tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6310809136268586732024-03-05T11:31:11.527-07:00Suppertime Sonnets"Reason can make rhyme out of anything." -- Halldor LaxnessKate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.comBlogger1067125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-631080913626858673.post-15229770569976535522014-09-22T01:28:00.001-06:002014-09-22T01:28:53.132-06:00I Should Be Writing<div><p>No more excuses now remain, and yet<br>
I have yet to take up that which I've longed<br>
To do in earnest. Failure seems to get<br>
The best of me ere I've begun. I'm wronged<br>
In this by no one but myself. I'm mocked<br>
Not by the blank page or the new-filled pen,<br>
But by old habits of belief and thought<br>
(The former more like disbelief; I've been<br>
My nemesis for too long, know the tricks <br>
Best played to thwart me -- when to mimic fear,<br>
And when to use plain loathing so it sticks<br>
There in the mind, so each and ev'ry year<br>
It's harder to get started). How to silence these<br>
But not the needed voices? Tell me, please.</p>
</div>Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-631080913626858673.post-22174261236620651012014-09-19T13:26:00.001-06:002014-09-19T13:26:57.379-06:00Scotland: In Which It Needn't be the End<p dir="ltr">O Scotland, none can say ye dinna try<br>
(And here I cease to try in dialect<br>
Lest I err and offend). I know that I<br>
Was thrilled to see your efforts -- so correct<br>
And civil, as the Scottish way should be.<br>
It's hard to leave a nest, and in these days<br>
Of bigger seeming better, hard to see<br>
How paring down might strengthen someone's plays,<br>
So I suppose at any rate. All change<br>
Is somewhat scary. Think on it some more,<br>
However. While to old folk this seemed strange,<br>
Your younger set, as stubborn to the core<br>
Chose independence. They might get their way<br>
In future. You might yet win free someday.</p>
Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-631080913626858673.post-33829334615373346032014-09-15T03:50:00.001-06:002014-09-15T03:52:31.594-06:00In Which is Had a Late Night Fright, but By Whom?<p dir="ltr">Unable once again to sleep, I sought<br>
Relief in waters hot, of sulfur'rous smell.<br>
Outside my door was waiting what, I thought,<br>
Some kind of prank contraption. "What the hell?"<br>
A radio antenna? Sculpture fail?<br>
In silence, into darkness I stepped t'ward<br>
The mystery. And then it moved! My flail<br>
Of startlement near hit it. Almost gored<br>
Upon a mighty antler, I withdrew,<br>
Then, panting, frightened by a five-point buck<br>
(That's on each antler; it's the West here). "Shoo!"<br>
I said to him. I don't know why. As luck<br>
Would have it, deer spaghetti was my lunch.<br>
Was this revenge? I'd entertain that hunch.</p>
Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com0Saratoga, Saratoga41.454964 -106.80643tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-631080913626858673.post-82483366650773074392014-09-14T09:46:00.001-06:002014-09-14T09:46:34.524-06:00Kirsten, Kirsten, Rest in Crazy Ass Enthusiasm<p dir="ltr">A crazy-ass Zen saint, I watched in awe<br>
As we grew up together. Nothing stopped<br>
Her having fun. I never, ever saw<br>
A person so alive. Oft my jaw dropped<br>
To witness such enthusiasm. There<br>
Has never been her like. My fortune's great<br>
To have had her example and to share<br>
Times good and less so with her. And now fate<br>
Has, cruel, decreed that we have had enough?<br>
"Screw that," Kirsten would say, and I agree.<br>
In memory of her, I'll make neat stuff<br>
And do amusing things, will try to be<br>
A bit more like her. And sit in my dress<br>
As she did, now and then. It was the best!</p>
Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-631080913626858673.post-87073959829011120372014-08-22T21:58:00.001-06:002014-08-22T21:58:21.887-06:00In Memoriam: PG Holyfield <div><p>For nifty hats alone, he'd have my love,<br>
But Patrick had so much more going on<br>
A sonnet cannot tell it all. Speak of<br>
A microphone and what just might upon<br>
So small a thing be done, and there's a clue<br>
Of what might lie beyond the wall. O friend,<br>
A toast in some Tuaca, just for you,<br>
The author of the Stanmageddon. Ends<br>
Do pain so, but my tears are happy, for<br>
I got to know you, if but slightly. In<br>
Your honor do I make this pledge: no more<br>
Will I let Balticons pass by. It 'tis a sin<br>
To take for granted awesome gifts. I will<br>
Give up no more my chances, love you still.</p>
