In Which I Lose Ignominiously To Three Female Authority Figures From My Past

The new Mah Jong card for 2009
Was extra-new to me as I sat down.
My Girl Scout leader and dear Mother Mine
And Mrs. B, a sub of some renown
All grinned at me like three sharp Mah Jong sharks.
And so did our first Charleston portend:
They passed the tiles and made their tart remarks
At speed while I was left to just pretend
I'd found a pattern with which I could win.
Each game I did at last find something like
A playable plan, but my own dear kin
Or life-long mentors gleefully would strike,
And dis-tile quite instinctively the tiles
I needed to outwit their wily wiles.

Lines Written Upon Seeing Elk Mountain For The First Time In 2009

As house-hunting, then moving, both have kept
Me to a small, small circle in Cheyenne,
It's been more than four months since I have slept
In any other town. I've had a plan
This week to hit the road at long last, and
Partake of my hometown's delights and see
My folks and friends and survey how this land
Has fared through this sere winter. Glory be!
I packed my car and strapped to it Deep Blue,
And loaded up a certain glad collie
And put Jack's tires to pavement, barreled through
A hundred miles of wind, then with jolly
Wild shouts took in a gorgeous, welcome sight,
Snowcapped and lovely in the noon sunlight.

In Which I Decide Not To Wait Until Issue #5

I've only seen a mere twenty percent
Of this new book but I find I can't wait
To share my admiration of that bent
Old Warren Ellis and to here relate:
Ignition City's taken o'er my mind!
It's sick in parts - for instance much concerned
With pellet food once it is left behind
Well-used in chamber pots (yes they have spurned
The shiny Gernsback world in lots of ways) -
But artful. Where do spacemen go to die?
Per Warren and Gianluca, to a place
Where they can only stare up at the sky
And drink away their memories, and gape
At Mary Callipygia Raven's shape.

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Channel A Beloved Fantasy Island Character

I hear tell of an island where occurred
A great commotion all 'cause of a plan
To get a brand new photo of a bird
Called Air Force One, or so it all began...
As it did loom o'er sunny island skies,
It surfaced soon that someone had forgot
To tell the man in charge - and this surprise
Has sent him in a rage I'm told is hot!
Oh, Mister Bloomberg/Roark, such a mistake
As this must be a partisan wet dream
Come true. Too bad that you did undertake
To absent your good name from either team.
So as it stands, this flyover's in vain.
All we can do is scream, "The plane! The plane!"

In Which I Share My Cure For Earworms

It happens now and then to one and all:
A song plays in our brains in endless loops.
It's rarely one we like but we're in thrall
E'en worse when one we hate makes us its dupes.
Sometimes inflicting them becomes a game
(As Netta Ribken oft accuses me),
In which one tries to implant the most lame
Tune of them all with much unholy glee.
However, I am armed 'gainst these attacks.
The secret arsenal within my brain
Has Schubert's "Trout Quintet" upon its stacks.
Not only does it cancel lesser tunes;
It well evokes an angler's afternoons.

BONUS SONNET: Night Of The Collie

A normal night was how this ev'ning seemed;

I even had a good ride on my bike.

But then in Molly's eye a blood drop gleamed.

Her patient gaze tore through me like a spike.

Good old Cheyenne, on Sunday night no vets

Are taking calls; to Fort Collins they say

Must after hours folk with injured pets

Repair or wait til 9 a.m. next day.

She start swatting at her injury

And seemed to tear it open that much more.

So off we went, two pals, my dog and me

On south to find the truth behind the gore.

It's minor, I am glad now to report.

But getting home was its own winter sport.

Who Busted Out A Time Machine When I Wasn't Looking?

A baby down in Oz has died because
Her neighborhood was seething with disease --
Not AIDS, Ebola, swine flu -- I must pause,
And scream before I go on; pardon, please.
'Twas whooping cough that killed this little girl:
Preventable since 1925!
She was too young for shots herself, but (HURL)
The neighbor kids are why she's not alive.
Their parents were convinced that a vaccine
Would be much worse than death on needless scales,
And so this bug broke out again. "Obscene"
Is not a strong 'nough word for these sad tales.
Autism is a horror, yes it's true,
But vaccines do not cause it, K? Thank you.

In Which I Parrot CDC Advice About Containing The Swine Flu

Please wash your hands with water and with soap,
And if you're sick already, please stay home.
If symptoms get too bad, don't be a dope:
Do get thee to a doctor. Please don't roam
About and spread this swine flu crap around.
Your mom's advice when you were young applies!
If you must cough, then cover up your mouth.
And really, wash your hands. These are not lies!
Our latest tourist from the sunny south
(That's Mexico, not Dixieland - not yet)
Need only be pandemic if we're fools.
While economic fears and such abet
Our going forth to work and to the schools,
Just ask yourself, if really it is worth
A few bucks to risk everyone on earth?

