In Which Ring the Bells of a Big Blue Mobile Phone

Souffle Girl is a puzzle; aren't they all?
Well, I suppose that, after fifty years,
The Doctor isn't really what we'd call
A mystery. And playing off the fears
That Moffat has of Twitter was a bit
Too silly, even for my silly taste.
All told, though, I'll say Matt has still got it
(My adoration, that would be); no waste
Of time or space, is he. Redecorate
Again, though? Go ahead, as long as you
Tell me a story. As for Clara's fate
Inside a Dalek, I'm down to see that, too.
The best for me, though, was Richard E. Grant!
This won't end well, now, will it? No, it can't!

In Which An Uninitiated Chick Watches the New GI Joe Film

Since I took on a housemate, my abode,
Already quite a nerdy palace, yes
Is thoroughly and quite completely Joe'd
(And Who'd and whatnot), it's not hard to guess
What I've just come from. And as movies go,
Retaliation certainly has got
A lot of movie in it. We all know
It's just a toy commercial, and I'm not
Its target market, but I still had fun
(Except for all the screechy parts). But why
Does that one ninja chick, who surely must
Be stealthy, go on whizzing though the sky
In tights that emphasize her glowing butt?
How is that sneaky? Whatever, my brain
Is far too pummeled to end this refrain.

Bulletproof Coffin: In Which I Cry For My Fix And Issue Six

As meta-comics go, it is a truth

That often they become, well, tiresome.

That's not so for the Coffin, Bulletproof

By Hines and Kane, though it sure has become

More meta than it should be possible.

The final issue should be in my drawer

This week (that is, unless those daft and dull

Weak masterminds at Diamond make me roar,

Denying me again). I think I see

How it shall wrap up, but there's still a chance

That they'll surprise me! Meanwhile, you who love

Some retro-pulp should snag 'em. How you'll dance

With joy to see the crazy stylings of

These would-be Golden Agers. Feel the love.

A Fine And Fair Festivus To The Restivus

'Tis Festivus, and miracles galore

Present themselves, as I had just enough

Detergent for my laundry (one load more

And I would have to cross the street and stuff

To get more soap). And then, at one o'clock

My dog went in my yard and made some poop!

I know, it's really not that great a shock

But Festivus's miracles don't group

Like that without some intervention, no?

Say what you will. As for me, I believe.

Oh, and one more thing to tell you, ere you go:

Of one more blessing that I did receive:

The vacuum attachment for pet hair

Worked beautifully, if any of you care.

In Which Marco And The Red Granny Coulda Stood A Bit More Red

A blood-sport winnin' granny, why have there

Been few of these in literature? Thank

The genre gods: Mur Lafferty had care

Enough to fill this lack. Behold the swank

And cunning Heather, Red Granny, so sweet

At first, but a stone killer on the field

Of lunar battles! I'd have liked to see

More of her and her back story, but yield

To Mur, who may have more planned for this dame

(Let's hope so!). As it was, this book was fun,

This Marco and the Red Granny (the name

Had had me sold since Balticon!). I'm done

With it now, but it left me wanting more.

A prequel, please? Red Granny Goes To War?

In Which I Shall Return My Opposable Thumbs Soon

Complexities exceed my grasp when down

With fever or with crappiness. Though I

Did start with Dan Deronda, in my gown

And robe, to make the lonely hours fly,

I didn't grasp it fully, I suspect,

And soon restorted to much simpler fare.

The Planet of the Apes seemed quite perfect,

Campy, with many sequels and a share

Of faux profundity. Alas, Netflix,

Hath only the first streaming. I have found

A way around this; meanwhile for my fix

Where else but Heavy Metal was I bound?

I am not over proud, but so it is:

When ill I soon devolve into, well, this.

In Which Decembers Comics Doldrums Set In But Are Somewhat Relieved

December brings us many things, as such,

But as I page through this month's Preview Guide,

As far as comics go, I don't see much.

The offerings are quite on the thin side

For titles new and int'resting, unknown

And debut works. Oh sure, there's lots of capes,

With one bright spot among them: my mind's blown

(E'en as my comics pushers' mouth just gapes)

To see it there, that my pal Cullen Bunn

Is writing Superman/Batman. I knew

Already, but it's really fun

To see it on the Preview page. Woo hoo!

There's no one thought he'd ever see the day

That I'd buy superhero books, but hey.

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!

Sonnet Dare: In Which Is Considered The First Appearance Of The Master

You think the Master is a scary foe

As Jacobi and Simms have played him? Ha!

As first he did appear, when Delgado

Brought him to life, his powers had no flaw.

A glance and you were hypnotized and quick

To try to blow the Doctor up, despite

Your loyalties. This was no parlor trick.

He was that awesome; t'was pointless to fight,

And if you did, he gave you creepy toys

That made you dumb somehow, so you would bring

Them in the house, e'en though such obvious ploys

Should never work: An ugly, funny thing

That's on the mantle for a while, then, ouch!

It sinks its fangs into you on the couch!

