Sonnet Dare: In Which Glompings Are Passionate And Hath Consequences

He drew her to him tightly, in a crush
And Lady Michchievous was most aware
Of how he felt about her. With a blush
She pulled away, but could not meet his stare.
Such glomping as he'd given her had caused
Such stirrings in her as she'd ne'er admit
To ever having had. "Sirrah!" -- she paused
Then, ere berating him, for truly it
Had not been so unpleasant, and her eyes
Cast downwards, modestly, saw what she'd felt
Saluting her -- "You think me some cheap prize?"
She stammered, but kept looking at his belt.
"Oh glomp me once again, you monster! Yes
Like that. No, to the left a bit, I guess."

Sonnet Dare: The Mysteries Of Art

Rita, originally uploaded by qatesiurade.

A lovely face, done up in graceful lines,
A sonnet where the poet bares her soul...
Through these something of what is inside shines
But even so, they're under tight control,
Expressions such as these. Transparency
In art is just a myth. Deep in those eyes
Sketched in with charcoal, much we do not see
Remains unknown. Though naked, the disguise
That is its surface hides from us what true,
Intriguing secrets might be there beneath
Its calm. There's always tension between you
Who apprehend, and those who do bequeath
Such work to future ages. You may think
You know what's going on, but we just wink.

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!

Sonnet Dare: For @RitaJKing: In Which I Ponder Loveland

"Inchvesting" is a most unusual term,
But 'tis a far from ordinary age,
As Rita tells us, and I must affirm
What she imagines jumps up off the page
And, maybe, soon will change our world and stop
Th'entropy that's making of Detroit
An urban ghost town. Yet there's hope: a crop
Of dreamers dare, with notions most adroit
And open-ended, to seek out a way
(Or many, really) to re-use the space
That industry's abandoned. Who's to say
That they will not succeed? And in their place
Could you do better? Well, here's your big chance:
A dollar buys an inch of land. Advance!

Sonnet Dare: In Which @iamhewhoisiam Demands A Hearteater

I've eaten hearts for lunch and dinner; game
Meat is a pleasure, healthy, tasty, fine,
(Far better than some other meals I'd name)
Pan-roasted, served with veggies and some wine.
But that's too literal, I'm sure, for what
Rich Leslie dared me write today, and so,
Though I am sure that he's expecting smut
(This is a fam'ly sonnet blog) I'll show
That my own heart, that metaphoric seat
Of tenderness, has felt the prick of forks
(Though I find no one's out to taste this meat;
I serve it to myself when Love disports
Himself with me and mine). And so, you see,
Nobody ever eats my heart but me.

SONNET DARE: In Which Enceladus Has Something Still Lacking

Gigantes don't just happen; they must grow
And growing boys need lots and lots of food.
Enceladus, for instance, don't you know
Would find it more than just a little rude
Were he deprived of his burrito fix,
Though he be circling Planet Saturn as
A rocky little moon -- he's number six
In size. And he was never killed; it has
Been told Athena threw a mighty spear
And felled him, but that's far from true as we
Well know; he's out there shining, cold and clear
And with a nice supply of water. He
Just needs some feeding up. A Taco Bell
Would fit the bill. I know he'd find it swell.

SONNET DARE: The Tastelessness Of Tea

The year was Seventeen Seventy Three,
A tax protest took place that we recall
Right to this day. They dumped a bunch of tea
Right into Boston Harbor. It was all
'Cause of a tax on which they could not vote
Or work in any way for to repeal.
Two Thousand Ten Has come and, now, the quote
Tea Party enquote is not the same deal.
They're far from disenfranchised, free to gripe
E'en if their gripes get somewhat out of hand.
I cannot say their arguments are tripe
Completely but, we have to share this land.
The wheel will turn; again they'll have their chance.
I wish they'd see that and sit out this dance.

Sonnet Dare: A Dote Upon The Honeycomb

Geometry is with us ev'rywhere.

We've need for order bred into our bones.

Nor are we near the only ones who care,

As witness hymenopt'ran honeycombs.

Small hexagons in wax, so tightly packed

As to make structures of surprising strength

Within which grubs mature, safe and intact --

And other stuff is stored there, too, at length:

Sweet honey and raw pollen. Dizziness

Must sure confront one, wandering among

These structures -- but the builders always guess

Just what is where; the food and fed, the young

And old maternal queen. What's more: surprise!

The cells are viewed therein with compound eyes.

Sonnet Dare: In Which Blair Enters My Crosshair(s)

From frying pan to fire's quite a trip,
And one that Tony Blair knows very well.
As captain of the Labour Party's ship
In Britain he was often wished to hell
For daring innovations he made, such
As seating legislatures in the realms
Of Wales and Scotland, thank you very much
And Northern Ireland. This overwhelms
The sonnet-form already. Now he thinks
The Middle East should be his new milieu.
As leadership positions go this stinks,
But he had ev'ry chance to say adieu
Retire from the world stage, but instead
He took another burden on his head.

Sonnet Dare: In Which I Summarize Some Follow Fridays

Cruel Nikki dares me rattle off by name
Those Twitter folk I've called as stalkable.
Al Bruno, Oliveri, Cullen - blame
Her that you're abused here. The lovable
Dear BardoRobot, BlazingBetta and
Ms. Jennybeans and Melzer, Ron McD
And Christian Wiehs, Stephan Spiegel, oh man!
O Jason Copland, Tee Monster... let's see...
My Bonfire rescued me from a migraine
(Or at least staved it off). My Lisbeth West
And Oliver T. Earle both make it plain
This world's a wonder. I can't choose the best,
From 'mongst my Twitter friends, mostly eschew
This Follow Friday thing. How about you?

