James "Ben" Sherrod, Farewell and Rest In Peace

Folks ask me how it's so that I've no fear.
In part, I tell them, it is just because
I'm of this tribe, together year by year
And day to day, though later distance was
A factor. Something I have always known:
My uncle had my back, just as my dad
Has had my cousins'. Thus secure, I've grown
Into a stronger person; I have had
The fierce and doting love of Ben Sherrod
For all my days. Of this there's been no doubt.
I know that's rare, and some may call me fraud.
I feel for them, who've had to do without
A rock like he has been. And now, I, too
Must share that lack. Dear Uncle, I'll miss you.

In Which I Guess I'm Progressing Nicely

I'm in the anger phase again, I guess.
That phase where I just want to tear my hair,
Lash out and tell the world to f*ck off. Yes,
I'm mad I've lost another friend, don't care
If I hurt feelings, even if it's one
Who lost him, too. How lucky, then, that I
Share space with no such person. Ah, such fun
To cry within a cubicle. Nearby?
Banality and pointlessness all reign.
I'm trapped amongst it, teeth grinding in rage
For one more hour, then home to nurse my pain
In silence and in solitude. This age
Of distant loves and close connections brings
Sublimity, but also horrid things.

In Which I Try To Say Good-Bye To Max Bell

I knew the day would come when we would reach
For our friend Max, and he would not be there.
That day has come, it seems, and now we each
Must find the words -- they're all we have to share.
I've braced myself to feel his absence, yet
E'en so, I was not ready. It's a cheat.
I can't recall what we last spoke of, bet
'Twas something mordant, funny, even sweet
(For, snarky though he often was, his heart
Dictated kindness, even when the dumb
Just burned). I'll deeply miss him, for my part --
Or will when I am over feeling numb
And empty. Ev'ry day's a touch more dim
And more so now, with no comment from him.

R.I.P. Wildstorm Comics

There's just a handful on my pull list, yet

I still read news today that makes me sad,

That fills me with more than just some regret.

Wildstorm's no more, and this is really bad

For comics lovers, even if such scrapes

Cross not your radar. I, for one, don't see

Myself enjoying Astro City's capes

A-flying with DC's. It had to be,

They'll doubtless say, but independence lost

Is always worth the mourning. The Big Two

Already bore me vastly; at what cost

Do we preserve the indies ere we're through.

Is Vertigo the next to go? I can't

Bear more such thoughts right now. Instead, I rant.

Tweet

R.I.P. Kate's Kindle

Not unlike other tech doodads of yore,
My Kindle's fate is now quite D.O.A.
The gadget endured just a little more
Than covered by its warranty. I'll say:
I've used it hard and long and well, but think
That if or when it gets replaced I'll go
With something less restrictive, more in sync
With what I want from books and, as you know,
With what I most believe: that culture's meant
For sharing. Paperbacks and DVDs
Can easily be lent, donated, sent
To others. While I do like sparing trees,
Renewing them's not hard. Meanwhile I've got
My iPod with the Kindle app, eh wot?

In Which I Try To Offer Some Comfort

I wish that I could give you all a hug,
Around the world and missing Chris; you know
You're not alone, don't you? I'd feel a slug
If I did not remind you of this, though.
We each of us have in our memories
A version of him, know what he would do.
It seems unfair that, despite any pleas
We're never going to have from him a new
Perspective, essay, or idea to play
Around with or to share, but ev'ryone
Can take up just a piece of what we'd say
Was his responsibility, begun
But now unfinished. Set your shoulders square
And ponder on what you can, if you dare.

In Which We Lose Another - R.I.P. Chris Al-Aswad, aka Lethe Bashar

I first found Chris -- or should say, he found me

On Twitter, of course. That is where great minds

Who think alike unite, these days. Valery,

That symbolist and poet -- such rare finds

Are people who know of him or will ask

When reference is made -- and so began

A strange collaboration. Each new task

We gave each other showed more of the man

Behind the pseudonym. Feverish, bright

And willing the world to be a bit more

Like that he found in books and paintings. Slight

Here is my praise; the shock's too new. If you're

Of any mind to see what he could do

Check out his novel. Chris, I shall miss you.

In Which I Have A Strange Experience At The Movies

The power of suggestion's mighty strong --

Or else no film would ever work on us,

To say naught of how well we're strung along

When such a meta-movie comes. A plus:

There's lots of ways to watch this one, I'd say.

INCEPTION as an allegory, or

A comment on how easily we may

Be led to think our ideas our own, for

Such things are viral, subtle. Just whose dream

Do we think that we're watching? I, for one,

Found that I had my own within (a theme

To which it drew attention was no fun

For me; I know that grief): a phantom friend

Sat with me, held my hand until the end.

In Which Destruction Looms Complete

My love for beetles may not quite exceed
The love of Haldane's god for them, but might
Were they not also party to a deed
That haunts me with ill dreams in darkest night:
My fav'rite place on earth is dying fast.
Unlogged, unburnt (that part's our fault), it serves
Now as a beetle banquet. In the past
The trees stood green and tall, now -- this unnerves
Me vastly; red and dead, awaiting fire,
E'en as the barkies thrive, twig beetles join
The party. They'll kill off the rest entire;
Then fire will finish. We have now no coin
With which to bargain. Ah, my Snowy Range.
We have destroyed what we tried not to change.