In Which A Secret Is Divulged

Root vegetables, they keep a Dark Side strong
And healthy, which is why we redesigned
The Death Star, but we sort of did it wrong:
It's planet killers currently have mined
For turnips solely -- and, as we all know
It's rutabegas that Stormtroopers crave,
That make them smile, that make their helmets glow,
But as Mike pointed out, we still can save
Our efforts to a small degree. Retune
Those mighty cannons, calibrate those guns!
It's ne'er too late to try, this lovely June
No wait, is it November? Call my sons --
And tell them to come back. Ackbar was right!
It is a trap. Turnips again tonight!

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!

In Which I Go Out On A Limb -- Or Seven

These kids today, with their new-fangled memes --
Or rather Great Old Ones. Witness this guy,
Cthulhu, who, if we're to trust the themes
Of his vast media presence, still is spry
And waiting in his city 'neath the waves
As he has been since ere life stirred upon
This damp old rock. Someday we'll be its slaves
(Or worse), if all the cultists who have gone
Insane on his behalf achieve their ends.
These console games and books of smut both are
Great starts that way, created by my friends.
So mark my words: this thing will be a star,
This Great Cthulhu fad; man, it's got legs!
I say we drink it up, down to the dregs.

BONUS SONNET: Eyepatch Brigadier: In Which I Declare My Undying Love

A journey to an alternate world can

Be quite disorienting, even queer

(In that old-fashioned sense). That such a man

Exists as the great Eyepatch-Brigadier

(In Doctor Who: Inferno) leaves me stunned.

The Goatee-Spock, the Wicked Walternate

Have naught on him; he's got them all outgunned

With just a one-eyed glare. And what did cut

That fearsome Omar Little scar across

His face, and left him so bowel-chilling cold?

As mirror world chaps go, he is the boss.

Not even fair Fauxlivia could hold

A candle to him; he would blow it out

And strike her dead with just a single shout.

In Which I Manage To Catch Doctor Who But Almost Miss Writing A Sonnet

My sense of time's the first, always to go,

When some crud's tracked me down and taken me

Its hostage. Sleeping, eating, I don't know

The intervals when they occur. That we

Had plans to watch some Doctor Who, I knew,

And set my cell phone's clock to sound alarm

Whene'er the hour occurred to sign on to

The client where we chat while Pertwee's charm,

Venusian karate, knowledge, and

Dumb luck bring him to some dimension where

The Brigadier has no mustache, no bland

And bureaucratic style -- instead a stare

Through one good eye a scar to make one's blood

Run cold -- and leave this sonnet, well, a dud.

Sonnet Dare: In Which Paul Is Locked In Combat Motal

The gauntlet falls, a ringing, mighty thud
(Though really it's just Laroquod when he
Pulls out an indispensable wee dud,
His iPhone, and doth quest for some 3G).
"Lieutenant Gorman, do something!" he cries
(He's dubbed it thus for reasons I'll make clear;
The reference is Alien). How his eyes
Do narrow as his brow knits, and the fear
Doth grip me as he starts his kluge. He must
Because some crucial apps choked in a sync.
His firmware needed upgraded. The bust
Is that the new OS doth truly stink
On older iPhones. Lo, he entertains
Whene'er he tries to use his extra brains.

In Which We Travel The World From Within A Very Small Space

A rush line's odd enough - much time to chat

With much like-minded strangers -- and one does --

A-trading tips and thoughts on movies that

We've gleefully discovered. And this was

Just part of what has made this day surreal.

Today began in Kyrgystan, then went

To Lappland for an odyssey (I feel

That was my fav'rite). Then lunchtime we spent

Exploring modern Congo - quite a tour!

But we weren't done with travl'ling; Uruguay

Was our next stop, and then, just to be sure

We'd hit another continent, our way

Took us at last to Hong Kong. Viva TIFF

(And thanks for fodder for this sonnet riff).

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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.
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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.

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In Which The Line For Fan Expo Is Long And Entertaining

FanExpo is a show e'en ere it starts.

The line to enter ends up Blue Jays Way,

And as I walk, I see what's in the hearts

Of many a fanboy and girl. Today

I passed a Picachu, a Brundlefly,

A ghostbuster, all standing in the sun

And sweating in their costumes. But, oh my,

The moment I loved best, that was most fun:

Paul has a press pass and he's got a stamp

But just convinced himself that it was gone --

We're sweaty -- and while yes, his hand was damp,

Like blue stigmata, it is higher on

His wrist. And even Batman panicked, fell,

But we all saved him, which is just as well.

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Geeks In Flight

Sonneteer's note: this sonnet was composed on the afternoon of Wednesday, August 25 in the Cleveland airport, but a lack of wi-fi there prevented its being posted until now. Well, that and a Guinness-laden tweet-up and other adventures in Toronto.

An afternoon in Cleveland, fierce and bright

Outside these airport windows no one knows

Just who I am or why I'm here. I fight

The urge to howl "hello," see how it goes,

If anyone will answer, if I'll trip

Obsucre alarms and make a watch list, or

If someone else with time to kill who's hip

To what I dig will speak up. Hey, my score

In this regard is high; three on the plane

That brought me here from Denver talked sci-fi

With me at length, Ben Bova in the main,

But Stephenson and Gaiman, too! I sigh

Though. In Atlanta, coming home in May

I nearly missed a flight in just that way!

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