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.

In Which Schadenfreude Isn't Going To Cut It

While part of me can't fight the urge to say
"I'm kind of glad it isn't only us" --
There really isn't any decent way
That anything requires this kind of fuss.
Olympics are a plum, we're always told,
And something over which great cities fight
For hosting priv'lege. Might I be so bold,
However, and observe that this stuff might
Make others hesitate, in the first world
To offer to abide such things? I think
In future, when the colored rings, unfurled
Are offered, they will simply cause a stink
Of NIMBYism. They'll be banishéd
Like toxic waste to the third world instead.

In Which Is Considered Color and Chemistry

So Twitter, like my father, likes me blonde.
I cared not for it when I was a kid --
The jokes, you see -- but now I know what fond
Acclaim might greet me, mayhap I am bid
To keep my locks this Lannisteran hue?
I'll ponder this awhile, and let my friend
Whose alchemy achieved it have her say
As well - hers is the effort, in the end,
This yellowing of strands all gone to grey
Through art that modern science neatly makes
So possible: while modestly I sit
And chatter through the num'rous pains she takes.
It's eye-catching, I guess, perhaps a bit?
Ah, vanity, though truly, t'was for dad
To cheer him through events that made him sad.

James "Ben" Sherrod, Farewell and Rest In Peace

Folks ask me how it's so that I've no fear.
In part, I tell them, it is just because
I'm of this tribe, together year by year
And day to day, though later distance was
A factor. Something I have always known:
My uncle had my back, just as my dad
Has had my cousins'. Thus secure, I've grown
Into a stronger person; I have had
The fierce and doting love of Ben Sherrod
For all my days. Of this there's been no doubt.
I know that's rare, and some may call me fraud.
I feel for them, who've had to do without
A rock like he has been. And now, I, too
Must share that lack. Dear Uncle, I'll miss you.

For Naomi Kutin

Naomi Kutin, you're my hero now.
Just ten years old, and check out what she did!
I will not stoop to ask you why and how
This feat became your goal; I simply bid
Myself and all who read here to recall
That strength's its own reward. This lady here
Doth know it well. Whatever may befall
Her in the future, all will surely cheer
Who hear her name. To lift twice her own weight
At any age is marvelous; to squat
With same is just phenomenal. I, Kate
Your sonneteer, will now set out to plot
Achievements, too, inspired and quite in awe
Of our Naomi. Oops, you've dropped your jaw!

Bernard the Helper Mule: A Mock Epic for @popqueenie and @lucysfootball

When Buddy, Legolas and Keebler all
Attended the same party, long ago,
Alas, the three of them perchanced to fall
Into great folly, and, well, as you know
From looking at their tee-shirts... let's just call
Them most unfortunate. But how they show
Resilience is most inspiring! They
Don't let their illness stop them on their way.

Now, Legolas and Keebler simply got
Expected gifts from all their elven kin.
But Buddy? Such was not to be his lot
He took so many helpers for a spin
But Santa wouldn't spend the green (that's not
To call him cheap or anything, 'cause, well
We do hope he'll be gen'rous someday. Hell!)

So Buddy, helpless, lonely and bereft
Sat by the subway, begging for spare change
And scrabbling blindly for the crumbs we left
Of sandwiches, when one day, something strange
Occurred. Disgruntled, angry and deranged
One Kinky Kelly, formerly a deft
And lithe performer, just released from jail
Learned that his mule now saw him and thought "fail!"

"He doesn't love me anymore!" he cried.
"I thought tattoos were sexy, but, no good."
In tears he sank down to our Buddy's side.
And Buddy got to thinking. "Kelly, would
Your mule consider going for a ride?"
Quoth Kelly "He's a hussy, sure, but could
You give me just a moment?" "Sure." "All right.
Let's give it one more try, Bernard, tonight?"

Bernard, though, wasn't having it, and kicked
His ex right in the groin. "Um, he's all yours,"
Quoth Kelly. "Aw, I hope this don't afflict
You too bad," Buddy said, then, on all fours
He struggled toward the mule that he had picked
To be his helper, and, just as the doors
Closed on poor Kelly, grabbed it by the fur
And pulled himself upright. "No, as you were."

The streets of old Manhattan never saw
A sight like Buddy and his Bernard, as
They learned to help each other. "Oh, look, aw!
That's wrong, that is" was typical. "He has
His hand up in that donkey's--" "Shut yer jaw!"
But Buddy, he was used to all that jazz.
"Don't listen, Bernard," he would say, and for
The mule's part, there was really nothing more.

They learned to help each other, and now they
Are quite insep'rable, and other elves
Who partied with him on that fateful day
Just wish they had a helper mule themselves.
Especially Legolas, who, people say
Keeps hidden deep amongst his many shelves
Of poetry and lit, some rank mule porn.
Alas for him and his pale unicorn...

Poet's noet: The original inspiration for this can be found at LucysFootball HERE and further elucidated at Snobbery blog's feast of "Low-Ku" HERE.

In Which @Daecabhir And @PandasHeart Have Happy News

Who says that Ren faires bring us nothing good?
'Twas thereat, I believe, that Gregory
(Called Daecabhir amoung the wondrous 'hood
We call the internets) did chance to see
And flirt with a belle femme there, whom we know
As Panda's Heart. True love at soonest glance,
I think, for Greg and Anna, 'neath the glow
Of torchlight. Lo, how sweetly time and chance
Brought dorks to love - and now today we learn
That it's for keeps, for quite out of the blue
Hath Greg announced that she's his wife. I yearn
To hug them both, but this will have to do.
Huzzah, forsooth; here's wishing many years
Of happiness, and lovely ales and beers.

In Which Occurs A Very Muppet Scotchpocalypse

"Macallan's, anyone?" Miss Piggy said,
And batted those eyelashes. "Damn, you know,
That frog picked him a woman!" Oscar's head
Was already a-spin. It's ever so,
However, that a muppet, offered scotch
Must drink it, ev'ry time it's offered. Soon
The bottle drained, this pair was much debauched,
And Oscar took advantage of her swoon.
Then Scooter showed up with Glenlivet and
A camera phone. "Deplorable" does not
Describe the scenes he captured in that can,
Depravity and garbage, whiskey shots
From porcine nostrils, stuffing -- and then they
Began to sing, to sin against Broadway.

- for Paul Elard Cooley

In Which I Come Out As ATebowist

O Tebow, you're annoying, but you won,
And now my family is more than glad.
My first game of the season turned out fun
(In my book, sudden death is never bad).
Now onward through the playoffs shall ye go,
And with you go we all, our fears and hopes
Well activated - but I still say no,
That kneeling thing does not impress me. Dopes
Might tell me that I must believe, but I
Don't think, if there's a god, it interferes
In bread and circus football games. Let fly
What insult-prayers ye might; just keep the gears
A-turning, and we'll all be happy, 'kay?
Go Broncos, show the Pats just how to play.

SHOUTY MEN IN SHINY ARMOUR: In Which Dissent Is Handled

"Off with his head," the angry queen did shout.
"Which one?" inquired her faithful headsman, "He
Has several." "The one that's speaking out
Against my reign!" "That narrows it to three."
"Off with his head," the queen said, pointing at
Her headsman. "I will give a shiny sword
With rubies in its hilt to whom'er that
Back-talking knave do slay." No one stepped for'ard --
That is until a wizard slinked into
The crowd. "Ah! Here he is, thank you, fair dame
For finding him," quoth he. "This is for you."
He tossed the queen a purse, then burst in flame
And he and his eight-headed slave were gone.
"Whate'er it takes to keep the peace. Move on."