In Which I Speculate On Causality

A victory for our Team U.S.A.

Another one for England; wait, there's more:

The grand release of George Hrab's Trebuchet,

The waking of the Cloverleaf beast, or

Paul Laroquod's titanic struggles with

His crummy RSS feed reader and

Some buggy LamdaMOO verbs, or a fifth

And stranger cause: those vuvuzelas. Land

Is sensitive to their vibrations, too,

I have no doubt. Perhaps, though, it was all

Of these, mayhap some odder causes (true:

These all are pretty weird already; call

Me crazy if you wish) did cause to shake

The ground beneath the shield: CanadaQuake.

In Which I Outsmart Myself

Shift trading is a nice thing, quite a perk.
Such practice is how I made Balticon,
And shall make other trips this year. Shift work
Does have its benefits, but look upon
My error on this morning and beware!
Right now my workday really starts at nine,
But she who traded with me, who did share
A need to tweak a schedule. Unlike mine,
Her workday starts much earlier, I knew,
But last night I convinced myself that I
Should be there right at five. That's what I do!
Arriving, my surprised colleagues weren't shy.
"Six thirty's when you're needed," quoth they then.
I sighed and pedaled off, fooled once again.

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Shamelessly Shill For My Friends (And Wish A Belated Happy Birthday)

He's full of it, and newly twenty-one,
Brent Weichsel, and he's ready to unleash
Filmmaking fury on us ere he's done.
His birthday yesterday, today's release
Of Sigler's newest book seems poised to stretch
His celebrations further. Have a look:
Brent's entry in Scott's contest ought to fetch
Him much attention. As for this new book,
I'm psyched as hell to get it. Want it NOW!
Meanwhile, wish Brent belated birthday love.
I'm sure he's quite hung over, bleary eyed,
And wond'ring what that yellow thing above
Him thinks it must avenge on him. Don't hide,
Dear Brent; it's just the sun. Now seize the day,
And may more viewings soon be on their way!

In Which I Channel My Inner Sangamon Taylor For A Moment

I'm mighty but there's really just so much
A woman on a bicycle can do.
This afternoon was an example such
As we may rarely see. I needed through
A busy surface street -- the Greenway's not
Entirely discrete from auto routes --
And it was one thick stream of cars, a lot
More, driving faster than typically suits
A jaywalker's or cyclist's need to slip
Across. While waiting, sev'ral cranky cars
Lined up behind me, honking. I'd have flipt
A gesture but I saw my chance (not ours),
Stared down a biddy, pulled a Sangamon.
She stopped for me but then roared blithely on.

In Which I Take A Stroll Down Empire Avenue

I cannot yet decide if it's a toy
Or a new thing that might just change the world,
This Empire Avenue. I do take joy
In checking out new projects as unfurled.
With thanks to David Forbes, whose stock I own,
For bringing this to my attention, I
Have dipped my toe in these waters unknown.
And if you are already there, please buy
Some stock in me, the Sonnet Queen; let's see
If in this day and age the market cares
For ventures such as mine, in poetry.
'Tis not real cash you're parting with for shares,
You know. Influence peddling can be fun,
Or so they say. We'll see when all is done...

In Which My Preliminary Reaction To A Popular New Book Makes Me Queasy

TV has soaked up free time, it is true,
But I am nervous as I start to read
Clay Shirky's newest tome. I tend to view
New books with generosity but need
To ponder this. It's not that this book's bad;
His own excitement that we can do more
Than sit there now, alone and watching, sad,
Unworthy of our heritage, is, for
A moment quite contagious, but then he
Goes on to cheer how our free time could hence
Be harnessed for collective projects -- see,
That's great, until that view gets too intense
And I'm reviled should I choose not to play
As I'm expected to, a given day.


Epmire Avenue EAVB_JRYBRYMDIN

In Which Group C Sure Do Love To Draw

Nine games so far have ended in a draw
In this World Cup 2010. The most
Have been in one group. Has there been a flaw
Exposed in planning? No: too soon to roast
The FIFA body, though the referees
Are cruising for a scolding. Ever thus
Goes sport. 'Tis why I usually say "Please,
Just count me out" when someone makes a fuss
About a chance to watch it. This is my
One great exception. Though so far it's not
Too pulse-pounding -- Oh look, another tie!
Group C is not the only one we've got.
Tomorrow, Ghana and the Socceroos
Or other matches may yet chase my blues.

The Interstellar Feller: In Which Escape Plans Are Sidetracked (And Chickens Are Brown, As Are The Cows)

Sonneteer's note: this is the latest installment of an on-going sonnet serial, Pepito Mojito: The Interstellar Feller. New readers can get up to speed by clicking on the "Interstellar Feller" tag below to bring up all installments. Start at the bottom and read your way up to today's...

