Suppertime Sonnet Stories: In Which An Author Is Screwed From The Get-Go

"Well, Boyd, I think it's time we had a talk:
The public wants the story of your life --
These things still make bank! -- and  if you should balk
At all the work, well, I think that my wife
Would be a fine ghost-writer." "Well, I think
That sounds just fine," Boyd told his agent. "Wait!"
His mom said, on the conference call, "Don't drink
A toast on that just yet. I may be late
In telling you, but your dad's gambling caused
Some problems, so we kind of sold the rights
To your biography. And it was claused
In perpetuity." "When?" "You were mites."
"Who has the copyright now?" "It's been sold
So many times I'm clueless. And I'm old."

Suppertime Sonnet Stories: In Which @BlazingBetta Needs To Return To CrossFit

The blaze of Betta set the car on fire
Just as she walked past it, among all those
Parked wildly there. Now now, I am no liar:
When she fails to go lifting, e'en her nose
Gives off such energy as would explode
A lesser being. As a consequence
The car combusted (no, this did not bode
Too well for next year!) and, scarce minutes hence,
So did the parking lot entire when she
Returned from buying new weightlifting gear
(Those gloves are vital!). Now it's up to we
Who love her, and the earth, to gamely cheer
As Sarah heads on back to hit the gym!
If we don't, then our prospects grow quite dim.

Suppertime Sonnet Stories: Trans-Dimensional Safety Lessons ForChristmas

A universe next door: The traffic stop
Was not performed, and blithely he drove on
At terribly high speed that did not drop
In time to miss an oncoming Scion.
Thank goodness in this one the lights did flash,
The siren sound, and though the ticket was
Expensive, Simon, chastened, ceased to dash
As though he were a supersonic Claus
And ev'rybody lived to celebrate
The holiday. A turkey, slightly cooled
Is still delicious; love is never late
But just anticipated. So hath ruled
The judge over dimensions. And the Man
In Blue enjoyed his gath'ring too, by plan!

In Which A Dragon Saves A Maiden

My elbows both engaged in mutiny,
From overuse of these computers, I
Must now resort to something new to me:
Some software that makes what I say to my
Machine, here, into typing. As I've said,
As many others have repeated, this,
Life in the future, rocks. From out my head
And through my voice, onto the page! I miss,
Sometimes, the errors that do creep into
The text this way, but editing is smart.
It's passing strange though, that I say "undo"
Instead of hitting backspace. How my heart
Is gladdened: now no longer is there pain
In pouring out what's in my heart and brain.

ElbOW

This year was through with me ere I was done.
Now I just hide and cover me to rest.
The race is over. I don't know who won,
But please believe, I wish her all the best.
My wounds have tapped me out of ev'ry fight,
My goals lie all in tatters at my feet
And nothing that I've started has gone right
But I don't care right now. I'm tired, I'm beat,
And quite forgotten. Oh, of course, I know
The wheel will turn around for me again.
But just now, I would just as soon it go
A spin or two without me. I have been
A few too many times 'round with no breaks;
I'm only human, don't have what it takes.