In Which A Lesson Is (Again) Learned

A Chamber Chick of old, I should have known

To take advice I've long been wont to give.

Now B&B doth reap what has been sown

By a much larger rival. What I'd give

To have these last few days back! I'd just go

To south Cheyenne, the big boxes eschew,

And take my money to where I well know

It will be much appreciated. You

Might pay more but it's worth it not to ache

In head and heart just trying to get a thing

Replaced or fixed. I swear I shall not make

This same mistake again when next fates bring

Me to a sim'lar choice. Your locals are

Your best bet -- and if things go wrong, not far.

In Which @BrettGlass Helps Me Find Another Way To Enjoy Cheyenne

Reunions over kimchee -- well that's new!

And though he lives just over these here hills,

I had lost track of an old friend, one who

I oughtn't to have done. To brave the chills

Of our first winter storm (a mild one) and

Dine with my old pal, Brett, in a place I

Had not known e'en existed in Cheyenne

Is quite a way to close my weekend (Why

I didn't know there was Korean here

Is to my shame, and it's fantastic food!)!

Korean House, on Snyder, you I cheer,

And in my future social plans include.

Bulgogi and geekgasms -- that's the way

To close out this, a dandy fine Thunday.

In Which I Get Up From A Nap With Little Ambition

I'm sure that I'll regret it later. It's

Already dark; I missed the afternoon

With sleeping. Evening now, my old dog sits

(Or rather sprawls) atop my feet, and soon

I'll have a cup of tea. It's glamorous

To be me, and at home, while on the mend.

I feel your envy, know that you'd be us

If given any chance. Well, know, my friend,

It is quite peaceful. Rush hour's died down.

Reflected in my kitchen window, I

Look like I might yet live. Outside, the town

Begins to power off. A cloudless sky

Looms dark and quiet over all. Tonight:

Continued quiet. Might be time to write.

Morning Sonnet: A Moonlit Commute

The sun's not even reddening the east;
It's dark, but there is moonlight, so I can
See what's ahead somewhat, be it small beast
Or bungie cord in my path, or a man
In shadows and dark clothes, walking his pet
(His ipod means he still can't hear my bell,
So he's the greatest hazard) -- though I get
The Greenway to myself, mostly. The smell
Of rotting leaves, the tick of them in wind
That still is warm and gentle, my escort.
Soon I'll be struggling to stay disciplined
Enough to fight it, and the snow, contort
My face into a grimace, pedaling,
But now I just enjoy. It's long 'til spring.

In Which Primary Election Day Holds Some Surprises

I bought a house a year ago or so,
And thus changed my address, but little did
I realize that this day I would go
Both far and wide to exercise, as bid,
My franchise. Last time 'round 'twas just a block
From where I lived to where I cast my vote.
My new pad's just a quarter-mile to walk
From those old digs, but now (I failed to note
Before today), I'm in a district new
To me, and now the locale of my poll
Is many miles away. The air's still blue
From my much-thwarted process there -- how droll:
Construction everywhere meant that it took
Almost the whole alloted hour. Fists shook!.
Tweet

In Which My Day Is Loud And Fragrant

Infested now, my neighborhood, with such

Variety of workmen as I find

Impossible to name them all, has much

In common with disaster zones. I wind

Around its streets and cul-de-sacs aboard

Deep Blue and see some roofers, yes, and by

My "circle's" deepest curve, not just a hoard

Of all-but-shirtless men, but also -- fie! --

A reeking porta-potty twixt a pile

Of sand and some huge trucks. The din's profound.

It's gypsy contract season. With a smile

And promise of low pricing all around,

They've sucked in all my neighbors, it would seem.

How long will their work last, though, do you deem?

In Which My Least Favorite Season Decides To Start

Another reason that I do not love

To live where I do happened just a bit

Ago. The warnings were quite faint above

My music as I took my gloves off, quit

A-hacking at my backyard overgrowth

And betook to enjoy some TV shows.

Instead I cranked the radio and both

Laughed and whined; there may be tornadoes!