</div>Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-631080913626858673.post-42604977679625243232014-08-21T07:19:00.001-06:002014-08-21T07:19:19.625-06:00A Rainy Night at the Hobo Pool<p dir="ltr">Steam rises, bubbles too, as soil and sky <br>
Decide to bathe together in the rain<br>
As darkness falls. I soak, relax and sigh<br>
And let the heat and water take my pain.<br>
It all dissolves away. And now the light<br>
Which dances, stately, each eve on the pool<br>
Performs a frantic foxtrot in the night,<br>
Bestirred by slashing raindrops. I, a fool,<br>
Who, dazzled by the fireworks that burst<br>
As ev'ry drop disturbs the liquid sheen,<br>
Thinks, of all who have seen this, I'm the first<br>
To notice this. I weep to leave this scene.<br>
Already, though, my ripples have died out,<br>
Lost to the frenzied water's silent shout.</p>
Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-631080913626858673.post-20038384461442731292014-06-25T22:32:00.001-06:002014-06-25T22:32:07.421-06:00No Town for Young Men -- Except in May<div><p>The river's course is slower in its banks,<br>
From which it nearly overspilled; its roar<br>
Resounding in our fears summoned the ranks<br>
Of Guardsmen, football players... Days of yore<br>
Saw us defend ourselves from waters' rage.<br>
But now, enfeebled, we gladly depend<br>
On others' youth and strength, and blame our age<br>
For what our dollars cannot do. We send<br>
The young to fight our battles ev'rywhere.<br>
We did it once; it's your turn now, we say<br>
To no one (for there is nobody there;<br>
Our monoculture's drowned us out). Today<br>
The sandbags block our views, but we just wait<br>
To pay someone to take them, soon or late.</p>
</div>Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-631080913626858673.post-28978202034148972712014-05-24T23:01:00.001-06:002014-05-24T23:01:46.849-06:00For Megan James, As She Recovers<p dir="ltr">I am in awe; your ACL's been torn<br>
For going on, I'm told, a good three years,<br>
And you've been running on that. Don't they warn<br>
Against these things in school these days? But cheers:<br>
At last it is un-shredded. So now, BOOM!<br>
The rest now should be cake. I say should be...<br>
But something tells me you'll be in the room<br>
We call our store too soon, that we shall see<br>
You back behind your desk before you ought:<br>
Unstoppable's the girl who runs on joints<br>
Like yours have been. Before long you'll be caught<br>
Within the rush again. Recall these points<br>
However: rest is good. Take time for you<br>
And be a bum a while, an hour or two.</p>
Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-631080913626858673.post-53058927062263208522014-05-01T22:03:00.002-06:002014-05-01T22:07:27.863-06:00Alcohol, Schmalcohol, I Know How To Soak<br />
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<br />
The Hobo Pool at night, beneath the stars<br />
Is best of all the places that I know. <br />
Let others go get lit in groups, in bars.<br />
Hot springs impart a solitary glow<br />
To those who choose to pass time there instead.<br />
No cares survive the heat, no aches the balm.<br />
A soak a day, not long before the head<br />
Meets pillows, leads one naturally to calm.<br />
Long after algae's scrubbed from off the skin<br />
And sulfur smells are washed out of the hair,<br />
One's grasp on stress is tenuous and thin.<br />
Why clutch at it? Why should one cling to care?<br />
A wine or whiskey's fine for now and then<br />
But daily? Best remember where I've been. <br />
<br />Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-631080913626858673.post-16235133691912263142014-01-27T21:22:00.003-07:002014-01-28T22:46:46.769-07:00For @RodneyAnon, With My Sympathies<blockquote class="twitter-tweet" lang="en">
Lots of Kevin Costner movies on cable tonight. And in other news, I just hurled my remote at the TV.<br />
— Rodney Anonymous (@RodneyAnon) <a href="https://twitter.com/RodneyAnon/statuses/428014576601669632">January 28, 2014</a></blockquote>
<script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//platform.twitter.com/widgets.js"></script>
<br />
I pick up my remote and softly click.<br />
It's Robin Hood, and it's not Men in Tights.<br />
I pause and briefly let myself feel sick<br />
And click again. The wolves are dancing. Nights<br />
Like this create despair. I try once more<br />
The dreams that may come to this field, nightmares!<br />
The Postman almost evens up the score,<br />
But no. And Waterworld? Nobody cares<br />
That I need some distraction here, I see.<br />
No bodyguards, no goddamn baseball, stop!<br />
My heart's untouchable, but, woe is me<br />
