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
Sonnet CCCLXII
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
Sonnet CCCLXVI
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
Sonnet CCCXXXII
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