'Tis nearly 32 years since one ripped

Through town in '78; we well may

Be due for yet another. We are gripped

Firm in the angry glove of Thor. Someday

These warnings might apply to me and mine,

But for today, I do assure: I'm fine.

In Which Spring Break Affects Even Your Humble Sonneteer

I do believe that spring may come at last.

The bank clocks says it's seventy degrees

Outside. And water drips and spreads as vast

And dirty banks of snow melt (they'll refreeze

Again; it's only March) become the mud

That marks the season. Spring break in the park

With my friend Bonnie, a stir in my blood

Arose as kites flew overhead. A stark

And vivid contrast to how I have spent

Such afternoons of late, huddled and cold,

A bikeskimo in layers of clothes and bent

Close to the handlebars, windswept yet bold.

Now ease and sunlight mean I have to share

The greenway with more folks, but I don't care!

Grocery, Ah Me

Eye contact we must shun by any means;

The grocery store is certainly no place

For human moments as we shop for beans

And milk and fruit and dog food. Let no face

Make an appearance in our field of view!

So seems the modus of my fellow man

As we peruse the aisles, as we look through

The wares from which to choose. Was this the plan?

That we lapse into middle-distance stares,

Our eyes glazed over; people now no more

Than obstacles to navigate? Who cares

That human life teems by the score

And still there's loneliness. At last I meet

One pair of eyes; a smoker on the street.

In Which A Flickr Pool Absolutely Makes My Day

Stag Beetle(Dorcus titanus), originally uploaded by Nishida Shatner.

I deeply miss the grasshoppers who flit
Around the Greenway as I pedal through
Their congeries in summer. Sometimes it
Was my best moment all day. How I rue
Their passing and the odd mantid who hid
Among them. But today I found this pool
With help from Bug Girl - she's the one who did
Call my attention to it. All my cool
Escaped me in one squee to look at these:
So many origami arthopds!
E'en entophobes among you, if you please
Will find one to delight you. Oh, ye gods!
The internet's a true, great treasure chest.
But I love all the insect pr0n the best.

In Which I Ponder Urban Fossils

Our Greenway is a long path of concrete

That winds all through Cheyenne, though it's not whole

As yet; it's discontinuous. Complete,

It will let bikers and the sorts who stroll

To travel all around, no care for cars

Except at a few crossings. Ere that day

More cement must be poured, must set for hours

And opportunities galore will lay

In wait for leaving traces, casts and tracks

Such as I saw out there this afternoon.

Bike tire trails, paw prints, outlines and cracks

All testify to what landed too soon

In that congealing muck before it cured.

They'll know of us in future; that's assured.

With Molly At The Off-Leash Dog Park Of A Wednesday Evening

So many doggies in the Mockler park

And Molly does not know how much she likes

To be among these animals who bark

And frisk about and sniff. One of these nights

I'll fail to get my girl to go at all.

She'll eye the car and know we're off to get

Some exercise, and she'll reject the call.

She likes okay the other dogs she's met

But much prefers to sniff the mail they leave

When it has aged. When proffered a fresh source

She turns her nose away. I do believe

At heart she is a kitteh, though of course

No kitteh would be caught dead herding labs

As she will do when toys are up for grabs.

In Which Cheyenne Becomes A Hipper Place And I A Happier Cheyenneian

Cheyenne's martini bar is quite a place,

Suite 1901, in the Frontier shack

Downtown. The drinks alone will melt your face,

So good they are; nor is there any lack

Of other blandishments for such as I.

We missed the live bluesman who played last night,

But won't again, myself and funny, spry

Melissa. Owner John, to my delight

Says he has plans for tunes five nights a week.

There's only one TV and that is small,

And the decor? Quite tasteful, smooth and sleek

Mid-century modern - that's my fav'rite! Call

Me anytime, you locals, when you go

My second home awaits me there, you know.

