Lines On Seeing My Friend Play With Her Son

O Parker, soon enough school bells will toll

For you; this is your final Fall to be

Carefree with Mom, and as these last days roll

Of lovely weather, it's so good to see

The two of you at play out on the path

On this fine day, and marvel how you've grown!

It won't be long until spelling and math

Must occupy you. All of us have known

That toil, except for you. Your ignorance

Of what awaits you is perfect and clear

While you and your orange bike ride down where once

Bare pastures stood, your mother jogging near.

Change overtakes us all. Meanwhile, enjoy

This perfect day, you silly, lovely boy.

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.

Grasshopper Gloss: In Which An Analogy Is Drawn

O grasshoppers, you scoff to see me wave,

That gesture ceding you the right to cross

The concrete -- as though simply that could save

You from becoming just a smear, a gloss

Upon the Greenway's surface. No, you wait

Or fly away in haste. There's wisdom there.

Likewise, e'en though I know that many hate

My firm refusal of concern and care

Some motorists extend on city streets

That I traverse, that cut across my path.

I trust you not, as memory still bleats

Distress at one who waved, then hit me. Hath

We come to this, assuming evil of

Those who might truly mean us naught but love?

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In Which Some Mud Gets The Better Of Me

It rained last night, but that was long ago,

And there was little mud left I could see,

So while a certain wariness, I know

And in which I engage, is needed, the

Small lake within the tunnel did surprise

Me just a bit, but that was nothing to

What waited at its end, just where a rise

Begins, with a sharp curve to pedal through.

A sharp turn means my bike and I must lean

A bit; and just there where I did so, there lay

A mud slick. Ere I knew, my bike slid clean

Out from beneath me, yet, to my dismay

Still landed on me. Glad I broke its fall,

But now I hurt all over, overall.

In Which I Enjoy A Rainy Bike Commute

"I get a buzz from being cold and wet,"
Pete Townsend sings, and I can but agree.
How else explain the soaking that I get
When on a rainy day, I choose to be
A bike commuter. While the cars slow down,
Their windshields fogged and blurred, their drivers mad,
I speed on down the Greenway, love my town
For giving me this back route. Bits are bad,
I will not lie; the tunnels 'neath Dell Range
Are flooded and detours I have to make
Force me to deal with angry drivers. Change
Is good for me, though; just means I must take
Some extra care. Meanwhile the water pours
And I soar blithely through the great outdoors.

In Which The Grasshoppers Lie Heavy

There still is something missing as the spring
Morphs into summer. While the days are long
And lovely, and the noisy blackbirds sing,
As do the larks and mourning doves, it's wrong
To call me pleased, who pedals past and through
The grasslands and the marshes, breathing in
The scents of plants and flowers on Deep Blue.
The Greenway still is lonely with no din
Of insects. Barely hatched and tiny, they
Still hide within the earth, can barely crawl
Forth from their refuge; they'd be easy prey
In early instar stages, for 'most all
Those chirping birds. Come out soon, friends, and play,
And jump to herald me along my way.


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In Which The Sonneteer Wishes Duties Were Better Done

Well, look at that, and I forgot a bag,

You say, and give your dog reproachful looks,

Like it's his fault. I know that it's a drag

To pick up his produce, and you're not crooks

Or vandals, are you? No! Next time you'll do

A better job preparing. So you tell

Yourself and both walk on. Meanwhile all through

The Greenway evidence is there pell-mell

And rolling 'crossed the concrete in the breeze.

Six month's accumulation, maybe more

Along with fresher stuff that smears. Oh, please,

It only takes a moment, this small chore,

And while it's gross, so what; it's quickly done

And then it won't lie rotting in the sun.

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!

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.

In Which I Feel The Approach Of A New Season

The leaves, still green, could have blown off the trees

Today, instead of twisting to point out

The wind's direction. We've not had a freeze

As yet, to make my neighbors rush about

And cover their tomatoes, but, this week,

When I get on my bike, the sky's still dark,

For that first morning ride to work. Soon bleak

And cold this trip will be, lonely and stark --

Already my hands need a pair of gloves.

But for right now, the grasshoppers, my friends

Still bask in afternoon heat, but my loves

Grow sluggish, and more of them meet their ends

'Neath walking feet and skates and, yes, bike tires.

And with them soon the summer, too, expires.

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.

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.

In Which I Add To My Pantheon Of Heroes

It's waterproof, so it seemed rather wise

To wear the jacket I put on to ride

Deep Blue to work. But there was a surprise

Not caused by weather: There did slip outside

Its shoddy pocket some important stuff.

My paper brain, FIELD NOTES, it slipped out first;

My cell phone further on, and things looked rough.

But Howard Scotland, saw my book, reversed,

(He cycles, too) and picked it up. I'd grown

Already used to its loss, e'en resigned.

But Howard e- then snail mailed. Then my phone

Was Robert McIntosh's random find.

That things I value fell into such hands

Was good luck beyond reas'nable demands!

BONUS SONNET: Everything Is Better With AIR

"Hey lady," called out sev'ral local sprats,

As I did huff and puff on down the street.

"Your tires are flat!" Oh hey, so maybe that's

Why one mile felt like forty. To complete

My shame, I did quite fail to bring along

My bike pump. Like a chorus, then, did sound

The gleeful and humiliating song

As I bore down and pow'red my way around

The Greenway to the exit on Ridge Road.

With gritted teeth I thanked each helpful soul,

Accepted each outcry as one more goad

To keep me moving onward to my goal.

The sad thing is, I think that yesterday

A kid yelled out the same thing. Oy and vey.