In Which Is Considered Evil Dead 2013

An Evil Dead film done with a straight face,
In which the taxidermy never sings,
In which the slapstick's gone without a trace,
Might seem to be the silliest of things,
Yet earnest works when this much care is spent
On camera work, on angles, and on shots
That make each face strange ere malevolent
And gruesome art's applied. So there is lots
To recommend this movie. There is gore
Aplenty, speedy evil zooms, and all
That we expect, yes, that, and then much more:
This film is art! Yet funny, too. I'd call
It Evil Dead 3 -- Not Just a Remake.
Worth all the time and money that's at stake.

In Which We Clear The Way For Siglericus XXX

Siglericus at last may reign supreme,
For Benedict hath left them in a lurch,
Unfortunate to some this might well seem,
But we all know it's best for any church
To have a shepherd for its varied flock
Whose blessings moist are freely given, but
Are never forced. And hey, is April first
So far from now? I feel it in my gut,
The stars are right. So happy we could burst,
Siglerians, rejoice! The XXX
Is just the first of many welcome signs.
Let Krakens rise, let loose McButter! Vex
The nonbelievers! Substitute for wine
The sacrament of gold Tuaca. Drink!
The world is not so flocked as we might think!

In Which Is Born A Strange Dynamic

There's grass in our backyard now! Doggies dream

Of such things, when of such they've been deprived --

Well most dogs, anyway. D'ja hear that scream?
"Eek! Grass!" quoth mine own collie. I've not jived

You there, I do assure you. When I go

Outside to sit and watch the sprinkler keep

The sod moist, does she join me? Mostly no.

Indeed, her mistrust seems to run so deep

That when her loneliness sets her to choose

To seek my company, she gives a scratch

Upon the backdoor -- but alas, you'd lose

The bet that she is coming out. The catch

Is that she wants me there indoors instead.

Politely I refuse. She bows her head.

Cruisin'

It's summer; school is out, the kids are free,
And they go screeching by in all their cars
As though it were a Friday night. When we
Were that age we were just the same. The stars
Glowed high above us, burning, dying, while
We paid them hardly any mind, except
When we were waiting, sometimes with a smile,
Sometimes with bitterness, for those who kept
On telling us "just one sec." Being out
At night time was so new, so glamorous,
E'en if it just involved a car, a route
That took us back and forth, some beer, some fuss
O'er what to blast through speakers. Life is short,
Especially when you're seventeen. Cavort!

To Whom It May Concern: In Which A Better Mathematician Is Recommended

I don't suppose that I hold any sway
'Mongst eschatologists, but if I did
This sonnet would go quite far in the way
Of recommending Nemo for the bid
Of doomsday calculator. Here's a guy
Who draws a perfect circle with no tools
Beyond a pen or pencil. You and I
Would need a compass at the least; such fools
As we have no innate grasp of the laws
Of mathematics as our Nemo hath.
With confidence and without any pause
Could we accept this strange, rare artist's math
And plan to board our pets, know what to wear
For Rapture. Hire him that we may prepare!

In Which Is Considered Chronoleptic Tense

While now we talk of future selves, I beg
O Paul, that when you do come to berate
The man you are today, you will not peg
The me who types these lines. This present Kate
Encourages your folly, reckless, wild,
And will be Past-Kate anyway when such
Event occurs, and will have seemed a child
Compared to Future-Kate - oh no! For much
As River and the Doctor might, I've tripped
A chronoleptic trigger! But indeed
We had to have blamed future Paul, who skipped
The niceties of diary-syncing, need
For retro-recognition trumping couth.
He'll make her cry in their shared retro-youth.

In Which I Confess Something, Podners

Wyoming's been my home, yet I've eschewed
Its native genre, Westerns, overall.
Comes time now to adjust my attitude,
For as you know, I've a new project, y'all.
Weird western writing with a friend across'd
Th'Atlantic! So perhaps it's best to add
Some westerns to my reading list. I've lost
My count of what I've planned so far. Too bad!
Zane Grey's entire ouvre safely dwells
Within my Kindle now, and hey, I did
Take up the challenge of one hundred books
In this fine year, and must do as I'm bid.
So giddayap, and lose those silly looks.
I'm drawing and I'm reading western stuff,
But still avoiding rodeos. Enough!

In Which I Ponder Why The Ladies Like The Grey

The Oliveri asked of us today
O'er on his mighty supervillain blog
(And Twitter) why the ladies like the grey
That surfaces in beards and hair. Agog
That this was e'en a mystery, I spilt
The beans, that when a guy has grey it means
He's lived a while, and that his life's been built
On being smarter, that perhaps his genes
Are fit to pass on. Why then, quoth The Mike,
Does Grecian Forumula exist? My dear,
'Tis simple: nothing's ever perfect, like
They say, and morons sometimes make grey too, I fear.
But, duped so easily by vanity
To spend their money, it's quite plain to see.

