In Which I Try To Stay Positive In the Face Of Unfairness

Life's short, so grab your nearest love, for me
And hold him tightly for a moment; say
All that you should (same goes if it's a she)
Ere darkness falls and closes out this day.
Not ev'ryone today is going to lose
That last chance, but we never know until
It's far too late. Therefore it's best to choose
To lead on with your heart, suppress the will
To self-defense. Far better risk the hurt
Of some misunderstanding or rebuff
Of your short, deeply honest, silly blurt,
Than to regret you never said enough.
Too short a time amongst us, Kenny; I
Was really not prepared to say good-bye.

On Waiting For Another Film At The Lightbox

The theatre fills up and people chat
With strangers, seatmates, friends, all movie fans
Bright-eyed and eager, always hoping that
The best is yet to come, that well-laid plans
Made poring o'er the website weeks ago
Won't lead to disappointment now. The risk
Of duds is always there; lo, to our woe
We have encountered two so far. Paul's brisk
To point out that more wonders have we seen
Than pointless staring wank-fests. This is true!
And this is why my interest still is keen
As I wait for the lights to dim, a few
Announcements, pre-film snippets, then the start
Of something yet unknown. Be still, my heart!


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

In Which I Can Only Say Wow

There's nothing like disaster-time to teach
Who's in my corner, how I have been blessed
With friends as true as e'er there were. And each
Kept me far from despair throughout. My quest
Henceforth is to deserve them. Pardon me;
Particulate invasion of my eyes
Afflicts me once again. How can it be
That trouble turns to joy so fast? Surprise!
Dross can be turned to gold; the magic's there
Just waiting to be tapped. And now my hope
Is that I'll somehow prove this. To be fair
I know my luck's been good beyond my scope,
So even when it's bad some alchemist
Transforms it. I can't be alone in this...?

In Which I Attempt What My Spiritual Forefather Could Not

The Bard's regrets and melancholy stir
Me 'crossed the centuries; ne'er could he pen
A paen to a creature without fur
Or feathers, at whose sight he might have been
Moved to his greatest poesy: I name
None other than Velociraptor, that
Most swift and vicious predator, whose fame
Reached not to Shakespeare's time. Speak not of cat,
Unless it's cheetah, and speak not of snake
Unless it be a rattler -- nay, its noise
Disqualifies it, too. O hours awake
As I have pondered on the subtle joys
Of contemplating this iambic beast
Do yield naught to me, but here's this at least.

- Dared by ye Wenche of Sauce

In Which I Offer To E-Sign Your E-Books

A book is lovely, lovelier when signed
By he or she who wrote it, but now we
Have ebooks, and for this they're much maligned:
They're hard to autograph, but now we see
(While waiting for Paul Cooley's MyWrite app)
That someone's tried to fix this problem, made
This program: Kindlegraphs. So give a clap,
Mayhap a cheer. As yet, though, I'm afraid
That only Twitter users can request
Inscriptions. Still, as things go, it's a start!
So now it's up to you: please be my guest
And ask for one on my book if your heart
Desires such. And meanwhile, watch this space
For news of paperbacks, anon, apace!

In Which Ants Show Their Colors And We Are Most Pleased

The insect world is full of wonders, true,
And beauty, and of things so passing strange
As make us wonder who is fooling who
(I know that should be "whom" but I must change
The case to fit the rhyme scheme sometimes). Take
These ants, who show we all are what we eat.
Three cheers to Dr. Babu (I can't make
A name like that up!), for his passing sweet
Idea to show their abdomens take on
The colors of their food, and also bring
Some loveliness to all of us. I'll fawn
O'er these great images until something
As pretty catches my attention - though
'Twill have to be a marvel, even so!

Green Wake: In Which I'll Visit But I Would Not Want To Live There

Green Wake is where I would not want to be.
Is it a town, or just a spot in hell?
Whatever, it is surely not for me.
That's not to say I won't just set a spell
And peek in on its doings - and I can
Through comics, which is really just as close
As I would like to get. No, Wiebe's your man.
He went there so we don't have to. A dose
Of god-knows-what, and he and Rossmo bring
Us news of that most dark, unpleasant place,
Where anyone, and nearly anything
May be a future frog, where any space
May melt you into nightmare forms, destroyed
By your own guilts and sorrows from the void.

In Which @Bug_Girl And Her Camera Make Me Smile

Bug Girl hath learned today: it does not take
Too great an effort to earn a hoorah
From me; indeed all it took for to make
My day, to make me smile, to send my jaw
A-plummeting toward my chest was this:
A snapshot from her garden -- but not just
A plain old plant shot, no, for that's to miss
All buttons on my keyboard. No, you must
Provide me with some insect porn if you
Would seek my fond devotion. And, what's more
While a Manduca's always welcome, due
To my weird standards, braconids will score
Much higher on my charts. And here are both
In one shot. Here's to those coccoons' quick growth!

