In Which Is Born A Strange Dynamic

There's grass in our backyard now! Doggies dream

Of such things, when of such they've been deprived --

Well most dogs, anyway. D'ja hear that scream?
"Eek! Grass!" quoth mine own collie. I've not jived

You there, I do assure you. When I go

Outside to sit and watch the sprinkler keep

The sod moist, does she join me? Mostly no.

Indeed, her mistrust seems to run so deep

That when her loneliness sets her to choose

To seek my company, she gives a scratch

Upon the backdoor -- but alas, you'd lose

The bet that she is coming out. The catch

Is that she wants me there indoors instead.

Politely I refuse. She bows her head.

Empty Nest

The ice that's in the trays sits undisturbed.
No random power tool noise fills the air.
My collie's 'thusiam 's somewhat curbed;
Her fav'rite human (my dad) isn't there
When she comes back indoors from her patrol.
The kitchen table's empty and quite clean
(Apart, that is, from artichokes mom left --
By accident or charity? I mean,
They're artichokes, of which she's oft bereft
In Saratoga!); the spare room is, too.
Just when I'm used to sharing, I'm alone
Again. Another visit now is through,
My mom and dad are now safe back at home.
I have, of course, a great big load of stuff
To tackle in their absence, sure enough.

In Which Our Craftiness Is Tested, Or Brrr It's Bleeping Cold Out There

My house is warm with fam'ly, but outside

The wind roars bitterly, and it's damned cold.

When it's just me I let this matter slide,

Throw on another sweater, but, cajoled

By those I love I cranked my thermostat

Beyond the 60s. Then, 'cause there are drafts,

We nailed up a big blankie to combat

The frigid air from my back door. Such craft

As exercised here might seem to exceed

Our daily quota, but we're smarter yet!

When planning for the grocery run, indeed,

We planned for turkey soup and whatnot. Bet

We still have to go shopping Friday? No,

We roar, you cannot make us go!

A Sonnet Of The Mundane: Getting A New Refrigerator

It's ugly, has a tendency to freeze
What I would merely chill, and then it tends
To make such noise -- sometimes it's just a wheeze,
Sometimes a rumble -- that most of my friends
Say they can hear it on my podcasts (yes,
At present I record them sitting at
My kitchen table). Icemakers you'd bless
When hooked up to the plumbing aren't all that
When they just run on nothing. It must go,
And soon it will. Tomorrow, around lunch
Some nice young men in clean blue suits will show
And cart off my old fridge. Till then, the cruch
Is clearing out the present one before
They come. It's mostly condiments, so score!

In Which Ground Is To Be Broken

My worst friend has the best plan for my yard:
A rented rototiller soon will tear
Into its soil; I hope it won't be hard
To do, but if it is, of course I'll share
A lot of beer to thank him for the toil.
'Tis not the whole expanse he'll overturn,
Just a small garden plot. We've lovely soil
Here in Cheyenne, though of course there's concern:
The growing season's short, but still I hope
To grow some beets and turnips, carrots, some
Nice fennel, parsnips, rutabega. Nope,
Not going for the fancy stuff. That's dumb
Here on the high plains, unless one has built
A full greenhouse. That's "someday" to the hilt!

In Which The Holidays Bring Mixed Emotions

It's Christmas Eve and all throughout my house

I've family and doggies underfoot.

Th'exuberance we have nothing could dowse

Not after our Cowboys went down and put

Those Fresno State curs in their place down in

New Mexico. I hope that ev'ryone

Who reads my stuff, who happily has been

Along on this weird sonnet ride's had fun,

And is as fortunate as me tonight.

I pause and think of families who've lost

A dear one, as the Tonnies did, and fight

The urge to cry. All pleasure has a cost,

I guess. But know that whatever you do

Tonight I'm thinking fondly, yes, of you.

In Which Death Star Shortbread Is Baked

The kitchen's why the KATE STATION is mine.

Today we put it through its paces well.

While no-knead beer bread is a staple, fine

Baked goods are most uncommon here. I'll tell

You this: my expectations have been met!

A galley-style has always seemed the rule

Wherever I have lived before, which meant

A "one-butt" kitchen; more butts would be cruel

(That's people and not cigarettes) and we

Just get into each other's way. No more!

A pumpkin pie and shortbread baking spree

Has taken place, and scarcely was a chore

So simply done! And Sithmas treats are here:

With Death Star shortbread, how can we not cheer?

In Which I Prepare To Be Invaded

The KATE STATION is home to a mere two:

The collie and your humble sonneteer.

In minutes, though, I'll be trying to do

All that I can, with all of my good cheer

To make some room for this, my family -

Mom, Dad, and Sister Kris and, don't forget

That Missy Shitz-poo dog. It's going to be

Our first time all together here. I'll bet

There's something I've neglected that will make

Things difficult for someone. Well at least

The books are shelved, and I've managed to take

Back this old kitchen table from the beast

That is my laptop and accessories.

We might even dine off it if we please!

When It Rains I Can Pretend I'm Camping

My house has metal awnings, front and back.

So when it rains, the water has a voice.

I sit beneath them, listen to the clack

And clatter of the droplets. Happy choice

It was, to build them on. All that ribbed steel

Is like a camper's roof. When I was young

And slept up in the bunk on trips, I'd feel

And hear drops inches from me. How I've clung

To memories like these as time has passed.

Now it's just me, my patio, cigars,

A border collie and the great contrast

Twixt grey skies and green yard, and passing cars -

But their noise is drowned out by all the rain's

Metallic noises on the awnings' planes.

In Which I Tap My Foot And Dare To Dream

Sonneteer's note: Special thanks to Felicia, the rainfairy, for the magnificently apt phrase "Jedi speed dial"

The last rainfall revealed a roofing fail,

Disclosed by a new ceiling leak. I called

The roofer who, like any male,

Said he'd call right back. Oh, how time has crawled

Since then. He came just last night, checked it out,

And mapped out just what tasks he'd need to do,

Then said he'd come today, would give a shout

To say what time he'd be here, see it through.

I've spent most of today beside the phone,

To find out when my peace will be disturbed.

But Jedi speed dial's not a pow'r I own:

I cannot stare and make it ring. Perturbed?

Well, just a bit. Meanwhile I'll take a nap.

That ought to make it happen in a snap!