In Which Ring the Bells of a Big Blue Mobile Phone

Souffle Girl is a puzzle; aren't they all?
Well, I suppose that, after fifty years,
The Doctor isn't really what we'd call
A mystery. And playing off the fears
That Moffat has of Twitter was a bit
Too silly, even for my silly taste.
All told, though, I'll say Matt has still got it
(My adoration, that would be); no waste
Of time or space, is he. Redecorate
Again, though? Go ahead, as long as you
Tell me a story. As for Clara's fate
Inside a Dalek, I'm down to see that, too.
The best for me, though, was Richard E. Grant!
This won't end well, now, will it? No, it can't!

In Which Is Considered Chronoleptic Tense

While now we talk of future selves, I beg
O Paul, that when you do come to berate
The man you are today, you will not peg
The me who types these lines. This present Kate
Encourages your folly, reckless, wild,
And will be Past-Kate anyway when such
Event occurs, and will have seemed a child
Compared to Future-Kate - oh no! For much
As River and the Doctor might, I've tripped
A chronoleptic trigger! But indeed
We had to have blamed future Paul, who skipped
The niceties of diary-syncing, need
For retro-recognition trumping couth.
He'll make her cry in their shared retro-youth.

Sonnet Dare: In Which Is Considered The First Appearance Of The Master

You think the Master is a scary foe

As Jacobi and Simms have played him? Ha!

As first he did appear, when Delgado

Brought him to life, his powers had no flaw.

A glance and you were hypnotized and quick

To try to blow the Doctor up, despite

Your loyalties. This was no parlor trick.

He was that awesome; t'was pointless to fight,

And if you did, he gave you creepy toys

That made you dumb somehow, so you would bring

Them in the house, e'en though such obvious ploys

Should never work: An ugly, funny thing

That's on the mantle for a while, then, ouch!

It sinks its fangs into you on the couch!

BONUS SONNET: Eyepatch Brigadier: In Which I Declare My Undying Love

A journey to an alternate world can

Be quite disorienting, even queer

(In that old-fashioned sense). That such a man

Exists as the great Eyepatch-Brigadier

(In Doctor Who: Inferno) leaves me stunned.

The Goatee-Spock, the Wicked Walternate

Have naught on him; he's got them all outgunned

With just a one-eyed glare. And what did cut

That fearsome Omar Little scar across

His face, and left him so bowel-chilling cold?

As mirror world chaps go, he is the boss.

Not even fair Fauxlivia could hold

A candle to him; he would blow it out

And strike her dead with just a single shout.

In Which I Manage To Catch Doctor Who But Almost Miss Writing A Sonnet

My sense of time's the first, always to go,

When some crud's tracked me down and taken me

Its hostage. Sleeping, eating, I don't know

The intervals when they occur. That we

Had plans to watch some Doctor Who, I knew,

And set my cell phone's clock to sound alarm

Whene'er the hour occurred to sign on to

The client where we chat while Pertwee's charm,

Venusian karate, knowledge, and

Dumb luck bring him to some dimension where

The Brigadier has no mustache, no bland

And bureaucratic style -- instead a stare

Through one good eye a scar to make one's blood

Run cold -- and leave this sonnet, well, a dud.

In Which I Lament Something That Is Lacking In Summer 2010

July's begun, a time when many seek
Surcease from scorching in the cool and dark
Of friendly local cinemas. I weep,
Though, as I once again survey the stark
And hopeless offerings for these great screens
This season's bringing. This year, there's not one,
I care to see at all. Some say this means
I'm just too picky; no, I have some fun
At stupid 'splodey blockbusters, as long
As they have ought to recommend them save
A bloated budget. Is it just so wrong
To want a story with what goobers crave
(A lot of CGI, they guess). I rue
This year. I think I'll stick to Doctor Who.

In Which I Rant A Bit About A New Character Design

Accept my testimony, bitches. What

Have you done to our Daleks, crazy boys?

They never were that scary, really, but

Now they resemble crushable desk toys!

All plastic, brightly colored, and on top

A black accordion that should collapse

Quite satisfyingly should I just stop

And smash it with my fist when I relapse

Into a moment's rage. I could have used

One of them just today when I took in

The newest Who, which pleasingly first fused

These killer robots with (this made me grin)

A '40s tank in olive drab. Hell yes!

But that's not our aesthetic now, I guess.

In Which A Tradition Is Well Continued, Or, I Like The New Doctor So Far

Ten Doctors now have come and, sadly, gone,
And the Eleventh now must fill the box.
So far I'm charmed. We''ll see as we go on.
But I must say the new companion rocks!
Matt Smith is quite the geek, impatient, stern,
A gawky, quirky bird in a bow tie;
And Karen Gillan (for whom many yearn,
As befits one who's easy on the eye),
Playing Amy Pond, is not just smart
But quite decisive, too, when once she's sussed
What's going on, to act. I'll say my heart
Is theirs to take -- and this from one who's fussed
A lot on where this show's been going. Yay!
Let Moffat take this show where'er he may.

SONNET DARE: In Which A Hapless Survivor Is Prepared For A New Role

I've e'er been strong, as sleepers these days go.
A brass band or jet plane could n'er wake me.
It's no suprise, then, that I missed the woe
And violence when Skynet did decree
Extermination of all humankind
(Or was that Davros? I sometimes mix up
My robot overlords). I am confined
Now to a cell, where I am forced to sup
On funky meats and get no exercise.
I'm gaining weight and getting soft like veal.
I'm quite confused. I really don't surmise
That I am meant to be a fancy meal.
Robots don't eat, though they do like a show.
What's this? OK, "Solo! Hay lapa no?"

In Which I Explain The Motivation Behind A Hashtag (#doctorwhotillmyeyesbleed)

I lived without TV for many years,

Well over ten, if truth indeed be told.

I missed it not, except for -- bring the jeers --

One show from overseas I'd loved of old.

That show was Doctor Who, which only came

To me in Saratoga, much delayed,

Through Denver's PBS, which bore the flame

Of wobbly sets and Time Lords, chiefly played

By one Tom Baker, then Pete Davison.

The show went on without me, glad to say,

While I attended Bard, grad school, had fun

In Boston writing for odd 'zines, away

From any cathode ray tubes but now I've

A hankerin' to see Docs beyond Five.