In Which I Regret A Choice Somewhat

Outside the glare is fierce; a strong, dry breeze

Blows harsh across the asphalt and the grass

Is parched. Three-thirty; eighty-five degrees

And I can't get myself up off my ass.

My head aches just to look out windows, and

It's only June as yet. In some despair,

Remembering my thoughts, I understand:

I made the wrong choice back in April. There

Were still spots on the graveyard shift. I chose

These normal hours, must endure the heat

And dust both ways on my bike, unlike those

Who've made the cool of evening their beat.

Next summer, note to self; the wee small hours

Are kinder when one's of limited pow'rs.

In Which I Share A Revelation I've Had About A Famous Television Program

I'm only now beginning Season Three

Of this great program we know as The Wire,

But there is something that I've come to see

That has me anxious, e'en to say on fire

To share: this show's a science program; its

Main focus, ecological. We are

Observers of a complex war of wits

Twixt carnivores and herdsmen, with Omar

An apex predator if ever were

Such given human form. I am amazed

Just watching peaceful herbivores concur

With how they're managed by this pack of crazed

Back-biting human jackals, lions, or

Police and politicians, Baltimore!

G20: In Which Another Side's Story Is Considered

(Click here to view the original photo by Paul Laroquod

Behind the shields and masks, there still were folk
Who did not drool with eagerness to ply
That riot gear, who sought not to provoke
Nor terrorize the people who did eye
That gathering with distrust, ire or fear,
And exercised their right to say so when
G20 came to town. It's been a year
That's taught us all to rethink what has been
A default notion: our leaders are right
And those who might oppose them, simply mobs,
Unruly, dangerous, and on the fight.
Some of them are just real, working-class slobs
Whose job today put them in a phalanx
Arrayed against democracy. No thanks.

In Which I Share Some Folk Wisdom That Works

The best of all protection from the sun
And its most harmful ultraviolet rays,
Is long-sleeved shirts, high collars... that's no fun,
However, if, like most, you have a craze
To show off your well-turned and pasty limbs.
A miracle goop's on the market, though:
They call it sunscreen, which stuff at least dims
The angry red and blistering, you know.
Bar those, once burnt, one remedy remains,
On hand in ev'ry kitchen (one need not
Grow fancy plants or go to special pains
To buy some aloe vera gel); you've got
To splash some vinegar upon your burns.
The smell's not great; but oh, the sweet returns!

In Which I Am Doubly Powerless

South Africa's a strange place for to seek
Some comforting distraction from my cares,
But coasting toward the end of this crazed week,
That's where my thoughts have rested, and my stares
Have fixed upon. Today, Toronto boasts
A protest crowd of thousands, which contains
My Laroquod among the marching hosts.
He's safe, I know, but craziness there reigns.
So football's been my balm, despite our loss
To Ghana, whose Blackstars I like to cheer
When they're not playing us, at least. The gloss
Of this great tournament's not faded, clear?
But now I cannot help but spend the day
A-willing all the bad march stuff away.

In Which I Comment Discreetly On Something That Amuses Me

A certain new device is causing queues
Around the block in certain cities, e'en
Though it has certain problems -- that won't lose
It fanboys, though they know of these, I ween.
The lure of gadget-lust is strong, as they
Already know, for most of them succumbed
To iterations earlier. I say:
It does seem odd that more than two-thirds, numbed,
Perhaps to their old versions' fading charms
(I doubt a million of them just broke down
All at the same time) ran into the arms
Of their sharp produce-dealers in each town.
What now becomes of those forsaken toys
Abandoned for antenna-addled joys?

The Interstellar Feller: In Which An Interruption Occurs

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...

Flat-footed isn't quite how I'd describe
The manner in which our fine crew is caught.
Flagrante, like a wild Bonobo tribe,
Is more the truth. Not one of them has fought
A certain urge. The ship is humid, rank
And busy; no one notices the drone
That sidles up alongside, fires a beam
Bright pink in hue. Its target is unknown
Since no one's looking, but we wouldn't dream
It's aimed at any but Yectara, who
Stops in mid-stroke and screams "No, master! No!"
"How did he find us?" soon inquires the crew,
Re-donning garments, guilty, on the go,
And rushing for to check, all ire dispelled
By their concern for she who's lately yelled.

In Which I Try A Little Alchemy On A Bad Day

Some days start off so kind, one should suspect,
Immediately -- one's being softened up
For something awful. Where the disconnect
Occurred, I cannot tell, but in my gut
I'm sure it's all my fault. How tempers flare
When summer sets in well, how anger boils
At tiny things, and not one bloke can spare
A moment just to think. In such ways spoils
What could be quite a lovely afternoon.
But when things go wrong, of course one must fight,
Or be thought less than manly. Faugh! It's June.
You're right; I'm wrong and will be 'til tonight
When I get to unplug and pedal home,
While you will still be you, where'er you roam.

