Bring On The Dark

The moon's eclipsing on this solstice night?
Oh noes! Just how much darkness can we take?
We surely all shall perish from sheer fright
(Those of us whom the Great Old Ones don't bake
Into big pies for Festivus). As for
My part, a huge and blood-red, sky-borne orb
Seems emblematic of my mood. I'm sore
Of heart and mind - there's too much to absorb:
These holidays are stupid, crass and dull.
I'm longing for real winter, cold and long
And thoughtful; I appreciate the lull.
My pull towards winter I find just as strong
As e'er it was. 'Til then, I nod and sigh
And watch the silly season plod on by.

In Which I Go Out On A Limb -- Or Seven

These kids today, with their new-fangled memes --
Or rather Great Old Ones. Witness this guy,
Cthulhu, who, if we're to trust the themes
Of his vast media presence, still is spry
And waiting in his city 'neath the waves
As he has been since ere life stirred upon
This damp old rock. Someday we'll be its slaves
(Or worse), if all the cultists who have gone
Insane on his behalf achieve their ends.
These console games and books of smut both are
Great starts that way, created by my friends.
So mark my words: this thing will be a star,
This Great Cthulhu fad; man, it's got legs!
I say we drink it up, down to the dregs.

In Which Mac Tonnies Takes A Turn In The Birthday Barrel

Mac Tonnies makes the internet more strange

Than it already is. That's quite a feat!

But he's an eye for signs of hoped-for change,

For beautiful decay, for all that's neat.

A diff'rent kind of skeptic, too, is he,

Who stresses what we don't know but could find

Were we but to try looking. When I see

The world through Tonnies' glasses I'm entwined

In future's promise, good and bad. Today,

His birthday, also is H.P. Lovecraft's!

And we can make of that whate'er we may.

Coincidence, I'll say - yet how I laughed

On learning that. So happy birthday, Mac.

How's that new book a-comin'? Don't you slack!

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Wish Nightwyrm A Happy Birthday

Oh hai, Cthul-who! Rory's not insane,

Though doodles he has done might contradict.

I heart him more than Brett, more than Jemaine.

I do not now remember when we clicked

On Twitter now, but glad I am I did!

Now comes today, time for his sonnet-spank.

'Tis his birthday; this fact cannot be hid.

Bend over dear, and take it. You will thank

Me later, I am sure. Thanks for the blips,

The drawings and the just-plain-crazy links.

Were I down there I'd kiss you on your lips

But blowing one will have to do, methinks.

Here's hoping that the whiskey slightly burns

And of the day come many great returns!

In Which I Brazenly Risk Being Pulled Down To Sunken Rl'yeh Several Times

Beside us and this lodge where we will pass

Our night tonight, I hear Cthulhu's roar.

A soup of clam cum, goo from mollusk ass

Shark spit, fish urine, seagull snot and more

Doth churn and crash in waves against a mix

Of ground-up glass, shell bits, rocks, plant rot, and

Some severed feet and rubber ducks and sticks.

I guess that stuff is commonly called sand,

The fluid called the sea, but let's be real:

A Great Old One won't live just anywhere

In anywhat. I'm sure, though, that he'd feel

At home wheree'er he wants, would never care

If it were blood or water where he swam

As long as he's believers, which I am.