In Which I Bid Facebook A Not-So-Fond Farewell

This has been coming for a long time now.
One straw always looks innocent and light
Until one bows 'neath many. I'll allow
I bore more than I should have; I'll not fight
With anyone o'er what it finally took.
The ratio of benefit against
Annoyance long has caused me, yes, to look
Askance at Facebook; I for long have sensed
Someday I'd leave it for good reason. Schemes
With "features" that just mock my privacy
And open up abuses despots' dreams
Could barely outline, all add up to be
Not worth it to play chess or simply chat.
There's other places where I can do that.

In Which Remarkable Coincidences Are Remarkable, And My World Proves Smaller Even Than I Thought

My buddy Dan, with whom I used to read
And dote on Dr. Seuss in the Ravine
Back in my college days, with whom I freed
Myself a little bit from all the mean
Constraints of young adulthood, has become
Professor Sonenberg. Though we have grown
Both up and yes, apart, no longer young,
Now share a strange new link that's all our own:
Josh Newton, soon Dan's student, sought me out
On Twitter, likes my sonnets, and he knows
More people in my life, I cannot doubt,
Than even we are sure of yet. This shows
The world as smaller, stranger than I thought,
And still bears more surprises, like as not!


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

In Which Mockery Is (I Hope) Gently Rebuked

A fragile grasp on how things really work

Online or off is much the common thing.

This doesn't mean one is a fool or jerk.

If just a little knowledge seems to bring

Desired results, why plumb into it more?

We all have areas where this is how

We function. Take the Facebook fluff: before

Today most of us knew not that, e'en now

So many others still use search engines

To find a login screen, and so did fall

Into a trap that no one set. Gremlins

Did not hijack them. Do not mock their call

For help; Each cry is from one who might know

Much that you don't, if you'd but ask them so.

In Which Distance Becomes Even More Meaningless

Most of my friends don't live here in Cheyenne,
But I still may pass entire days with them.
The internet is chiefly why I can,
That and a cell phone (what I have's a gem!).
In Saratoga Erin, graciously
Engaged in conversation, geeking out
And, of course, playing games with silly me
On Facebook. We are even on our bout
As these scant lines emerge, but we're mid-game
On number three, is all. How wonderful
That she has this free time, and she will spend
So much with me, in telepresence. Pull
Me from my dreary day? Well, I'll say yes!
And give all thanks that I've found Facebook chess!

In Which I Ponder A Strange Metaphor

This morning, as I rose ere dawn, we had
A temperature of Zero Degrees "Eff"
(With emphasis on "Eff"; I won't be bad
And spell out what that stands for). Some foul theft
Of all our warmth had happened in the night,
And sunrise did not bring us more. It's cold -
More so than a well-digger's butt, all right,
As my friend Bonnie eloquently told
Her Facebook friends, which prompted a profound
Discussion, how the baseline readings came
To be established? Did one ask around
And quote well-diggers' feelings name by name?
Or was data - empirical and real
Recorded. Just how cold did each butt feel?

Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, Mizz Carla McDonald

A Southern belle is always one at heart,
So I discovered yesterday once I
Had published, on a dare, a poem, in part
About a great impairment that is my
Achilles' heel at work: how such folk speak.
It's not that it's not charming, even cute,
As my friend Carla knows - it leaves men weak
I'm sure, to hear her sling it. No dispute.
But when a guy with one just cuts right loose
With deformed vowels and drops his consonants
In serious situations, there's no use
In pondering my preferences or wants:
I just plain have to tell them "come again?"
And vent a bit of spleen, just now and then.

Sunday, Stupid Sunday

A horrid combination these two make:
Of torpor and of loathing do I speak.
A Sunday afternoon at work can take
All that I have and leave me feeling bleak.
It's August, but this morning bore a chill
That froze my breath in mid-air as I rode.
One tire was slightly flat, I think, which will
Make bike-riding much harder, as I showed
Myself anew. Hours later, I'm still spent,
And listless, filled with hatred ev'ry time
A task occurs, or question. Like cement
Undried this day pulls me down; it's all I'm
Aware of at this point; I feel its weight.
Oh MAN, three hours to go yet. That's just great.

In Defense of Social Networking Sites

I know some people love to brag about
Deleting a Facebook or MySpace page.
And print and broadcast pundits boasting clout
Just love to act bewildered that the age
Of Twitter has arisen. We're all dupes
Or followers of some pied piper's song,
Fashion victims, or just simply snoops.
The fact that we're ungodly numbers strong
Newsweek et al point snidely to as proof
Of herd mentality, or just no life.
I say let's let the snide remain aloof.
These media are lovely, ripe and rife
With opportunities unguessed to find
New friends, old loves, life weirdly redefined.