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.

Bleak But Not Weak

The year runs down, and I run out of steam --
And cash -- but in the offing there's much good.
I've helped a good friend stride towards her dream
And cross my fingers for her, as I should.
My team-ups all go well, and solo work
Proceeds apace; my job is steady and
A rare security is mine -- a quirk
That almost seems obsence as, crossed the land
So many languish. I do all I may
To help, but mostly it's nowhere enough.
I know I'm not alone in trying -- hey,
This ain't the first time that times have been tough!
It's easy to lose hope this time of year,
But chances unknown may be very near.

Mac Tonnies: A Sad Anniversary

There's still a Mac-shaped hole, but when I peer
Into it now, I see a new world, filled
With people and ideas that help me steer
My thoughts away from sorrow, and rebuild
This life of mine. My awe at what I've found
Within that absence cannot be expressed
Except imperfectly. And though the sound
Of that dear voice still echoes, I can wrest
Myself from sadness, knowing what we'll make --
In part to honour him, in part to show
Who we are whom he touched, who cannot shake
His influence and would not -- how I glow!
The possibilities are just as wide
As they were when we had him at our side.

In Which Ground Is To Be Broken

My worst friend has the best plan for my yard:
A rented rototiller soon will tear
Into its soil; I hope it won't be hard
To do, but if it is, of course I'll share
A lot of beer to thank him for the toil.
'Tis not the whole expanse he'll overturn,
Just a small garden plot. We've lovely soil
Here in Cheyenne, though of course there's concern:
The growing season's short, but still I hope
To grow some beets and turnips, carrots, some
Nice fennel, parsnips, rutabega. Nope,
Not going for the fancy stuff. That's dumb
Here on the high plains, unless one has built
A full greenhouse. That's "someday" to the hilt!

In Which I Prepare To Gawk Again At The International Space Station

A flyover so high and bright, fast too,

Our space station, our biggest satellite

Will cross the sky quite soon, 'gainst the deep blue.

I'll go outside and watch once more tonight.

The day I find this dull, just pack me off --

A rest home or a mental ward, no care

As to which one is mine. Just wink and cough

And let the men in clean white coats just bear

Me right away. We've people in the sky,

Experiments ongoing in a grand

Attempt to back up -- and we have to try --

Our biosphere. How could anyone stand

With all that glory passing overhead

And not be moved? My tears I freely shed.

In Which More Good Medicine Comes My Way

As doors open and close, we spin around
And sometimes we lose track of who has come
Through with us. Mostly those we've lost are found
But sometimes gone for good, and we're left dumb,
Confused and sad and lonely, crying out
For someone who's no longer there. That's pain,
But those same doors whose closure gave us doubt
Can also bring just what we need: we gain
In losing. Old friends still along with us
Step up and help, and strangers become new
And wondrous sources for what we lack. Thus
Has gone my week-and -change since something drew
Mac Tonnies from our lives. There all along
Were people waiting to help me be strong.

Lines Written On The Near Achievement Of A Goal

I wanted to be done so long ago,
But something 'bout this work just held me back.
It's what I've always wanted, this, although
I think perhaps my disbelief, that crack
That ruins oh so many tow'rs of dreams,
Kept me from making progress. No, this can't
Be really taking place - it only seems
That way, deluded girl. But now the chant
Of friends and loved ones as I now draw near
The finish line "Go, Kate" e'en as I trip
Drowns out that tiny voice that speaks my fear.
And even when, this once again, I slip
Friends new and old reach out; uncounted hands
Catch me before I fall. And so, this stands.

In Which I Am Haunted By A Ghost Fleet

I have a fascination with the ships
That carry freight between the continents.
I've often thought of hopping one; yes, it's
Long been an idle dream of mine. Events,
Though, in the world economy have trapped
Five hundred ships just off Malaysia's coast
At anchor with just tiny crews, all strapped
For work and operating funds. A ghost
Fleet it's been called, and it's hush-hush.
A sign of long malaise that contradicts
The good news that so many, in a rush,
Have bleated 'bout recovery. The fix
If such come will move these shipts first,
So I shall hunker down, expect the worst.

Vernal Equinox, Hmm? Maybe Somewhere Else

Oh, and to think that only yesterday
I sat right here, seed catalogs in hand,
A-choosing plants as though it were near May
And time to sow a garden on my land!
Today the horizontal slow flies by
To mock my dreams and hopes and make me stash
Those catalogs. But I refuse to cry
Or throw those pretty booklets in the trash.
At some point soon this crap has got to end.
I don't believe in Fimbulvetr (or
In much besides, at this point, O my friend);
But know that I have been a damn fool for
The Ides of March, or something. I must wait
Until the real spring comes, as always, late.

This Spring At My New House Will Be Especially Interesting

At my new house, we have made up a game,
Regarding all the flora of my yard,
Consisting of attempting just to name
The shrubs and plants that come 'neath our regard.
Spring won't be here for a short while to come
To tell us if we're right or if we're wrong.
A few of them defy us, and then some
Are myst'ries such that we're not sure the strong
Swift pulse of life still surges through them, or
If they are dead and need removed. Perhaps
Some lilacs, maybe currants are in store.
I hope that one's a crabapple. There are gaps
'Tween what I hope and what I'll have at last,
But that's my fun for now, and it's a blast.

O Noes! I Still Have To Write A Sonnet

I put in sev'ral hours of overtime,
Ran errands all around this crazy town
(Including one last box run. At least I'm
In hopes that I've enough. I'm sick of brown
Cardboard stacked all around me all day long),
Was photographed to prove that I am me,
And got the keys to my new house. A long
Day has been mine, but I am still not free!
There are things yet that still need to be stashed
In boxes or in trash bags. That's not all;
While packing is what's really got me trashed
One more task beckons with insistent call:
It's a new day and this day's spot was blank
And bonus sonnets don't count toward the bank.

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.

Downturn, Schmownturn, I've Got Hope and I'm Buying a House to Prove It!

I'm off on an exciting journey, which,
I once would never have thought could occur.
I knew that houses weren't just for the rich,
But didn't grasp just what my options were.
Financial news is grim 'most ev'rywhere;
Wyoming, though, is still in decent shape.
Our progress is so slow and we're so square,
That we take time to catch up, or escape,
The trends beyond our borders. I, therefore,
Have got a chance to move now to improve
My lot in life, to free my hopes to soar,
To make at last a long-awaited move.
I'm house-hunting, for keeps this time, hooray!
All thanks due to the WCDA.