In Which Frank Zappa Brings Us Back To The Sun, Or Something

Today our axis tilts furthest away
From Sol, our sun; the shortest day is here.
And, too, it is the sixty-ninth birthday
Of one of my great heroes. As this year
Plods onward to its close, I celebrate
Frank Zappa and his music and his wit.
I send my dirty love and a cupcake
To all who read this, and I do commit
To keeping Zappadan next year. Who else
Made music with a bicycle or could
Raise dental floss as livestock? Frank himself
('Tis he who tilts us sunwards now, for good)!
So now, let rip the weasels! Mudsharks, come!
And Happy Zappa Day to ev'ryone!

More Wishes For Recovery!

He talks a lot like my old Macintosh,
And like that gadget, he has blown my mind.
Today he's in the hospital, awash
In well-wishing from, I'm sure, all mankind.
O Stephen Hawking, much you've had to say
Has lit'rally and figur'tively, too
Gone over my wee head (but that's the way
I like my thinkers!). I will tell you true:
I sometimes feel like I'm a small black hole,
Per No-Hair, garbling info I take in.
I won't, therefore, make quoting you my goal
In this, my sonnet, sparing all chagrin.
I'll only share my admiration, and
My awe at your life's work that's beyond grand!