Here Come Some Special Boys

I realized to my chagrin this morn,

As I was listing off those who've inspired

Some sonnet silliness when I, forlorn,

Did find myself too clueless or too tired

To think of what to write -- they've all been guys!

Not one tweepzilla girl has helped me out!

So I put out a call to them. Surprise!

Not one has come through yet, but with a shout

Mike Oliveri in falsetto tones

Came gallant to my rescue, and his friend

Was man enough to dress the part. He owns

A sonnet once again. I won't pretend

I wasn't just a little shocked to see

John Roling's Hooters drag, though. Mercy Me!

Making Friends On The Blood Bus

I feel so light; in fact I'm a pint shy,

And learned today's that Kev's a sonnet pimp.

While in the canteen talking to some guy

Who'd joked along and raced me to the crimp

('Twas blood drive day down at the BLM

And I, again, was called in to make up

A short projection). As the two of them

Sat with me while I sipped about a cup

Of juice, my worst friend gleefully did spill

The beans about this blog to Marty, who

Thought that it sounded cool, and said he will

Try looking at these sonnets. If you do,

Then, Marty, you're a cool guy and I'm glad

I bled beside you, and spoke up, I'll add.

My Favorite Holiday Comes Every Week

I know today is Earth Day, but I try

To treat each day that way as best I may.

As bins of cans and bottles testify,

As my low power bills do, too. Today

I celebrate a weekly cause of joys:

A reason to desert my hearth and home

And collie for a trip to see the boys

At Heroes Only. It's not far to roam:

Just 'crost Cheyenne, a couple miles all told.

But in imagination it's light years,

For Wednesday is NEW COMICS DAY. Behold:

New tales to tempt my thoughts and stir my fears!

And though these tales are printed on dead trees,

No landfill ever sees them, if you please.

BONUS SONNET: Everything Is Better With AIR

"Hey lady," called out sev'ral local sprats,

As I did huff and puff on down the street.

"Your tires are flat!" Oh hey, so maybe that's

Why one mile felt like forty. To complete

My shame, I did quite fail to bring along

My bike pump. Like a chorus, then, did sound

The gleeful and humiliating song

As I bore down and pow'red my way around

The Greenway to the exit on Ridge Road.

With gritted teeth I thanked each helpful soul,

Accepted each outcry as one more goad

To keep me moving onward to my goal.

The sad thing is, I think that yesterday

A kid yelled out the same thing. Oy and vey.

An Overdue Reunion Is Not Without Its Costs

Deep Blue and I, together once again,
And weather once again allowing us
To re-explore the Greenway in Cheyenne,
We rode on out with very little fuss
(Deep Blue's my bike, I should perhaps explain
A Jamis 2.0 Commuter star).
And so began my new '09 campaign
To be in shape by June to ride as far
As work and back each day and burn no gas:
An Eight-plus mile round trip I love to make.
I'm starting near from scratch, alack, alas:
Last night one mile was all that I could take,
As my poor thighs and flanks refuse to cease
Reminding me. O Tylenol! Some peace!

BONUS SONNET: A Day In The Life Of Oliveri

Triumphant from refinancing his home,
Mike Oliveri pauses now to gloat,
And suck on ice cream 'neath a plastic dome:
A Reese's Blizzard, or so he just wrote
On Twitter -- also how I know that he
Has found a use for Tower CPUs:
As fancy doorstops. And I read him see
A "douchebag's car" displaying drug abuse,
And call down hail upon his widdle head
Though his renaming of a doctor's role.
Yes, quite a day for Michael, as he's said:
But it's not done, for here my sonnet droll
Will surely touch off more witty remarks
For now I've fed him to the sonnet sharks.

More Wishes For Recovery!

He talks a lot like my old Macintosh,
And like that gadget, he has blown my mind.
Today he's in the hospital, awash
In well-wishing from, I'm sure, all mankind.
O Stephen Hawking, much you've had to say
Has lit'rally and figur'tively, too
Gone over my wee head (but that's the way
I like my thinkers!). I will tell you true:
I sometimes feel like I'm a small black hole,
Per No-Hair, garbling info I take in.
I won't, therefore, make quoting you my goal
In this, my sonnet, sparing all chagrin.
I'll only share my admiration, and
My awe at your life's work that's beyond grand!