In Which I Ponder A Strange, Sad Phenomenon

To miss someone one's known online is strange.
There's still a hole, but he's been fossilized.
His stream just stops, and will not ever change,
But doesn't ever leave, I've realized.
The film's stopped on one frame. We may rewind
Quite at our leisure, easily relive
What won our love originally, find
New things, too, that he alone did have to give.
Mac's tweets are still up; so are Lethe's; both blogs
Have been preserved, and Max's, too, live on,
As shrines or data ghosts, as catalogs
Of what each man has shared. The men are gone,
And no new chapters shall be written, yet
Their echoes do not fade 'mongst those they've met.

In Which I Try To Offer Some Comfort

I wish that I could give you all a hug,
Around the world and missing Chris; you know
You're not alone, don't you? I'd feel a slug
If I did not remind you of this, though.
We each of us have in our memories
A version of him, know what he would do.
It seems unfair that, despite any pleas
We're never going to have from him a new
Perspective, essay, or idea to play
Around with or to share, but ev'ryone
Can take up just a piece of what we'd say
Was his responsibility, begun
But now unfinished. Set your shoulders square
And ponder on what you can, if you dare.

In Which We Lose Another - R.I.P. Chris Al-Aswad, aka Lethe Bashar

I first found Chris -- or should say, he found me

On Twitter, of course. That is where great minds

Who think alike unite, these days. Valery,

That symbolist and poet -- such rare finds

Are people who know of him or will ask

When reference is made -- and so began

A strange collaboration. Each new task

We gave each other showed more of the man

Behind the pseudonym. Feverish, bright

And willing the world to be a bit more

Like that he found in books and paintings. Slight

Here is my praise; the shock's too new. If you're

Of any mind to see what he could do

Check out his novel. Chris, I shall miss you.

In Which An Epic Tweet-Up Occurs

Imaginary friends sometimes are not

Unreal, as I've discovered on this date.

Both @vinamist - who I must say has got

More going on than one might estimate

From her scant tweets - and @blogofinnocence,

Who's all over the map, are both right here

In Argo Tea with me. In their defense

I couldn't make them up; that's pretty clear.

Such friendship as we've found does not on place

Depend, but I will say it sure is nice

To put the Twitter name and Twitter face

To flesh and blood and voice. So my advice:

An online friend's a lovely thing to gain

But lovelier to make one real and plain.

In Which Vikram Seth -- and Lethe Bashar -- Make Me Feel Silly In More Ways Than One

Today I left my current reading back
At home, quite by mistake, but, lucky me:
I am compulsive, keep a mighty stack
Of books always. In my bag I'd a key
To at least one untasted universe.
Thanks to the same dear friend who hooked me on
Cao Xuecin, 'twas a novel, writ in verse,
By Vikram Seth, on which I'm simply gone.
I'm sheepish to say that The Golden Gate
Was new to me before Lethe mentioned it.
I'm stunned at the perfection of this bait
For keeping me from other tasks. Its wit,
So sly yet sad, has me laughing out loud,
Much to comrades' confusion. Hope he's proud.

SONNET DARE: A Chinese Language and Culture Coincidence!

My love affair with Mandarin is old
And slightly stale; no one to speak with here
In Wyoming, but it has not gone cold,
Not yet. I try to keep it, but I fear
I've lost too much. I still read like a child
(Traditional not simplified) and now
Some Chinese lit is bound for me - how wild -
A new friend's sending me some Xueqin Cao!
The Story of the Stone will soak my brain
In 18th century China. He knew not,
My friend, that Chinese language was a main
Field of my college studies. He just caught
The drift of how my mind works -- and I am
The more amused: his blog draws Chinese spam!

Sonnet Dare: In Which I Channel A Jedi Master For A Friend's Benefit

When Lethe claimed all that he could do was try,

I promised that quote Yoda I would not.

There things might end, but not so; let it fly

He did with dares. Since like him I a lot,

Down it could not turn I. Write it I will,

A Yoda sonnet, for him it just is.

For fun it is, and as a test of skill

Not beaten could it be. The pleasure's his,

I'm sure, while gloating he must sit

In certainty that fail I will at last.

Too easy it is, though, he will admit

Like Yoda writing is - also a blast!

Fear I do that for all of today

Talk will I now in this peculiar way.

In Which I Prepare To Escape Into Life

A new notebook's an empty, perfect thing.

Its blankness is intimidating. Yet

Shall I soon mar it. Watch me as I fling

Myself into a sexy new project.

When Lethe Bashar invited me to join

His magazine's new Moleskine art bazaar,

I said "of course" before I thought what coin

Of spirit I could offer. I'm not far

Along in choosing what to use to fill

My journal. Sonnets, sure, but something more?

I'm still excited, trembling with the thrill

Of trying something new, but will I bore

His public, who one day ere long will buy

Escape Into Life's wares? The aim is high!