My brain is vuln'rable to ev'ry flop.<br />
O Costner, you must answer for these crimes<br />
Here or in Hell. Bring on, please, the End Times!<br />
<br />
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Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-631080913626858673.post-55639050233866465642013-08-28T01:36:00.001-06:002013-08-28T01:36:38.526-06:00My Collie, My Folly<div><p>My darling and my dearest fuzzy friend,<br>
Is leaving me. This afternoon I'll say<br>
Good bye. The very best of times still end<br>
But it's unfair that this one ends this way.<br>
Why did you, Molly, have to get so old<br>
At such a faster rate than I? Why do<br>
You have to go? I know, I know, I've told<br>
Myself that now's the time to say thank you<br>
For all the years of love and laughs, to see<br>
How fortunate I've been to have along<br>
This bit of journey, gently herding me,<br>
A dog like you. I still think this is wrong,<br>
This time, this situation, and I weep<br>
And cannot even find there's peace in sleep.</p>
<br/><img src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5vikwEu2K-rXvNjUcqxCmbeKMNCSZ30K54wjoLp5kCYaAUgUttMUJxvY52J2n2N0jz0VHU9RII4W5So3nxjncMLDyAoT9H0XUxpZxcpidRBzcYb7hVnCOSq1F48yJbd3TzzsjbL61IDGQ/' /></div>Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-631080913626858673.post-10312430222957191832013-07-08T20:31:00.001-06:002013-07-08T20:31:32.534-06:00GubbishOh god, I've seen inside, and it looks like<br />
A set of wires and rubber bands and cogs<br />
All gone askew, hooked up to it a mic<br />
That amplifies the squeaks and squeals along<br />
The length of you. I woke up in a book<br />
Of Phil K Dick's, and now I can't unsee<br />
What I took in behind your bug-eyed look,<br />
And now I wonder if the same, in me,<br />
Is what you've noticed. Were we both replaced<br />
With broken down machines? Was tenderness<br />
Illusory, a program badly traced<br />
Into our circuitry until, I guess<br />
It failed? Debugging skipped, we've gone straight to<br />
The gubbish phase. Yet still I've love for you.Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-631080913626858673.post-44260510258075145042013-07-05T02:42:00.001-06:002013-07-05T02:42:50.854-06:00Did That Really Just Happen? I Guess It Did<div><p>So this is it. The band-aid has come off.<br>
I'm glad I yanked it quickly. So at last<br>
Our wounds get air to heal. I used to scoff<br>
At those who valued closure, but, outclassed<br>
By cold reality, I now admit<br>
The error. We were fools, perhaps, to try,<br>
Two freaks like us, to think that we could fit<br>
Into a normal love. My eyes are dry,<br>
But only from the sudden shock, too fresh<br>
To even feel it. What shall I do now?<br>
Myself and sleep, for it is late, won't mesh;<br>
You're not beside me. Dull, I wonder how<br>
This ever, ever seemed a good idea.<br>
My sweet, I love you still, but let it be.</p>
</div>Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-631080913626858673.post-52525027362387679142013-06-06T13:52:00.001-06:002013-06-06T13:54:34.165-06:00Lines Written On Receiving An Unexpected Gift<div><p>My roots are deep and strong, and now they're knit<br>
Into a shawl, with prayers that I'll be well.<br>
The purple yarn, with silver, is a fit<br>
For all that regal heritage I tell<br>
Those disbelieving others, who still say<br>
A small town offers little. We who've known<br>
The life, know better, know the finest way<br>
Through sorrow and through pain is to have grown<br>
Together in community with such<br>
As those who made this gift for me. My tears,<br>
I do assure you, are not sad. Too much<br>
Emotion just leaks from my eyes, all fears<br>
And hopes and love and gratitude combine<br>
Whenever I wrap in this shawl of mine.</p>
</div>Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-631080913626858673.post-86308527431896004822013-04-13T09:26:00.001-06:002013-04-13T09:26:49.347-06:00In Which Is Considered Evil Dead 2013<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
An <i>Evil Dead</i> film done with a straight face,<br />
In which the taxidermy never sings,<br />
In which the slapstick's gone without a trace,<br />
Might seem to be the silliest of things,<br />
Yet earnest works when this much care is spent<br />
On camera work, on angles, and on shots<br />
That make each face strange ere malevolent<br />
And gruesome art's applied. So there is lots<br />
To recommend this movie. There is gore<br />
Aplenty, speedy evil zooms, and all<br />
That we expect, yes, that, and then much more:<br />
This film is art! Yet funny, too. I'd call<br />
