In Which A Lad Is 43

Before the sunset, in the gloaming, from
The batwing doors you stepped. Of course I knew
'Twas you, but for a moment I played dumb.
Those years were painful; I'll have naught to do
With them. But you saw me, have no regrets,
And said hello. And you, dear boy, whose name
Is childhood, stand, all grown-up, quite well-met,
And in your prime. Where others at this same
Stage hid their greys and wrinkles, you just wear
Them like they fit. I hope I can as well.
Life's long yet, and we've burdens yet to bear
Unknown to those who fight their age. I'll tell
You this: you comfort me, just standing tall
And nodding, taking it for good and all.

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!

No Wonder @Ghostfinder Likes Groundhog Day!

My co-author and much admir'd net-friend
Is now become a slightly older man.
This Groundhog Day, the shadow's not the end
Of what we have to celebrate. A fan
Of Adam's "voodoo steampunk" writings, I
Most certainly am. They've got style and verve,
Lovecraftian and them some, but this guy
Has many other tricks to help unnerve
His readers. On his birthday, I am proud
To sing his praises, though I tap my foot.
He owes me our next chapter. I am loud
And rude to say it here, know he will put
The pedal to the metal just as soon
As he's done with his new novella. Swoon!

In Which I Ponder Why The Ladies Like The Grey

The Oliveri asked of us today
O'er on his mighty supervillain blog
(And Twitter) why the ladies like the grey
That surfaces in beards and hair. Agog
That this was e'en a mystery, I spilt
The beans, that when a guy has grey it means
He's lived a while, and that his life's been built
On being smarter, that perhaps his genes
Are fit to pass on. Why then, quoth The Mike,
Does Grecian Forumula exist? My dear,
'Tis simple: nothing's ever perfect, like
They say, and morons sometimes make grey too, I fear.
But, duped so easily by vanity
To spend their money, it's quite plain to see.

In Which A FiendMaster Looks At 40

What can one say on so august a day
(That happens in December), when the man
We call FiendMaster comes to, come what may
A birthday he'd avoid if e'er he can
(Though I found it unscary)? This guy writes
Foul stories, demonizing ice cream men
And most beloved muppets. Now his sights
Are set on unknown, new, bad vistas. When
He told me weeks ago that 40 loomed
And that his liver lillied, how could I
Not mock his cowardice? Yes, Paul, you're doomed.
We all are aging. These years do fly by.
Now quit your whining and write some more tales.
Your Fiendlings don't like waiting. Trim those sails!

Happy Birthday, @CullenBunn

O Cullen, that you wish us not to sing

To you today, does not really preclude

My taking on another silly thing:

A sonnet saying, "Happy birthday, dude."

A gross-out champ whose accent stuns me dead,

A daddy to the cutest child extant,

A storyteller whose shiny bald head

Doth blind us -- no, in fourteen lines I can't

Tell who you are, not adequately, so,

I'll simply hoist a margatweeta (or

An excreble concoction which we know

We'll never touch again). I shall wait for

Your children's book with interest; meanwhile

You keep that Sixth Gun coming, will you, chile?

In Which Old Friendship Stays Deep: @Globetrot and @ShannonKastner And Me

Oh, how did sixteen years go quickly by
Without the sight of this pair? They are two
Of my most cherished friends. I did rely
On both of them to keep me sane -- lo, youth
Is not so kind to geeks in rednecked lands,
And we had vast and empty spaces 'tween
Our tiny towns. Someone who understands
That knowledge is its own fun, has a keen
And lively int'rest in the world beyond
Wyoming can get lonely, might go mad.
But Shannon and her Steven, of such fond,
Untarnish'd mem'ry made things not so bad.
We kept in touch and last night I refreshed
My eyes and spirit with them, and feel blessed.

In Which I Vent A Little Resentment

Some days, the walls close in and I don't think
I'll ever finish what I must, again.
Some days just pass right by me in a blink,
With naught accomplished. It's at such times, when
My promises heap high, as do my needs,
Just when I'm powerless to make things so,
And more rebukes grow tall like backyard weeds.
Life's short, uncertain; all of this I know.
What's gone unfinished just might well remain
That way. My chest grows tight, my face goes red
Each time another chore comes up to drain
The energy I dearly hoped to spend
On my own projects, when my time is mine
Again. But I'm employed; I should not whine.

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!

In Which I Call Myself Out For Committing Grave Errors

I'm old enough to know much better than
To hurry on the days, and weeks, and years.
Though I expect to have a good lifespan,
Surprises do occur, and my career's
Not really what I'd call just starting, so
I chide myself a bit, to find I long
For these two weeks to hurry by; I go
Quite soon to Balticon. But it is wrong
To treat that time as worthless. I have made
Commitments e'en beyond the greatest one:
To make each moment count rather than fade
In idleness. E'en worse, I also shun
This summer, for I've plans laid for the fall
That thrill me more; mayhap the most of all.

In Which I Emerge Windblown But Happy From A Salon

It should not really matter, but it does;

No matter what, I'm still a girl, although

A girly girl I never really was.

No time to fuss, I'm either on the go

Or planted somewhere with a book. How I

Might look has been of less concern to me

Than how I feel. It's strange, then, that some dye

A new haircut and styling goop can be

Transformative. I've never gone this dark

Nor curly, nor high-maintenance, could this

Somehow be one more odd attempt to mark

That I'm no longer some young chick? I miss

Those years not one bit. So why should I care?

