For @Lucysfootball, On The Anniversary Of Her Birth

A poet's birthday is no common thing.
We're liable to react in strength, betimes.
And since we're paid (a pittance) for to sing
We're liable to react in strength, in rhymes.
But age is comforting: we've made it far
(Much further than we'd thought we would, perhaps)
If work's undone, we need to set the bar
Accordingly, is all. We'll take more naps,
Drink wine, eat ice cream, and approach our toils
Refreshed, ignoring voices in our heads
That scream "our time is fleeting," such as spoils
Our lines. But Amy knows, and never dreads
A natal day: she counts down, spazzes out
And blesses us at midnight with a shout!

For @Nightwyrm In His Ennui

It happens to us all. Like days-old bread,
What has been toothsome now is merely stale.
Like playset swings when kids have gone to bed,
All feels so still and motionless and pale
Like winter sun or waning moon. We sit
Deploring how it all seems like a waste.
We squander time in doing this, admit
That Demon, Maxwell's, might at last have chased
All of the heat from out our lives. But hey --
The bread is stale because a fungus grows
Within its crannies. And the swing will sway
Again tomorrow. Really all our woes
Are brief, and soon will change. But for tonight
Just take a moment; think about what's right.

In Which Our Curiosity May Yet Be Satisfied

A picture of a wheel confirms it: we
Have got our ass to Planet Mars again!
This time a great big laboratory
On wheels will roam its surface. Now and then,
O Human Race, you make me proud as hell
(Especially Keri Bean, my weather nerd
Who's worked on this as long as, really, well,
As long as I've known of her). I have heard
A giant gasp of wonder on this night.
And though we've just begun, have far to go
The fact that we can do this proves we might
Survive ourselves someday. For now, I know
Of nothing in the universe that could
E'er make me feel this glad, this cool, this good.

In Which @Daecabhir And @PandasHeart Have Happy News

Who says that Ren faires bring us nothing good?
'Twas thereat, I believe, that Gregory
(Called Daecabhir amoung the wondrous 'hood
We call the internets) did chance to see
And flirt with a belle femme there, whom we know
As Panda's Heart. True love at soonest glance,
I think, for Greg and Anna, 'neath the glow
Of torchlight. Lo, how sweetly time and chance
Brought dorks to love - and now today we learn
That it's for keeps, for quite out of the blue
Hath Greg announced that she's his wife. I yearn
To hug them both, but this will have to do.
Huzzah, forsooth; here's wishing many years
Of happiness, and lovely ales and beers.

In Which I Offer To E-Sign Your E-Books

A book is lovely, lovelier when signed
By he or she who wrote it, but now we
Have ebooks, and for this they're much maligned:
They're hard to autograph, but now we see
(While waiting for Paul Cooley's MyWrite app)
That someone's tried to fix this problem, made
This program: Kindlegraphs. So give a clap,
Mayhap a cheer. As yet, though, I'm afraid
That only Twitter users can request
Inscriptions. Still, as things go, it's a start!
So now it's up to you: please be my guest
And ask for one on my book if your heart
Desires such. And meanwhile, watch this space
For news of paperbacks, anon, apace!

In Which I Try To Say Good-Bye To Max Bell

I knew the day would come when we would reach
For our friend Max, and he would not be there.
That day has come, it seems, and now we each
Must find the words -- they're all we have to share.
I've braced myself to feel his absence, yet
E'en so, I was not ready. It's a cheat.
I can't recall what we last spoke of, bet
'Twas something mordant, funny, even sweet
(For, snarky though he often was, his heart
Dictated kindness, even when the dumb
Just burned). I'll deeply miss him, for my part --
Or will when I am over feeling numb
And empty. Ev'ry day's a touch more dim
And more so now, with no comment from him.

In Which @SennyDreadful Hits The Big 3-0

Bend over, Jenny dear, it's now your turn
To get your spanking (do they that across
"The Pond"?). I find you've done a lot to earn
These kind attentions - I'm quite at a loss,
Indeed, to sum you up for readers who
Don't know your work already, that you write
Lovecraftian and subtle, that you woo
The muses with good plonk by dark of night,
That you're a source for finding all the cool
And crazy shows, that ev'ry tweet's a treat
That comes from you. On this, your birthday, fool
Them all! Why yes, you're thirty, but 'tis sweet
To claim you're even older: you will see
The compliments do shower you. Trust me!