In Which Another Good'Un Leaves Us

My parents' home bears witness to his skill

In carpentry; my freezer, too, has held

Much bounty from those fishing trips. Dear Bill,

Called Famous in my old blog, I'm compelled

To thank you for so much, and I'm so glad

I had the chance before we lost you. Oh,

I smile right through my tears; the fun we've had

As families can n'er be stolen, though

Your presence 'mongst us has been, far too soon.

Alternative bird festivals, for one,

And endless chats at coffee, through 'til noon...

I missed the house boat on Lake Powell but, son,

That one was for you grown ups anyhow.

I'll miss you so! Wish you were here right now.

In Which A Delivery Brings Up Stuff

The last book of a friend is a strange thing,

E'en if, I do suspect, though do not know,

It's not about a subject like this. Bring

It on, I have long thought, I'm ready. No,

It turns out that I'm not. It came today,

Mac Tonnies' latest book. And I did share

His thoughts while it was written, in a way

(O Internet, such strange things happen there!).

Now here it is, his last work, in so slim

A volume, dense with meaning e'en before

It's subject's taken up. My eyes go dim

And blurry at the sight. I've tears and more.

There's only one first time to read it; I

Fear, though, that it will always make me cry.

Mike McIlvaine: Feb. 2, 1970 - April 25, 1989

Just three years old, we met at the ballet,

Not knowing then just how close we would get.

We'd be together almost ev'ry day

For sixteen years. I never will forget

Our kissing at the movies, the front bench,

While "Jack the Giant Killer" played onscreen,

Just little kids but there was love. The wrench

Of losing you, I still feel, very keen.

Though our last talk in person was a fight,

We made up on the phone. Then you were gone.

It felt as though someone put out the light

Of my entire life, but I pushed on.

Each day since I have lived my life for two.

Today you would be 40. I miss you.

Challenger: Twenty Four Years Later

'Twas twenty years and four, this very morn

That Angie walked into our band classroom,

A note in hand, a tearful face to warn

Us that the news she brought was of some doom.

"The Challenger blew up" is what it said,

Her note. Our teacher gravely sent us on:

The library had TVs. All were dead.

That cloud - you know it well - said they were gone

E'en more than any anchorman's sad voice.

I still watch ev'ry launch with a tight chest -

Full knowing I could spare myself. My choice,

Though is to watch. This program's been our best

In my lifetime, though it went up in smoke

That day in Florida, when my heart broke.

SESTINA SATURDAY: Mac Tonnies: The Alchemy of Time

Like my "new look"? ;-), originally uploaded by Mac Tonnies.

October started fine; dissolved in loss.
My hopes had soared but crashed down into grief.
Mac Tonnies, much adored - surprise - was gone.
In pain I shut down badly, and my friends
Were helpless to console me. In their love
I took some comfort but did not taste joy.

Mac and his blog were sources for rare joy.
I'd read them each day, always at a loss
For words. Always, there, something new to love,
Always surprises. I would say "Good grief!"
And rush to show his finds to all my friends.
I missed him right away when he was gone.

I feared my inspiration, too, had gone
For one great project that had brought us joy,
A project for which many of my friends
Were waiting eagerly. But in my loss
Each time I took it up I felt the grief
Like new, and let it swallow up my love.

Mac's quality's reflected by the love
That poured out at the news that he was gone.
I knew I suffered not alone in grief,
And started swapping stories of the joy
I had in knowing him with those whose loss
Was just as keen as mine; we became friends.

Some of these people already were friends
Of Mac's and mine; through him I'd come to love
A whole new set of people. In this loss
We pulled together, missing what was gone,
Determined though, to keep alive the joy
He'd brought us all, and to assuage our grief.

But more were new, discovered in my grief.
A bittersweet way to acquire new friends,
But nonetheless, I find in them new joy.
There will not be another Mac, but love
Wears many faces; just because one's gone
Does not mean recompense won't come for loss.

Such alchemy! A time of loss and grief
For one now gone, made bearable by friends
Both new and old; their love has brought me joy.

In Which Humans Are Sometimes Cool: Together We Are Mighty!

There's limits to how cynical I'll be

(Remem'bring, too, its roots, that word's, in stuff

Dog-like and pure and poor and largely free

Of selfishness). Sure, there's reason enough

To think the worst of projects folks put forth,

But then sometimes such thoughts turn inside-out.

Ms. Ballantine reached out in all her warmth,

A chorus rose, first murmurs, now a shout:

"Together we are mighty!" Sonic Boom

And Tee need love, but tangible support

Will help more than your words as vast costs loom,

And they two face a future one Mom short.

Six thousand bucks and change already fills

That coffer, and I trade my sneers for chills.

In Which I Try, Just Try, To Make It Easier, But Probably Don't

A life can change so quickly, in one's sleep.

Someone we've always counted on can go

Away without a warning, leaving deep

And lasting wounds that may not always show

Once they're not fresh. As my dear Donna told

Us all today, take time to hug someone

You love or at least tell them. New or old,

A friend, a spouse, a lover, or a fun

Playfellow can be taken. Oh, dear Tee,

And Sonic Boom, sweet, too, you're in my thoughts,

As little as that really proves to be.

All I can do is send my love -- and lots.

And hope that you and yours find strength and wish

That we all could do more than simply this.