In Which Ring the Bells of a Big Blue Mobile Phone

Souffle Girl is a puzzle; aren't they all?
Well, I suppose that, after fifty years,
The Doctor isn't really what we'd call
A mystery. And playing off the fears
That Moffat has of Twitter was a bit
Too silly, even for my silly taste.
All told, though, I'll say Matt has still got it
(My adoration, that would be); no waste
Of time or space, is he. Redecorate
Again, though? Go ahead, as long as you
Tell me a story. As for Clara's fate
Inside a Dalek, I'm down to see that, too.
The best for me, though, was Richard E. Grant!
This won't end well, now, will it? No, it can't!

In Which An Uninitiated Chick Watches the New GI Joe Film

Since I took on a housemate, my abode,
Already quite a nerdy palace, yes
Is thoroughly and quite completely Joe'd
(And Who'd and whatnot), it's not hard to guess
What I've just come from. And as movies go,
Retaliation certainly has got
A lot of movie in it. We all know
It's just a toy commercial, and I'm not
Its target market, but I still had fun
(Except for all the screechy parts). But why
Does that one ninja chick, who surely must
Be stealthy, go on whizzing though the sky
In tights that emphasize her glowing butt?
How is that sneaky? Whatever, my brain
Is far too pummeled to end this refrain.

In Which We Clear The Way For Siglericus XXX

Siglericus at last may reign supreme,
For Benedict hath left them in a lurch,
Unfortunate to some this might well seem,
But we all know it's best for any church
To have a shepherd for its varied flock
Whose blessings moist are freely given, but
Are never forced. And hey, is April first
So far from now? I feel it in my gut,
The stars are right. So happy we could burst,
Siglerians, rejoice! The XXX
Is just the first of many welcome signs.
Let Krakens rise, let loose McButter! Vex
The nonbelievers! Substitute for wine
The sacrament of gold Tuaca. Drink!
The world is not so flocked as we might think!

If You Can Read This, Thank A Bureaucrat

The cops and firemen are heroes, yes,
The paramedics, and the power crews,
The folks who man the pumps -- we cannot guess
How many we will need of those. The news
Is full of people working to bring back
The world we knew. But let us not forget
The heroes stuck behind the desks. You crack
Your jokes about them, but without them, bet
Those cops would have their cars? The ambulance
Would have its bandages and stretchers? Would
The pumpers have the maps? I have a chance
Right here to thank the people who do good
Behind the scenes, who budget, plan, all that
Can only happen with a bureaucrat.

We Have To Quit Meeting Like This, We Have To Quit Meeting, We Have To Quit

We're just here once, and, really, it has been
So long already since we two were born.
We've wasted time; it really feels like sin
To waste much more. We two, though, sad and worn,
Still fail. I flail, between our meetings, and
Forget you. Watch me now: I cry, I spit;
"Act like you give a shit," is my demand
Whene'er your arms come 'round me, as though it,
That one embrace, makes up for months, as though
You have the right to tell me "Come on back,
Drop ev'rything, do what I want." I know,
It's only me, old friend, who feels the lack
Of thought behind it, and who feels the pain.
Sunk costs are paid. What now is left to gain?

For @Lucysfootball, On The Anniversary Of Her Birth

A poet's birthday is no common thing.
We're liable to react in strength, betimes.
And since we're paid (a pittance) for to sing
We're liable to react in strength, in rhymes.
But age is comforting: we've made it far
(Much further than we'd thought we would, perhaps)
If work's undone, we need to set the bar
Accordingly, is all. We'll take more naps,
Drink wine, eat ice cream, and approach our toils
Refreshed, ignoring voices in our heads
That scream "our time is fleeting," such as spoils
Our lines. But Amy knows, and never dreads
A natal day: she counts down, spazzes out
And blesses us at midnight with a shout!

In Which A Lad Is 43

Before the sunset, in the gloaming, from
The batwing doors you stepped. Of course I knew
'Twas you, but for a moment I played dumb.
Those years were painful; I'll have naught to do
With them. But you saw me, have no regrets,
And said hello. And you, dear boy, whose name
Is childhood, stand, all grown-up, quite well-met,
And in your prime. Where others at this same
Stage hid their greys and wrinkles, you just wear
Them like they fit. I hope I can as well.
Life's long yet, and we've burdens yet to bear
Unknown to those who fight their age. I'll tell
You this: you comfort me, just standing tall
And nodding, taking it for good and all.

R.I.P. Neil Armstrong

We knew your footprint would outlive you, yet
It's sad to see this day we've gotten proof
Of this. Test pilot, teacher, icon, let
Us shout as one: we'll miss you. Those who spoof
Your great achievement may not ever stop,
But we who watched you live, or benefit
In other ways from what you did won't drop
The torch you've passed to us. We thank you. It
Still staggers me, that step. I cannot think
What life's been like for you since you came back.
Did you think you'd be first of many, drink
Toasts to our future colony? I lack
The words right now to share just how I feel.
At least the whole world knows this grief is real.