But I have got to say, I love my hair!

In Which A Sonneteer Looks At Forty

As ages go, there seems true magic here:

So many folk have told me how they wish

They could be forty, so it's without fear

I face it now, no longer thirty-ish.

The baby boomers all like to declare

Their current age as "the new forty", so

'Twould seem I'd best get used to being where

I am right now; there's nowhere left to go!

My schoolfellows of old all liked to quip

That I had been born forty, which would make

Me eighty now. It's really no mean trick

To look this good at eighty, no mistake!

But soon enough all will be redefined

And I'll be back to twenty. I don't mind.

For @Michbek's Birthday

Michbek, you goddess of the old-time smut,

You Henry-Fielding loving, goofy gal,

Who can but love you, who indeed can but

Adore you and your work, my dear old pal

(I say that for your birthday; naught but tact

Comes from my pen, as oh so well you know!),

Companion through the long nights when I act

As a bitch-goddess puppet. How to show

My true esteem? Your husband's shown a way

So here I am, on his blog and on mine

To wish you hrair returns of this great day,

To wish you cheesecake, chocolate and wine,

And thank you for the entertainment. You

Are quite a wonder, dear girl, through and through!

Happy Birthday To @Netta50

A writer must have resources beyond
The norm; an editor needs even more
To cope with what comes at her and respond
With grace. Annetta has these by the score:
Wit, humor, fortitude and all the will
She needs to make things happen, as she's done
For many, many years. I'm sure she'd kill
Me if I said how many, e'en in fun
(Not really; she's got too much style for that,
Though for My Little Pony she might yet
Demand revenge. She knows how to combat
Its ill effects, though). On this day I'll bet
She's drowning in good wishes, but I'll add
One more birthday hello. Call it a fad!

In Which My Own Dear Personal Sister (XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX)

'Tis beer day; so my sister hath declared

Though per my calendar this is the date

Some (censored) years way back our mom was spared

The further joys of pregnancy. I hate

To out her in this way but Sister Kris

Is old enough to (Oh, redacted) be

(This section lost to viruses) now. Miss

Sherrod the younger spends this day as she

Likes best: with foamy brew and TV sports

And then a live Trailblazers game. Don't say

I told you it's her birthday; out of sorts

Is not the way to leave her on this day.

Just play some ABBA and some A-HA, then

Wait till next year to do it all again!

In Which The Real SpaceCat Is Greeted On His Birthday

The Real SpaceCat, my great Wyoming chum,
Who also goes by name of Walter Hawn,
Has made another journey 'round the sun,
But need not wonder where the time has gone.
This cat's been living life like we all should.
A broadcasting career in which all pride
Is justified, and now he takes some good
And lovely photographs and, in his stride
Writes lovely haiku for us all to read.
I've yet to meet him, but the day I do
You all will know; it will be quite a screed
I write to celebrate. I hope it's soon!
I won't say, quite, that Walter's getting old,
But rather that he's wonders to unfold.

In Which The Iron Man Starts Another Trip Around The Sun

My admiration for him is well-known,
Our IronMan1176, he's styled,
Or Avery K. Tingle if your own
Staid preference goes there. How I have smiled
In reading his great blog, his novel and
His random thoughts on Twitter. He's one guy
I'm happier to have as a friend than
To be on the wrong side of, or as I
Affirm is worse, to be a stranger to.
He works as hard as he plays, also loves
Devotedly, as Molly'd surely coo.
His fierce determination quickly shoves
Aside what obstacles get in his way.
And it's his mumbleth birthday just today!

In Which John Roling Takes His Turn In The Birthday Barrel

John Roling, how I met you makes me laugh.

I don't recall just why, but some of us

Had come up with the zany, made and half-

Baked notion what was needed one day was

A pic of Oliveri all in drag.

Demurred he did, but told us all to look

At some twitpic in which, per that there tag

You rocked the Hooter's girl costume and took

The prize. I knew that any crazed and brave

Such soul must be my friend, and now you are.

Delightful man, who showed me how to save

Myself and friends from choosing a cigar

We'll hate. And it's your birthday now, today.

O Greyhawk68, enjoy your day!

In Which I, Too, Feel I Am Getting Older

A party girl I've never really been.
I'll go out now and then to see what's new,
But generally I'm the type who's seen
Off in the corner, a good friend or two,
Sometimes a small crowd, list'ning to my tales
And telling theirs. But last night found me out
In noise among the hip-hop crowd. Details
Don't matter overly. We had to shout
To be heard, and the tunes were all the same,
Some chanting, thumping bass, an endless drone.
These days, to me, what music's worth the name
Needs more than just a heartbeat. On my own
I pine for something somewhat more complex
That makes imagination stretch and flex.

In Which More Birthday Greetings Are Extended

Steve Kastner, what a long friendship we've had
Since we were sixteen years of age and we
Were turned loose at UW. Too bad
It's been so long since we've managed to see
Each other. Since your wedding, I believe?
And now you and our Shannon have two sons!
Do rest assured on this, your birthday, Steve
That never will they know from me our runs
To fetch non-dairy creamer late at night
And light it off like hairspray -- unless you
Have told them this already. May delight
In fam'ly life and travel continue.
Here's hoping that your birthday, Steve, is swell
And that fair San Francisco treats you well.