It <i>Evil Dead 3 -- Not Just a Remake.</i><br />
Worth all the time and money that's at stake.Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-631080913626858673.post-61442103238660177372013-04-02T00:09:00.001-06:002013-04-02T00:09:57.194-06:00Hymn to Garaaga<div><p>Garaaga, father devil, he whose spit<br>
Dissolveth Adamantium, we pray<br>
Thee, slaver not. Thy drool, when<br>
It spews fourth, it melteth stone back down to clay,<br>
And renders all these vessels, all these pots<br>
In which the blood of victims, offered up<br>
To thee, Garaaga, starts to leak in spots,<br>
Quite useless things, and how then may you sup?<br>
Garaaga, thou whose snot, when it congeals,<br>
We sculpt into explosive statuettes,<br>
Take thou this handkerchief. And when it heals,<br>
That weeping sore, its pus, the way it sets,<br>
When ground, can banish faeries! Truly you,<br>
Garaaga, are the god of godly goo!</p>
</div>Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-631080913626858673.post-1474789056415293312013-04-01T00:14:00.001-06:002013-04-01T00:14:41.816-06:00In Which Ring the Bells of a Big Blue Mobile Phone<div><p>Souffle Girl is a puzzle; aren't they all?<br>
Well, I suppose that, after fifty years,<br>
The Doctor isn't really what we'd call<br>
A mystery. And playing off the fears<br>
That Moffat has of Twitter was a bit<br>
Too silly, even for my silly taste.<br>
All told, though, I'll say Matt has still got it<br>
(My adoration, that would be); no waste<br>
Of time or space, is he. Redecorate<br>
Again, though? Go ahead, as long as you<br>
Tell me a story. As for Clara's fate<br>
Inside a Dalek, I'm down to see that, too.<br>
The best for me, though, was Richard E. Grant!<br>
This won't end well, now, will it? No, it can't!</p>
</div>Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-631080913626858673.post-54745588766229043282013-03-27T22:09:00.000-06:002013-03-27T22:09:23.086-06:00In Which An Uninitiated Chick Watches the New GI Joe Film<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Since I took on a housemate, my abode,<br />
Already quite a nerdy palace, yes<br />
Is thoroughly and quite completely Joe'd<br />
(And Who'd and whatnot), it's not hard to guess<br />
What I've just come from. And as movies go,<br />
<i>Retaliation</i> certainly has got<br />
A lot of movie in it. We all know<br />
It's just a toy commercial, and I'm not<br />
Its target market, but I still had fun<br />
(Except for all the screechy parts). But why<br />
Does that one ninja chick, who surely must<br />
Be stealthy, go on whizzing though the sky<br />
In tights that emphasize her glowing butt?<br />
How is that sneaky? Whatever, my brain<br />
Is far too pummeled to end this refrain.Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-631080913626858673.post-18296930122019870472013-02-12T12:43:00.000-07:002013-02-12T12:43:37.138-07:00In Which We Clear The Way For Siglericus XXX<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
Siglericus at last may reign supreme,<br />
For Benedict hath left them in a lurch,<br />
Unfortunate to some this might well seem,<br />
But we all know it's best for any church<br />
To have a shepherd for its varied flock<br />
Whose blessings moist are freely given, but<br />
Are never forced. And hey, is April first<br />
So far from now? I feel it in my gut,<br />
The stars are right. So happy we could burst,<br />
Siglerians, rejoice! The XXX<br />
Is just the first of many welcome signs.<br />
Let Krakens rise, let loose McButter! Vex<br />
The nonbelievers! Substitute for wine<br />
The sacrament of gold Tuaca. Drink!<br />
The world is not so flocked as we might think!<br />
<br />Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-631080913626858673.post-79130993219265982912012-10-30T12:46:00.001-06:002012-10-30T12:48:33.332-06:00If You Can Read This, Thank A Bureaucrat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
The cops and firemen are heroes, yes,<br />
The paramedics, and the power crews,<br />
The folks who man the pumps -- we cannot guess<br />
How many we will need of those. The news<br />
Is full of people working to bring back<br />
The world we knew. But let us not forget<br />
The heroes stuck behind the desks. You crack<br />
Your jokes about them, but without them, bet<br />
Those cops would have their cars? The ambulance<br />
Would have its bandages and stretchers? Would<br />
The pumpers have the maps? I have a chance<br />
Right here to thank the people who do good<br />
Behind the scenes, who budget, plan, all that<br />