In Which Is Born A Strange Dynamic

There's grass in our backyard now! Doggies dream

Of such things, when of such they've been deprived --

Well most dogs, anyway. D'ja hear that scream?
"Eek! Grass!" quoth mine own collie. I've not jived

You there, I do assure you. When I go

Outside to sit and watch the sprinkler keep

The sod moist, does she join me? Mostly no.

Indeed, her mistrust seems to run so deep

That when her loneliness sets her to choose

To seek my company, she gives a scratch

Upon the backdoor -- but alas, you'd lose

The bet that she is coming out. The catch

Is that she wants me there indoors instead.

Politely I refuse. She bows her head.

In Which I Guess I'm Progressing Nicely

I'm in the anger phase again, I guess.
That phase where I just want to tear my hair,
Lash out and tell the world to f*ck off. Yes,
I'm mad I've lost another friend, don't care
If I hurt feelings, even if it's one
Who lost him, too. How lucky, then, that I
Share space with no such person. Ah, such fun
To cry within a cubicle. Nearby?
Banality and pointlessness all reign.
I'm trapped amongst it, teeth grinding in rage
For one more hour, then home to nurse my pain
In silence and in solitude. This age
Of distant loves and close connections brings
Sublimity, but also horrid things.

In Which I Ponder A Strange, Sad Phenomenon

To miss someone one's known online is strange.
There's still a hole, but he's been fossilized.
His stream just stops, and will not ever change,
But doesn't ever leave, I've realized.
The film's stopped on one frame. We may rewind
Quite at our leisure, easily relive
What won our love originally, find
New things, too, that he alone did have to give.
Mac's tweets are still up; so are Lethe's; both blogs
Have been preserved, and Max's, too, live on,
As shrines or data ghosts, as catalogs
Of what each man has shared. The men are gone,
And no new chapters shall be written, yet
Their echoes do not fade 'mongst those they've met.

In Which I Try To Say Good-Bye To Max Bell

I knew the day would come when we would reach
For our friend Max, and he would not be there.
That day has come, it seems, and now we each
Must find the words -- they're all we have to share.
I've braced myself to feel his absence, yet
E'en so, I was not ready. It's a cheat.
I can't recall what we last spoke of, bet
'Twas something mordant, funny, even sweet
(For, snarky though he often was, his heart
Dictated kindness, even when the dumb
Just burned). I'll deeply miss him, for my part --
Or will when I am over feeling numb
And empty. Ev'ry day's a touch more dim
And more so now, with no comment from him.

In Which I Have Said "Sod It"

My future backyard threatened to dry out

While sitting on its pallets through the morn.

I eyed it there and failed to stifle doubt

And heaped upon myself no little scorn.

I should have womaned up and planted seed

According to my first plan, but the toil

That job was obviously going to need

Was more than I could do alone. The soil

I'd readied was already sprouting crap

Much faster than I could spade over it.

I'd fallen into a homeowner trap

From which I'd not escape, so I said, "Spit!

And sod this; suck it up and call the pros.

It's only money, right?" And so it goes.

Spotted on Google Plus

I think I need this stencil, though perhaps

I must needs change this up a tiny bit.

Since I'm a girl, I should salute the chaps.

The chaps love sonnets, too, I've proof of it.

You think Mac Tonnies loved me for my face?

That Ommus gave me work because my tweets

Brimmed o'er with wisdom? That I found a place

On Mr. Hrab's great podcast 'cause I meets

His standards with my prose? No, sirrah, no.

Iambic pentamistressing's the way

I find to win the hearts of men, turn foe

To friend, and friend to sweetheart (well, I'll say

I hope that last is true at some point). Let

The sonnet bells toll loud for those I've met!

In Which I Agree With South Park Children About Summer

The stupid sun just blazes in the sky
And I'm too close to it, here in Cheyenne,
Though I'd be closer back at home. It's dry,
But lo, it burns like napalm when it can.
When waves of it are visible, and when
The wind forgets to blow, when e'en the birds
Tweet less, I think of all the times I've been
Prostrated by the summer time. No words
Can e'er convey my sunburn's pain; no balm
Can comfort it, save vinegar, which stings

As much as it stinks also. But I'm calm.

I'm almost home, where, among other things

A ceiling fan and lemonade await

If I can make it. If not, good-bye, Kate.