Tribruno is no fool; part of his plan
Was that the ladies fair and old would make
Attempt at an escape. This martial man
Has posted guards outside. But his mistake
Was grave indeed: no cotton stops their ears!
And as they seize Yectara, she just purrs
"How long's it been since you've been lovers? Years?"
The guards soon lost in kisses, she and hers
Can slip right by, though she cannot resist
The impulse to join in a while. Still plugged
Into the ship's controls, her moans enlist
The ship entire in her pursuits. Like drugged
And frenzied fiends, the complement all soon
Are likewise overcome. A shipwide swoon!

In Which I Give My Inner Ahab Free Reign

Cetaceans once were of my great concern,
In first grade when my good friend, Monica,
And I sought out a worthy cause to earn
Some merit as Girl Scouts or something. Uh,
But that was long ago, and while I still
Don't dig the whaling industry, I find
That sometimes I would not regard as ill
The feel of a harpoon in my hand. Mind,
The whale that I would hunt swims not the seas
Of Earth, but of the internet. The sight
Of this behemoth's guaranteed to tease
The gentlest soul with ev'ry urge to fight
That nestles yet within our seething brains.
I'd really love to share with it my pains.

In Which A Reel Mower Inspires Other Ruminations

The cult of human power has in thrall

Your humble sonneteer, as you well know

Who read this blog. So nobody should call

Suprise the news that she doth choose to mow

The grass and weeds that fill and choke her yard

With something she must push herself. She feels

Most virtuous; no fossil fuels, just hard

And sweaty work from her own body, wheels

And whirring blades accomplish what she must

To keep her neighbors friendly. Thus the sun,

Provides her all the power needed, just

As it could do for most of us if one

Of these plans could be worked up, put in place.

To hell with oil; our future's up in space!

In Which I Try Not To Fry

So cloudless, clear, with nothing but contrails
To blemish all that blue -- it's fine, but fierce.
A searing sun at altitude ne'er fails
To pin me to the pavement. How the pierce
Of rays so pitiless doth wound; I wince
To think of it, well knowing that the thick
And sticky layer of sunscreen I've long since
Applied will not avail me much. I kick
And pedal powerfully for cover. Can
I make it much more quickly to the shade
Than I would were it raining? I don't tan
But burn, quite badly; it does not soon fade,
The pain or redness. Pale and weak am I,
Who scuttles, scared, beneath the scorching sky.

In Which I Enjoy A Rainy Bike Commute

"I get a buzz from being cold and wet,"
Pete Townsend sings, and I can but agree.
How else explain the soaking that I get
When on a rainy day, I choose to be
A bike commuter. While the cars slow down,
Their windshields fogged and blurred, their drivers mad,
I speed on down the Greenway, love my town
For giving me this back route. Bits are bad,
I will not lie; the tunnels 'neath Dell Range
Are flooded and detours I have to make
Force me to deal with angry drivers. Change
Is good for me, though; just means I must take
Some extra care. Meanwhile the water pours
And I soar blithely through the great outdoors.

In Which MacBots Are Brought Together By Another MacBot

How Mac would love to witness what occurred
Today In Cambridge, when two of his friends
Who'd never met before somehow were spurred
To come together through something which transcends
A normal way of meeting. One's Tweetdeck
Was running, and, since I've tweeted a lot
Today, my photo -- really just a speck,
A thumbnail! -- showed up there; another got
The shock of recognition -- hey, that's Kate! --
And felt at home that way. And now they've met,
TransAlchemy and BlazingBetta. Great!
HumanityPlus now can only get
More awesome with them meeting there. I find
I'm jealous, though I'm there within my mind.

In Which I Ponder Strange Group Behavior And Posit A Possible Cause

We know that parasites can make us dumb:

For instance, snails who host this one flat worm

(Leucochloridium paradoxum)

Grow fat antennae, colorful, that squirm

Just like a caterpillar, so a bird

Will snap it up and thus wind up a host

To yet another cycle in the life

Of this odd creature. Humans, too, can boast

Of something just as strange. We cease our strife

With one another at odd intervals

To chase a black and white ball round a field

Or watch as others do it. How this pulls

Us from our other pleasures just might yield

A scientific paper, someday, fore

Some xenoanthropologists. Oh, score!

In Which I Choose The Perfect Time To Catch Up On Freakangels

Webcomics do amaze; variety
Of type, content and talent, it's all there.
But of them one will e'er stand out for me:
Freakangels! I've been tearing out my hair
Just knowing I had gotten so behind
That it would take a day to catch up. So,
Today seeming a perfect day, I find,
To do something my birthday boy would go
Quite crazy for, I went back to the start
And read up to the present! One great dose --
Exhilaration! O, bestill my heart,
Especially where the story's gone! I'm close
To screaming right out loud, though I am still
Down at the day gig. I must mute my thrill.