In Which Kenneth Cole Blackens His Own Name

A dark and scary thing erupted when
A clueless rich designer tweeted how
The chaos there in Cairo must have been
Just mobs a-crowding 'round his store right now.
The internet's alive now with the blurts
Of those who mock him, push the boundaries
Of taste as they do so. In truth it hurts
No one; they are just jokes and words, but Jeeze,
To think of all that must have lurked beneath
Polite facades ere this event. I can't
Say that I do not laugh, but grit my teeth
To see this on display. That just one scant
And dumb remark provokes a genre is,
The cost, I guess, these days of doing biz.

In Which @JennyBeanses Makes Me Feel Funny

Sonneteer's note: I found this half-completed in my browser window and am still trying to puzzle out this situation with @Jennybeanses via Twitter. I still think there's something she's not telling me.

My cousin Jenny swears we're not from here,

And likes to give me cocoa that tastes strange

And watch me drink it all -- and it is clear

She will not let me be until it's drained.

I'll humor her, because I want to know

More of this story that she's spinning, as

Would anyone! Ooh, aliens on the go

And exiled, fam'ly feuds -- this yarn, it has

'Most ev'rything I like! Um, Jenny, I

Feel funny now, and dizzy, and my toes

Are itchy. With a kick, my slippers fly

And I see that I've extra digits. Those

Are webbed as well. And why are my feet blue?

Dear Jenny, you have got 'splanin' to do!

In Which I Don't Want To Miss The @TuacaCon Boat (But I Might)

Debauchery, thy name might truly be
Tuaca, beverage of failed pimps
And DragonCan'ts. Oh, how I long to see
What orange-flavored hijinks all these imps
I call my friends might now engage in. Ware,
P.G., and Phil, and Brand, and Kim, and, yes
Miss Christiana, Val and Laura, there
And Starla, Patrick, Dave, Paulette (I guess
They had to let in Paul or else he'd sic
His bunny slippers on them), also Chooch
And Viv! TuacaCon is no mean trick
To pull off. Throw in Sigler and (O, smooch!)
As virtual events go, count me in
As soon as I get off work, for the win!

New Twitter: In Which We Are Not Impressed

Did someone clamour for these features which

New Twitter's thrust upon us all, I ask?

'Tis like a change in Facebook; with each bitch

I read about it, I put off the task

Of dealing with the update longer yet.

I am no neophobe, but do prefer

My stuff to work, and feature creep don't get

Me too excited. Now I see they err

Still greater; tweets are disappearing, too,

Except the ones I've saved as favorites,

From some accounts. It's April 4 for you,

Still earlier for others. As one splits

Until this all blows over, I am glad

At work I'm stuck on IE6! That's bad.

In Which Malice Is Afoot - Or Agoat

A "WTF" link first appeared,
With it a shortened link, and Twitter then
Became an IQ test, though somewhat queered
By curiosity, as shown off when
It spawned a tweet in your stream that announced
Your fondness for some outre naughtiness
(This is a fam'ly sonnet; won't be trounced
By those, censorious, who call for less
And more attenuated smut; I'll not
Quote what these said here). Few of you did fall
For its allure, but many mocked it. Got
To say, though, no Stuxnet jokes? Sigh. I'll call
You on one thing, though, O my silly birds:
If thus you tweeted, better change passwords.

Lines Written Circling Pearson International Airport

It's not good-bye, not anymore, not now

That Twitter keeps us well and truly linked,

I tell myself, yet fail to keep my vow

That I would never cry. As such, I blinked

Back tears when parting from my Paul at last.

I shall return next spring, and meanwhile there

Is much to start and finish. Art thoughts blast

My brain; creative mainlining and care

In choosing how we spent this visit means

The well is truly full; work beckons; we

Collaborate and have our own tasks. Scenes

From gleeful planning sessions, setting free

Our wild imaginations boost my cheer,

But I'll not see my loves until next year.