Sonnet Dare: In Which The Accent Is The Thing

My daily life brings me against a lot
Of challenges that many find bizarre.
Time management, of course, as who has not,
For instance, but for me it's the Boomhauer
That really drives me round the bend when one
Addresses me (I've sev'ral in my care).
There is no accent spoken 'neath the sun
That I can't comprehend except that there.
Ascemic writing holds for me more sense,
And I find glossolalia a breeze,
But no, it's Bubba-speak that has me tense,
Uncomprehending, yes, and whimp'ring "Please,
Just speak some English I can understand.
Or send me an interpreter? How grand!"

BONUS SONNET: SONNET DARE: Another One Bites The Dust

So warily does Steve walk down the street,
His hat brim pulled down low over his eyes,
That one might well guess that he's packing heat.
It's all good fun until somebody dies.
Let fly some bullets from a doorway; rip
They do through all, and one more bites
The dust, as oft is said by those real hip
Cats Freddy Mercury sang for. Such sights
Are common in Steve's world. They rip again,
As though to some drum beat, and, oh, these plays
Must end in blood; revenge is best served when
One has been cheated, beaten, left for days
As Steve has surely been. There goes one more
And sure more violence must lie in store.

BONUS BONUS SONNET: Sonnet Dare: David Bowie's "Queen Bitch"

From the eleventh floor my envy burns
As I watch that rare queen ply all her arts
To snare one that my shallow weakness spurns
To go after myself. She's broken hearts
A-plenty before now; tonight it's mine
Though it is not her that I want, but him.
Just watch her go in satin tat so fine
And bipp'ry-bopp'ry topper with a brim
I'd laugh at were I not at heart so sick -
I'm sure I could exceed her in her deeds
Of conquest were I to make e'en a lick
Of effort just to plant down there the seeds
Of lust for me instead of her? But no
I hang back longingly and watch her go.

BONUS SONNET: SONNET DARE: Killing Me Kindly

Keep coming with the sonnet dares, my friends,
Like kooky Stephan Spiegel's done, in spades.
He knows I like a challenge, one that bends
My ingenuity and kills time. Shades
Of kings of old and court poets now haunt
My ken as I discharge this commission:
Its key is using "k" words on this jaunt
Through sonnet-land in each line. Kids, I've gone
Right out to lunch with this one. Karma claims
He owes me extra big for this big killer dare.
Take up the ukelele? Let the names
Of all his children be my pick? What's fair?
For now I'll blow a kiss his silly way
In thanks for what has surely made my day.

SONNET DARE: In Vedauwoo Or Denver, I Get Lost

While both are places I've been known to roam
With more than one six-pack of Guinness, one
I much prefer; it's closer to my home,
And lovelier by far in morning sun
Or eve'ning starlight: that is Vedauwoo.
In Denver's traffic I am always lost
Unless on foot on Sixteenth Street - though, too
I'm often lost in thought and at great cost
There, with the Wazee Supper Club and, yes,
The Tattered Cover, wallet beaters both.
As for the Mile High City in my car?
I'm hopeless. Better for me, by my oath
To climb on rocks and up there drink my beer,
And take in all the silence I don't hear.

Sonnet Dare: In Which I Contemplate Pieces of Kate

I lost my temper at one point today.
Some news tore out my heart from in my chest.
My liver is on strike to make me pay
For the Greek beer I drank last night. It's best
That we don't even mention these, my knees
Rebelling, too, from biking on a flat
(My eyes refused, e'en though I did say "please"
To see in all that dark where we were at
Enough to pump it back to fullness) ache
Somewhat. I fear they might come off if I
Don't keep an eye on them. I'd hate to make
The error of misplacing them. I'm spry
But without them I'm hopelessly in place,
And someone's sure to ask "why the long face?"

Sonnet Dare: An Acrostic Of My Former Twitter Username (Qatesiuradewyo)

Quick, Martin, throw that sonnet gauntlet down!
Apparently I said this at some point
To Martin Double-Dactyl master clown.
Essentially that's the story of this joint
(Spike Lee, I do apologize for that;
I don't think that you'll ever read this, though).
Unusually I don't feel I combat,
Rather I go quite smoothly with the flow
A sonnet should have as I take this dare.
Does this make me accomplished? I can't say,
Except it feels quite good, beyond compare.
Why, I think I could do this ev'ry day.
You'd probably get bored, though, if I did.
Oh Martin, here's your sonnet, crazy kid!

Sonnet Dare: In Which I Sonnetize Under The Influence of Three New Belgium Trippel Ales

A comics shop purveyor helped me start,

This tiny drinking binge, so it is meet

That yet another (Jesse) hit my heart

And dare me to a drunken sonnet. Sweet!

Hub Comics would have been a pilgrimage

Were I still a mad Somervidlian,

But Massachusetts I left. Now my edge

Is honed on my Wyoming life. My pen,

Though, knows no bounds, when I'm in cups

As I am now. It is my Friday night.

O, Lager-Laundry Night! O how your ups

Accompanied by no downs, still delight

Me. Once 'twas Mike Toole and Miss Clayton who,

With anime and suds filled in for brew!

SONNET DARE: A Chinese Language and Culture Coincidence!

My love affair with Mandarin is old
And slightly stale; no one to speak with here
In Wyoming, but it has not gone cold,
Not yet. I try to keep it, but I fear
I've lost too much. I still read like a child
(Traditional not simplified) and now
Some Chinese lit is bound for me - how wild -
A new friend's sending me some Xueqin Cao!
The Story of the Stone will soak my brain
In 18th century China. He knew not,
My friend, that Chinese language was a main
Field of my college studies. He just caught
The drift of how my mind works -- and I am
The more amused: his blog draws Chinese spam!