For @Nightwyrm In His Ennui

It happens to us all. Like days-old bread,
What has been toothsome now is merely stale.
Like playset swings when kids have gone to bed,
All feels so still and motionless and pale
Like winter sun or waning moon. We sit
Deploring how it all seems like a waste.
We squander time in doing this, admit
That Demon, Maxwell's, might at last have chased
All of the heat from out our lives. But hey --
The bread is stale because a fungus grows
Within its crannies. And the swing will sway
Again tomorrow. Really all our woes
Are brief, and soon will change. But for tonight
Just take a moment; think about what's right.

In Which A Cave Creature Finds Us Tasty

O Nature, e'er experimenting! Now
We find a swimming cricket in the dark
Of Venezuelan caves? So tell me, how
You think you're going to top this. I'll just park
Myself and wait; this poser's sure to beat
Your ingenuity a while -- what? You
Aren't done with just this creature? It eats meat?
Carnivorous cave crickets. OK. Phew!
You had me worried for a moment -- Oh!
It's human flesh it seems to crave? Well, there,
I hadn't been expecting that, although
I shouldn't be surprised; I'm well aware
That as we take up all the living space
We'll soon be food for each remaining race.

In Which Our Curiosity May Yet Be Satisfied

A picture of a wheel confirms it: we
Have got our ass to Planet Mars again!
This time a great big laboratory
On wheels will roam its surface. Now and then,
O Human Race, you make me proud as hell
(Especially Keri Bean, my weather nerd
Who's worked on this as long as, really, well,
As long as I've known of her). I have heard
A giant gasp of wonder on this night.
And though we've just begun, have far to go
The fact that we can do this proves we might
Survive ourselves someday. For now, I know
Of nothing in the universe that could
E'er make me feel this glad, this cool, this good.

In Which I Have No Idea Who The Other Dude Is But Gary Oldman Is In A Beautiful Suit And So I Swoon

Steampunk I'm known to like, it's true, but there's
Some things I like e'en more, like men in suits
And Gary Oldman; news that someone cares
To notice this is sweeter than the fruits
Of e'en the plummest trees. Just look at these!
There's more o'er at the site. O Prada, now
You have got my attention, sort of. Please,
Are there more photos somewhere, more somehow?
It's greedy of me, I know. Does it hurt
To ask though, really? I mean, gosh, that cape,
And that Van Dyke. I sit up straight, alert,
And lean far forward, better thus to gape.
He's come a long way, no, from playin' a punk?
Now, cough, excuse me, I'll be in my bunk.

Sonneteer's note: many effusive thanks to April Raines, who saw this and thought of me and alerted me instanter.

This one included because it is EssJay's favorite. Purple stripes on teh Gary. Hubba and also hubba.

Sonnet Dare: For @popqueenie With Lurve

Oh, what was worse? That Harry's father's Snape?
Hermione his sister? As for Ron
We all know he shot first. Such is the shape
Of harsh reality that's going on
Around us. But take heart! Hermione
Near-naked, chained up in Miss Umbridge's lair,
Still needs a rescue! Dumbledore, we'll see
Will only come back stronger. Do we care
That Neville knows 6000 robot tongues?
That Voldemart has bargainses galore?
And as for Fred and George's bantha dungs
The finest bombs are made from them -- and more!
Now study up your jawa-zapping charms!
The final's coming up. Raise the alarms!

In Which Nature's Charms Cannot Be Overstated

Comes now the news, via my Goodreads group
That sometimes, when some snails are on the move,
They travel by the means of some birds' poop.
This kind of science news recarves my groove!
Step One: Get eaten by a hungry bird
(Not angry: we all like some escargot);
Step Two: Let said bird fly somewhere. I've heard
It's nice in Tohoku, for instance, no?
Step Three: Just exit by the built-in chute.
Your shell should cushion gravity's effect.
While some might find this somewhat, well, uncute,
I find it charming, even nigh perfect.
O Tornadelides boengi, you
Know how to travel! Bon voyage! Adieu!

In Which @SpaceX Lights Up My Night

Up, up into the night sky, breathing fire
And bringing cargo to the ISS,
Goes Dragon, and we all gasp to admire
This first commercial capsule's new success.
Go, go, quoth all the launch crew in the poll,
Go, go, quoth we who watched. The future's brought
Such wonders. This is how I like to roll:
A nighttime launch. Lo what Elon hath wrought!
From PayPal to Earth orbit in a few
Short but so wild, eventful, years. My friends,
We all had parts to play in all this, too,
Who live here on the web and like to spend
Our time and coin here. Now a flash of light
Reminds us all, our future is yet bright.