In Which Further Rage Is Vented

Construction as you know has quite f'd up

The only way out of my neighborhood

Into the rest of Cheyenne. Now I sup

On still more rage, though I know I'm as good

For blaming as the red and white Ford truck

That just plowed into Deep Blue's back tire when

I dared to cross the street where he was stuck

A-waiting his next chance to join again

The greater stream of traffic. I did think

He'd waved me on across like a good guy

But then he lurched. I stopped just on the brink

Of getting fully hit -- don't want to die

Just when things in my life are looking well

But how I wish that driver were in hell.

In Which I Shake My Fist At The Construction Gods

Dell Range at my end is right now a maze

Of cones and barrels and ugly VM signs.

I'm to the east, so should I get a craze

To go somewhere on business, my designs

Do force always a left turn, which is hard

Enough against the traffic when there's not

Construction out there. I am often barred

From moving as the minutes tick. I've got

A store of patience, but it sure wears thin

Now that the traffic's down to just two lanes

And those so hard to see. A hot place in

Street planning hell awaits, with bright orange chains

For those who made this happen, I decree.

Of course, I know that's not quite up to me.

In Which I Dash Off To A Greek Festival -- But Not Without Writing A Sonnet

The Greek Festival is my yearly excuse

To summon forth my Saratoga babes --

Punk Martha Stewart, and another muse

моя сузитчка. All of us are slaves

To music, food and dancing, and, yes beer.

It's one of those rare times when old Cheyenne

Is truly fun, this special time of year.

We also celebrate the growing span

Of years that PMS has lived -- you know

It was her birthday just this week -- why hold

A party when a big one's on? Hello!

With better food and music, lots of cold

Bud Light, and then the three of us, amuck.

Excuse me now -- the Greek food bug has struck!

BONUS SONNET Riding Beneath Two Skies

I left the office, stood in pouring rain.

Ahead of me those dark, forbidding skies

Loomed angry, as though I had caused the pain

That leaked from all those clouds into my eyes.

Behind me, though, as I pulled far away

Out of the shadow of the building there

Was perfect blue and sunshine. I did stay,

Admiring the demarcation where

The two skies met, a moment, then turned on

To Yellowstone Ave, already soaked through,

Hair plastered to my face and eyebrows drawn

In concentration. All I sought was to

Turn east onto the Greenway and to see

The rainbow that would show my path to me.

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Wish A Motorist Ill

Convertible driver, you funny guy,

While it's hilarious, sure, I agree,

To honk your horn just as I pass on by

You on my bike while I go 'crosst the street,

And laugh a brutish laugh at my small scream,

It's funny, too, to hope that some day soon

A murder of foul crows cuts loose a stream,

A rain of well-used carrion, right at noon,

On you and your sweet ride. I'd not so curse

Were honking as I passed your only sin --

But revving up your engine with a lurch

Right for me? Lo, the harridan within

Me wakes and calls down all upon your head

A shower of shit. You'll wish that you were dead.

In Which Deep Blue And I Commune With The Greenway

Were I struck blind, still could I make my way

From work to home on Cheyenne's best bike route,

Just by the smells encountered ev'ry day

Along the path. My nose is more acute

After a summer's daily travel there.

Once past the city street and vulcanized

Smell of the tire place that is right where

The Greenway starts for me, as I am prized

From car traffic, the smell of fresh-cut grass,

Late blooming trees and cattails dominate

Until I pass the paddock where, alas,

A lonely horse stands grazing, with no mate.

The wet concrete and dust of tunnels, then

I'm practically already home again.

On Coming Home After A Minibreak Vacation

'Twas just two days and change and yet it seems
As though I have been gone for weeks instead.
The grass unmowed out front now also screams
For watering, as do the hedge and bed
Of irises and lilies. Welcome back,
Says my front yard as I arrive, so tired
From driving in the blazing sun in black
(Car and attire). See all that has transpired?
There's dust to dust and vacuuming to do.
Out back there's weeds to pull and trim as well.
And by the way when all of that is through
A podcast still needs edited. Oh, hell:
You're worthless as you slump into that chair.
Fine, take a nap, but then to work, I swear!