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.

The Interstellar Feller: In Which Escape Is Undertaken

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...

Confined to a small cell, our cyborg queen
And her two fav'rite lovers, at a loss,
Must ponder their next move. They are unseen;
Their captors fighting over who is boss
Might well be in their favor. They take stock:
One naked man, enthralled, is not much use,
But they are well-equipped; they'll soon unlock
Themselves, these metal dames, will soon be loose!
Their fingers are toolboxes, and their brains
Enhanced beyond our understanding. Doors
Cannot imprison such as these, nor chains
(Unless they have consented; then they're yours
To play with as you will, but we digress).
In no time we hear their cries of success!

In Which My @Laroquod Is Now One Year Younger Per Our Agreement

A time walker's a hard man to pin down,

But in this world at least, today doth mark

An anniversary. He's been around

A bit, my Laroquod, and did embark

Upon his journey on this day back when

The moon bore not our footprints quite yet. He,

Has mastered certain skills that other men

Have only dreamed of, and he brings to me

Things new and old I've never seen before

(That queue deformer), and I never might

Were not for him. And there is so much more

I'd tell you but it's more fun to incite

Him to show you himself, pull off his cowl

And let him loose. All I can say is: HOWL!

SONNET DARE: In Which I Try To Make Sentences Out Of Hashflags And Fail

The FIFA World Cup has come 'round again,
A season when e'en I do care somewhat
For sports. It's mostly just a nerd thing. When
The Twitter lords decided they would strut
Their geekery, creating #flashtags, who,
Then, was surprised? Just type a country's name
(Abbreviated, like on scoreboards): you
Then generate that country's flag. Each game
We tweet about will have some color. More:
An apopheniac and language dork
Like me will try to render semaphore
Of them, or to make sentences that work
With those abbreviations. Yet I fail.
Fine: shut me down. Put me in Twitter jail.

In Which The Grasshoppers Lie Heavy

There still is something missing as the spring
Morphs into summer. While the days are long
And lovely, and the noisy blackbirds sing,
As do the larks and mourning doves, it's wrong
To call me pleased, who pedals past and through
The grasslands and the marshes, breathing in
The scents of plants and flowers on Deep Blue.
The Greenway still is lonely with no din
Of insects. Barely hatched and tiny, they
Still hide within the earth, can barely crawl
Forth from their refuge; they'd be easy prey
In early instar stages, for 'most all
Those chirping birds. Come out soon, friends, and play,
And jump to herald me along my way.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Am Cut Off From Twitter And Have The Blahs

Today I'd simply mope, or do some chores.
The lawn of weeds out back needs cutting; there's
Still laundry and some dishes. All this bores
Me e'en to list. I'm burdened by these cares
Alone in my big house, so might as well
Trade current blahs for future pleasures, if
I have the chance. And this is why I dwell
Today at ye old day gig, somewhat stiff
And grotty, trading my day off for one
In future months when I'll be somewhere new,
With people whom I've chosen to have fun
Alongside, whom I choose to be with. True,
There is no guarantee I'll live to see
Those days, but it's still worth a try. Ah, me.

A Memorable Fancy

From recent plane trips, I have come to know

Just what our country looks like from on high,

As seen through clouds, so very far below.

Today a grand illusion in the sky

Caused dizziness. I lay back in my swing,

Inhaled my Chinese lilacs, and my gaze

Went upward. Truly 'twas the strangest thing:

Farmlands and fields and rivers through a haze

Of drifting water vapor did appear,

As though my world had been turned inside-out,

As though the antipodes had come so near

I'd reach them if I just let go. About

Me all seemed poised to let me go and float

Off to the skylands, however remote.

In Which I Split In Two And The Sides Do Battle

A liquor store is just across the street
(But it's the busiest street in Cheyenne).
A pouch of cocktails really would be sweet
(But it'a so dreamy here beneath the fan).
A walk provides much-needed exercise
(But calories eschewed need not be burned).
It's cheaper than a bar, and no barflies
(But you've got plans for all the coin you've earned).
The day has disappointed me. I'm sad
(But you've already planned an early night).
Just one mojito wouldn't be so bad
(Would there just be one? Ha! Put up a fight!).
Ok, so what should we do in its stead?
(Just watch a DVD, then go to bed.)


