R.I.P. That Big Ol' Tree

Long have we thought it dead, e'er since I bought

The KATE STATION, this tall, unlovely tree

That blocks my bedroom windows (as it ought

If it has been placed for one's privacy),

Though it still sported sickly leaves, a bit.

This afternoon sometime, it snapped right off,

Left five feet standing and twelve gone to shit

Sprawled out across the front lawn, and the trough

That was my day already, deepened. Mom

Reminds me that it could have been much worse:

It fell away from this, my house. I'm calm

E'en as I wonder who runs the tree-hearse

Here in these parts, and also wonder, too,

What made this happen. Wind? It scarcely blew!

Interstellar Feller: In Which An Ending Comes... And A Beginning?

Sonneteer's note: this is the latest installment of an on-going sonnet serial, Pepito Mojito: The Interstellar Feller. New readers can get up to speed by clicking on the "Interstellar Feller" tag below to bring up all installments. Start at the bottom and read your way up to today's...

Strikes first her erstwhile champ'ion; TriBruno
Brings forth a vibro-knife and plunges deep
(Or tries; Yectara's metal form doth slow
The fiercest blade; his glances off; dirt cheap,
Though, it is not). The screech induces pain
In all who hear it. Next Droze tries to slash
Yectara's throat. He fails to nick a vein,
But coolant gushes. Soon there is a flash
Of heat and light; a meltdown now occurs!
Quodlaro, Doctor Vuhl and others must
Restrain Pepito, whose cries now match hers
As she heats up and dies. No more does lust
Or longing stir at this, their lady's voice.
And now they all must live with this, their choice.
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