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 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 @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!

In Which There WILL Be Turkey Leftovers!

The turkey's roasting in the oven; soon

It's pop-out timer will emerge. I'll laugh

And think of a Jean Shepherd tale and croon

To hide my mirth; I'll not repeat that gaffe.

No horde of hound dogs will invade and set

In motion such a chain of happenings

That send this bird a-flying, though the threat

Is not outlandish; next-door's dogs do sing

Like Bumpus' pack. And the trajectory

Our dinner might-could travel's similar.

It could land somewhere odd and pop out free

Hilariously. But this won't occur

Except within my head and, just perhaps

The universe next door, where I may lapse.

In Which A Pork Roast Is Thawed And Thawed And Thawed

One might think that, with all that it's been through

This pork roast sitting on my countertop --

T'was frozen, partly thawed when Sears did screw

Me over last week, frozen again -- stop

Me if you've heard this one -- and yet somehow

Today, when time to cook it up has come

And it's been thawing all day, up to now,

It's still a solid rock of pork! It's dumb!

But microwaves, for these occasions, are

Appropriate, though, when one's slightly drunk,

A challenge to set properly. The bar

Is not set too, too high; I won't flunk

My cooking course tonight -- though I will say

I'm glad the turkey's fresh for Turkey Day!

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 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.

In Which I Discover A Helpful New Tool

A TV show is good for quite a lot

Or so TV would like us all to think.

Once in a while, one truly hits the spot;

One's found that helps me as I sit and drink

Far too much tea and take up my sad task:

That NaNoWriMo project from '08,

Which I must edit down. So which, you ask,

Of all the shows, am I finding so great?

Community. Its genius is profound:

Both deeply stupid and sharply observed.

I watch it and my wheels go round and round,

Then break, refreshed, resume my work with verve,

My scornful inner snarker satisfied,

I sculpt with freedom and a kind of pride.

Happy Halloween From Kate And @Isoban

"Sweetie Got Away" digital art by Christopher Butler, aka Isoban

When Rintrah caught a dragonet, his thought

To train it like a falcon seemed ideal

(When one depends on just the souls one's caught

To feed one's family every single meal

Some help is much appreciated). So

When Gamory showed little talent for

The task it was appointed, Rintrah's woe

Shook all the fires of hell, until Rintror

(His youngest daughter) tugged his pantleg, said

"It's pretty. May I keep him? Do say yes!"

"All right, but pull its wings off." "Ew! It bled

All over me!" "Well, leave them on, I guess,"

Quoth Rintrah. Then the darn thing burst out, free

(And Happy Halloween from Chris and me)!

Sonnet Dare: In Which I Contribute To A Genre

The choice to use this software's freely yours
As this and this proclaim. You needn't pay;
That's not our ethos. But, within the source
Please keep this license there, intact. That way
All credit goes where credit needs to be
For its creation (if binary's your pick,
This rule applies there, too). And if you see
A bug or two, remember not to sic
Your goons on he who wrote it; that is not
Within the spirit of a GPL.
And please, recall that just because you've got
An author's code within your stuff, that's well
And good, but don't imply endorsement when
You tell 'em where it's from or where it's been.

SONNET DARE: In Which Is Considered An Abomination Of Flatware

O plastic cutlery, thee I eschew.
The many ways you're wrong are more than might
Fit in a sonnet. What I'm tasked to do
Here, though, makes me consider, in a flight
Of fancy, one of your kind. That: the spork
(If one in silver or in stainless steel
Has e'er been made, I know it not): a fork
That bears a bowl as well, the weal,
To stab something and scoop, too, gravy (if
Such is what you desire). Still would it break
If tasked with more than popcorn weight, I fear;
But as the butt of jokes there's few as make
So good a one as this; the very word
Provokes such peals of giggles. It's absurd!

The People's Glorious Revolutionary Text Adventure Game

I like a laugh when I fire up a game,
And I'm a serious Marx Brothers fan,
So, though it's got a most unwieldy name
For sonnetizing, I will say the span
Of time spent playing passes pleasantly
As one goes forth to stir up discontent
Amongst the masses (Played in company
Such as I had, it's even better), meant
To choose Red over other hues, one finds
A to-do list of challenges, each one
To win the people's hearts and sometimes minds.
The toys you get to use are lots of fun,
And though it's communism you must spread,
You're forcing Groucho quoting in its stead.