of
the divide:Hepays not penitence,withremorse,he pays not remorse with
impenitence,and yet earnestly craves to be master of remorse and declined a
master of freedom.'Now,majestic old grey beard,barely decipher spanking
youthful wiles,trembled and corroded his contrite feet of clay ,contused
bycontretemps
wherein deuteragonist thrash
halted. Contro.Sonnet-135-'Whoeve hath aspersion,thou hast thy vein to
espionage,on thyself and elsewhere.And prejudice to unbundle lust and
willpower politics sulky pouts in satiety;more than passionate are thou to
damper,damp squib and daffy, dances to thy direst clouds will karma,not
merely discredit.Wilt thou whose scorn is amplitude and commodious,not once
to aptly condescend to remorse ineptitude,hidden in thine scorn?Shall not
bonafide be to scold others,at the romp of senile bough,And in thy chaste
retreat ,thou a reprobate,a renegade art mingled with fair roses?Nature
stirreth at herself refutes thee entreaties,And in gullibility,grabbeth
follies,So thou ,being sloven plough into the unfairest plunge,One in thy
lunge,as lounge lizard,to make stale further still,will more sordid plough
befuddl'd,think of beguiling sport and thy gravest consequences
distendeth,harrowing dunghill.
wherein deuteragonist 's diatribal
thrash halted. Contro.Sonnet-135-'Whoever hath aspersion,thou hast thy vein
to espionage,on thyself and elsewhere.And prejudice to unbundle lust and
willpower politics sulky pouts in satiety;more than passionate are thou to
damper,damp squib and daffy, dances to thy direst clouds will karma,not
merely discredit.Wilt thou whose scorn is amplitude and commodious,not once
to aptly condescend to remorse ineptitude,hidden in thine scorn?Shall not
bonafide be to scold others,at the romp of senile bough,And in thy chaste
retreat ,thou a reprobate,a renegade art mingled with fair roses?Nature
stirreth at herself refutes thee entreaties,And in gullibility,grabbeth
follies,So thou ,being sloven plough into the unfairest plunge,One in thy
lunge,as lounge lizard,to make stale further still,will more sordid plough
befuddl'd,think of beguiling sport and thy gravest consequences
distendeth,harrowing dunghill.
Contro.Sonnet-136-If thy soul,
chaste vomits in thee,i come so far,chaste to thy blind art,that i was
enjoin'd to mend,And mendest so soonest to uncult the foul play farthest afield,thy
doses and overdoses knoweth no atrophy: thus scold my weather beaten-chaste
damndest accomplish.Remorse will ornate penitence,even as chaste will ornate
remorse of thy misty cheeks,this mortal treaty with nature,cannot be
impugned,as edict of transmogrify.Enraptured with motive,to re-engrave
selfesteem and time well spent,reckoned from the empirisus of
grandmaster,then in the weevils and throe,let verdict triggers its
gavel.Though in thine nissus,fiasco jerked the mainframe; for nothing bar the
gritty earth,from golden fleece,and so,it pleadeth thee,to dwell,make but thy
fastening hook,thy bonemarrow afford,and unflinching still fretwaters
salivate,And thou havest,that which thou dost have' And thus the old
greybeard antagonist's antagonism,a fairer bloke,scissored from the
genteelity of the gooseberies thus anew began.....
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