BONUS SONNET: Night Of The Collie

A normal night was how this ev'ning seemed;

I even had a good ride on my bike.

But then in Molly's eye a blood drop gleamed.

Her patient gaze tore through me like a spike.

Good old Cheyenne, on Sunday night no vets

Are taking calls; to Fort Collins they say

Must after hours folk with injured pets

Repair or wait til 9 a.m. next day.

She start swatting at her injury

And seemed to tear it open that much more.

So off we went, two pals, my dog and me

On south to find the truth behind the gore.

It's minor, I am glad now to report.

But getting home was its own winter sport.

And All I've Done So Far Is Make An Offer...

My sister dear, at this point in the game
(That game, of course, is buying property)
Predicted that the phrase I'd most proclaim
(And with this my homeowning friends agree):
Would be a variation on this one:
Oh holy cow, just what did I just do?
That's not to say the process isn't fun,
But with each stage it's harder to subdue
The urge to freak out, scream and run away.
The house is one I can afford to buy,
And also own. I've not been led astray
By anyone. The numbers say that I
Can do it, and I've certainly the will.
But thirty years of payments! I feel ill.

In Which I Expose the Darker Side of National Novel Writing Month

Just 50,000 words in 30 days,
A challenge I've accepted several times -
That's how I spend November, in a daze
Of scribbling. But at least no thought to rhymes
Must trouble me. The word count, that's the thing.
A friend once said to just go write crap fast.
That's what I did; my thoughts and pens took wing
(I pluralize because this year, at last
I stole a trick from Neilhimself's own sack:
As different hues of ink let him compare
Today's hard work to yesterday's dead slack),
Neglecting all, I wrote without a care...
So now I've got a massy glob of prose.
'Twill take a lot of polish 'til it glows.