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Meta Sonnet: In Which My Time Management Skills Are Lacking

Today I've no excuse; I'm merely late
In publishing a sonnet. No excuse
Have I for this except that, being Kate,
I found other distractions. No abuse
That can be heaped upon me can be worse
Than what I've given to myself for this.
In reading comics, 'stead of writing verse
I've been a slacker and deserve to miss
A day at last -- but for my dear, good friends
At TCA, I was reminded that
I've still a duty here that never ends.
We plot and plan a groovy new podcat --
Our lingo for podcast; we're passing weird --
And this reminder staved off what I've feared.

In Which Is Considered Podcrit

Podcasting as an art's still fairly new;
Its rawness and its ease are both part of
Its main appeal for those creators who
Have seen in it potential. Just for love,
We write our tales, record them, then hit send,
Then shake our asses, hoping that someone
Will say they're cute, or at least choose to spend
Some time a-listn'ing and will have some fun.
This we've achieved; community we've found!
And now it's time to ponder our next move.
The kids table's grown crowded, all around.
To join the grown ups, we shall have to prove
We've quality to offer, must demand
More quality at all points on the band.

SONNET DARE: In Which I Attempt To Make Sense Of The Senseless

Has madness, static and dynamic, been
So well combined as here, where Mr. Chess
Did thespianate as was lately seen
By Laroquod? I find I can but guess.
"Rail, genius," quoth he, upon his sign,
"Twelve beauty natural blonde girls' members stars --
An opportunity with them is thine!"
(I paraphrase a bit). Is he from Mars?
Or hath he the mere form of one who's come
From there, this actor dancer? It may be
That only Paul can know, who witnessed some
Of this performance, to whate'er degree
A subway ride afforded. One thing's sure:
'Twas fascinating for him to endure.

In Which The Private Sector Takes A (Very) Small Step

Today we launched the PayPal Rocket, though
It took a couple times to bring aloft.
With mixed emotions did I watch it go
Into the sky. I am not one who's scoffed
And said the private sector can't, but it
Is nowhere near prepared to take the slack
Of Constellation. I'm not sure how fit
Our people are these days to e'er go back
To Luna, on to Mars, or anywhere
Beyond, unless another party takes
The chance to shame, and thus, to goad us there.
Don't get me wrong; I still have hope. Indeed,
I wish SpaceX all due FSMspeed.

The Interstellar Feller: In Which There Is Tension

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...

Their prisoners now stowed, discussion turns

Upon what they'll do next. Who's in the lead?

Tribruno? Quodlaro? The question burns

As factions form. Their motivations? Greed,

Homesickness, heartbreak, vengeance, violence

For its own sake. Guns drawn, the crewmen float.

The lack of trust amongst them making tense

The Grokulator's very air. No vote

Was taken past the seizing of the ship.

At last the mighty, wise old Captain Droze

Doth stash his weapon, taking out the clip

And moving to the center. "Where this goes

From here," he says, "Is up to all of us.

Now I'm for home, but don't want any fuss."

In Which I Tease @JeffKirvin A Bit On His Birthday

Poor Jeff, although I'm puzzled that he still
Seeks iPads after his adventures in
A-getting banned from Apple mecca. Will
He never find his happy place and win
His heart's desire? I really shouldn't kid
Him too much on his birthday, should I? Yet
I cannot help it (though I never did
Try all that hard). I hope he won't regret
This effort when he has his 16-G
Wi-Fi-enabled gadget, and he finds
The time for his capsacin fix ere he
Gets too discouraged as his journey winds
To its close, and he gets to have some fun.
I hope today winds up a happy one!

In Which Is Established My Summer Headquarters

Summer Headquarters, originally uploaded by qatesiurade.

My travel season's done until the fall.
This summer all the fun will come to me
And stay here at the domicile I call
The KATE STATION. It's nice that I can be
A hostess. When I'm not, I'm busy still;
So many writing projects, and the need
To keep in touch! But truly it would kill
Me slowly if I stayed inside; indeed
My kitchen table really can't compare
To this sweet office I've set up outside!
The signal from my network reaches there,
I've shelter from the wind, and cannot hide
My pleasure at the scent of lilacs, though
That might distract me for a month or so!

In Which The Sonnet Queen Knows Things You Don't

I take a confidence seriously,

And that is why in confidence I'm told

So many things. But I still get to squee

As long as I disclose naught. I won't fold

Or bow to pressure put on me to spill

My knowledge, but that doesn't mean I can't

Gloat on this page, say neener-neener, thrill

Myself, if no one else. Go on and rant

And call me tease; I care not. I have got

At least two secrets, and the day's yet young.

I won't say whose, nor any of that rot.

No clues escape my fingers, nor my tongue.

When comes the day that you're allowed to know,

You shall. Till then, just listen to me crow.