Tweet

BONUS SONNET: Con-Fabulation

O would that we could have been having drinks
With Sasha Pixlee when he saw, last night
A sight that few could handle well, methinks,
Without our faces going bloodless, white
With shock. O DragonCon, O fandom, you
Bring out the beast in many. Last week I
Saw one Gene Simmons Batman plunge into
A crowd as he fell down the stairs (to fly
Was quite beyond him); this week Grover stalked
A bar in ol' Hotlanta -- in his hand
A bright red dildo. Wonder if he talked
That incoherent, growly way, too, and
If Sasha talked right back while hauling off
Four litres of fine absinthe for to quaff.
Tweet

In Which We Happily Reprogram One Another

The list just grows; we're all compelled to share

What we love with our chosen family

Of course we want the source code, well aware

That we can do it, too. This week must be

The one most overwhelming info-dump:

Read this, watch that, you'll love it, add it to

Your list. When we're apart, you'll feel a lump

Rise in your throat, but really, working through

This subculture we've just created here

Will ease it. What has formed me now shall cross

The barriers between us, never fear!

We're always just a thought away. Though loss

Is how we came together we all gain.

It's wonderful to share a heart and brain.

Tweet

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Test Out The Tweet Button

I'm testing out the new Tweet button, just
Because I wonder how it shall appear
And if it will be any help. One must
Experiment to answer questions. Fear
Not: if it annoys, it's coming down.
I simply had a moment, now, to spare,
And cannot help but want more readers. Frown
Not on me for this, please. I shouldn't care
About such things, I 'spose, but there: I do.
And honestly, who doesn't? Is it art
If no one ever sees it? Click on through
And tweet it if you've liked it, but my heart
Won't break if you just snort and roll your eyes
And move along. Just tryin' it on for size.
Tweet

Sonnet Dare: For @RitaJKing: In Which I Ponder Loveland

"Inchvesting" is a most unusual term,
But 'tis a far from ordinary age,
As Rita tells us, and I must affirm
What she imagines jumps up off the page
And, maybe, soon will change our world and stop
Th'entropy that's making of Detroit
An urban ghost town. Yet there's hope: a crop
Of dreamers dare, with notions most adroit
And open-ended, to seek out a way
(Or many, really) to re-use the space
That industry's abandoned. Who's to say
That they will not succeed? And in their place
Could you do better? Well, here's your big chance:
A dollar buys an inch of land. Advance!

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 I Hope This Helps @Melzer and @Jennybeanses

Two friends of mine are really in a fix.
American, Canadian, in love
And hoping soon to marry, but the licks
We all have taken now have taken of
Their hopeful plans a dreadful and harsh bite:
They're writers, both, and working really hard,
But hard work's not enough for such a plight
As theirs is; their employer's slight regard
Was not enough to keep them on, and so
E'en as they try to save that he may come
And legally live with her (which we know
Costs lots of money) -- this is dumb
They're back to where they started. If you can,
Chip in and help our Jenny get her man.

(Sonneteer's note: I'm a huge fan of this pair -- Jennifer "Jennybeanses" Hudock and James Melzer. They're both podcast novelists who have given away their major works for free via Podiobooks.com. James' first book, ESCAPE: A Zombie Chronicles novel, comes out in print next March from Permuted Press/Pocket Books but that's a long way off. My point is, they're busting tail to entertain and make a living and be together, and if anyone deserves a little support, it's these two. Thanks!)

In Which I Wish Our Own @Syllver Many Happy Returns

E-sisters are a treasure, this we know
Who tweet or talk online in other ways.
So when one of them has a birthday, though
She might not relish it, I feel a craze
To tease her in a verse or two, right here.
Our Sylvie-Anne, so busy, sprightly, and
With such good taste in entertainment, dear,
Nobody rocks a hat like you, or can
Be quite as old as you now are, today
(I said I would be teasing, didn't I?).
You wear it well, and raise great kids, I'll say,
All while you carry off that groovy style
And game on through your days and nights -- what fun!
I hope your birthday is a happy one!