Can only happen with a bureaucrat.Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-631080913626858673.post-14126414753037990942012-10-23T15:48:00.001-06:002012-10-24T10:48:44.574-06:00We Have To Quit Meeting Like This, We Have To Quit Meeting, We Have To Quit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
We're just here once, and, really, it has been<br />
So long already since we two were born.<br />
We've wasted time; it really feels like sin<br />
To waste much more. We two, though, sad and worn,<br />
Still fail. I flail, between our meetings, and<br />
Forget you. Watch me now: I cry, I spit;<br />
"Act like you give a shit," is my demand<br />
Whene'er your arms come 'round me, as though it,<br />
That one embrace, makes up for months, as though<br />
You have the right to tell me "Come on back,<br />
Drop ev'rything, do what I want." I know,<br />
It's only me, old friend, who feels the lack<br />
Of thought behind it, and who feels the pain.<br />
Sunk costs are paid. What now is left to gain?Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-631080913626858673.post-25348142445826586462012-10-08T11:41:00.000-06:002012-10-08T11:41:14.800-06:00For @Lucysfootball, On The Anniversary Of Her BirthA poet's birthday is no common thing.<br />
We're liable to react in strength, betimes.<br />
And since we're paid (a pittance) for to sing<br />
We're liable to react in strength, in rhymes.<br />
But age is comforting: we've made it far<br />
(Much further than we'd thought we would, perhaps)<br />
If work's undone, we need to set the bar<br />
Accordingly, is all. We'll take more naps,<br />
Drink wine, eat ice cream, and approach our toils<br />
Refreshed, ignoring voices in our heads<br />
That scream "our time is fleeting," such as spoils<br />
Our lines. But Amy knows, and never dreads<br />
A natal day: she counts down, spazzes out<br />
And blesses us at midnight with a shout!Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-631080913626858673.post-69309676757666373932012-09-03T00:07:00.000-06:002012-09-03T00:07:11.265-06:00In Which A Lad Is 43Before the sunset, in the gloaming, from<br />
The batwing doors you stepped. Of course I knew<br />
'Twas you, but for a moment I played dumb.<br />
Those years were painful; I'll have naught to do<br />
With them. But you saw me, have no regrets,<br />
And said hello. And you, dear boy, whose name<br />
Is childhood, stand, all grown-up, quite well-met,<br />
And in your prime. Where others at this same<br />
Stage hid their greys and wrinkles, you just wear<br />
Them like they fit. I hope I can as well.<br />
Life's long yet, and we've burdens yet to bear<br />
Unknown to those who fight their age. I'll tell<br />
You this: you comfort me, just standing tall<br />
And nodding, taking it for good and all.Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-631080913626858673.post-33014354695866730522012-08-25T13:31:00.001-06:002012-08-25T13:32:28.868-06:00R.I.P. Neil Armstrong<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
We knew your footprint would outlive you, yet<br />
It's sad to see this day we've gotten proof<br />
Of this. Test pilot, teacher, icon, let<br />
Us shout as one: we'll miss you. Those who spoof<br />
Your great achievement may not ever stop,<br />
But we who watched you live, or benefit<br />
In other ways from what you did won't drop<br />
The torch you've passed to us. We thank you. It<br />
Still staggers me, that step. I cannot think<br />
What life's been like for you since you came back.<br />
Did you think you'd be first of many, drink<br />
Toasts to our future colony? I lack<br />
The words right now to share just how I feel.<br />
At least the whole world knows this grief is real.<br />
<br />Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-631080913626858673.post-87246966027311146522012-08-20T23:10:00.000-06:002012-08-20T23:10:23.592-06:00For @Nightwyrm In His EnnuiIt happens to us all. Like days-old bread,<br />
What has been toothsome now is merely stale.<br />
Like playset swings when kids have gone to bed,<br />
All feels so still and motionless and pale<br />
Like winter sun or waning moon. We sit<br />
Deploring how it all seems like a waste.<br />
We squander time in doing this, admit<br />
That Demon, Maxwell's, might at last have chased<br />
All of the heat from out our lives. But hey --<br />
The bread is stale because a fungus grows<br />
Within its crannies. And the swing will sway<br />
Again tomorrow. Really all our woes<br />
Are brief, and soon will change. But for tonight<br />
Just take a moment; think about what's right.Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com0