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Four Sonnets
by Terry Brinkman



Sonnet CLXXV


Vamp of her stockings wet with Gin

Like a cat sitting beyond a dog’s cajole

Woeful lunatic turned up trousers control

Pale silent sent of urine from her skin

Whistling sewage sounds from her Violin

Cotton-Ball Barons on breath patrol

Weasel rats mocking twelve times around the Maypole

Cough balls of laughter coming from Berlin

The King’s Foot and Mouth desired plot

She said over her shoulder wearing a Blindfold

Singing alone, dancing alone, with a Robot

Gloaming gray Keyboard player is too old

Moon mid-watcher sitting in a squat

Ghost woman in rich silk stockings being a Centerfold




a line, (a short blue one)





Tantalizing for the rich began to laugh

Whores in Turkish grave yard road

Keyed up spice of pleasure mode

Like where both ends meet our staff

Standing, sitting or kneeling polygraph

Very neat oblong trim grass mowed

Poppies gives new life to toad

She held the stone vacant smile calf

Answered in a low voice puzzling now

Drunk as the house speaker as she passed the rock

Traipsing about the fog milking the cow

Foggy evening vacant smile lock

Soil would be guilty turning green disavow

Her two keys mingle in the bottom of the crock




a line, (a short blue one)





She’s a chip off the old block Miss Abby

Pulled from her vest pocket a crushed Cabot

Admonishing sternly refused to eat jackrabbit

Went into the inner office cabinetry

She thrust the sheets back for her Tabby

Live to see it sack of toy Hobbits

Patter down rumen fellaheen jackrabbit

Cradle of bulrushes shell-fish swan shabby

Outspanned spectacles trembling hand cable

Chouteau haughtiness from heart of stone Saber

Creaking double quick bonnet table

Toiling passing team of horses tabor

Her eyes be-naught themselves unstable

Held cigarette poised to hear Miss Weber




a line, (a short blue one)





Passionate brunette poetry at her house

Boston Times Ten Shillings a shine

Steams of Irish coffee was my decline

Her rumpled stockings fell over the mouse

Like a burr sticking under her blouse

Sun was nearing the steeple of the church at nine

Midnight is my time to walk among the pine

Last glow of fleeting day to enter the outhouse

Drinking bottleneck steams of coffee

The ghost candle was lit over the bread

Tung of a toad speaking fluent bee

Wine dark sea makes a Violet star bed

Coffee from condensed milk cans for free

Fast fading under the railway bridge dead



a line, (a blue one)


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