In Which I Offer To E-Sign Your E-Books

A book is lovely, lovelier when signed
By he or she who wrote it, but now we
Have ebooks, and for this they're much maligned:
They're hard to autograph, but now we see
(While waiting for Paul Cooley's MyWrite app)
That someone's tried to fix this problem, made
This program: Kindlegraphs. So give a clap,
Mayhap a cheer. As yet, though, I'm afraid
That only Twitter users can request
Inscriptions. Still, as things go, it's a start!
So now it's up to you: please be my guest
And ask for one on my book if your heart
Desires such. And meanwhile, watch this space
For news of paperbacks, anon, apace!

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 Ponder A Strange, Sad Phenomenon

To miss someone one's known online is strange.
There's still a hole, but he's been fossilized.
His stream just stops, and will not ever change,
But doesn't ever leave, I've realized.
The film's stopped on one frame. We may rewind
Quite at our leisure, easily relive
What won our love originally, find
New things, too, that he alone did have to give.
Mac's tweets are still up; so are Lethe's; both blogs
Have been preserved, and Max's, too, live on,
As shrines or data ghosts, as catalogs
Of what each man has shared. The men are gone,
And no new chapters shall be written, yet
Their echoes do not fade 'mongst those they've met.

In Which I Cheer On A Cool Idea

Plusoneme's time has come; life is a game
And all of us do play it. When we score
Folks should acknowledge it, if not by name
At least by handle. Whether it's a chore
Appreciated, a performance that
One's much admir'd or one wants to thank
In public fashion one who went to bat
For someone's fav'rite cause, bump up his rank
By one in any category. I
Have boosted some already. Thanks to Jane
McGonigal for sharing this; I spy
A lot of ways to use it, in the main.
Did someone show some awesome lately? Go
And take a moment now, to let him know!

NaNoThankYou, But Good Luck!

I've won twice, yea, but oh, the aftermath!
Two years have passed since my last victory
And I'm still editing -- and though my path
Is quite atypical, I still don't see
The benefit of yet more high-speed crap,
Which is what I produce this time of year
When I join NaNoWrimo. I'll still clap
For all my friends who do so, sip a beer
Whene'er you post new word counts (that's unless
I'm at my day gig, naturally). It
Is quite a fine thing, proving that you can
Write an entire novel, that you're fit
To keep on doing so. Ah, but for me
It's time to make what I've done fit to see.

In Which I Manage To Catch Doctor Who But Almost Miss Writing A Sonnet

My sense of time's the first, always to go,

When some crud's tracked me down and taken me

Its hostage. Sleeping, eating, I don't know

The intervals when they occur. That we

Had plans to watch some Doctor Who, I knew,

And set my cell phone's clock to sound alarm

Whene'er the hour occurred to sign on to

The client where we chat while Pertwee's charm,

Venusian karate, knowledge, and

Dumb luck bring him to some dimension where

The Brigadier has no mustache, no bland

And bureaucratic style -- instead a stare

Through one good eye a scar to make one's blood

Run cold -- and leave this sonnet, well, a dud.

Thoughts During The Mac Tonnies Memorial Skype-Up

They're real, and talking up there on my screen!

Our pre-Mac pasts, our shared experience,

And now our future plans -- we share the cream

Of what he brought and started. In a sense

We've brought him back. Excitement's not the word

(I wonder what I'm doing 'mongst them, though,

These giants of imagination -- heard

For real the first time on a day I know

Is hard for all of us. Oh, how did these

Rare beings enter my life and my heart,

Chris, Rita, Josh and Mark, and more who, please,

I'll count as mine forevermore? Our start

In sorrow's blossomed in a way

Not even he'd imagine -- so hooray!

In Which I Give A Shout Out To My Favorite Blog, @BikeSnobNYC

There's lots of good stuff on the internet,
Green gadget news, muckraking, stories for
'Most every taste and temperament. Forget
All those, though, there is one with LOLZ galore
With which I cannot pass a dull weekday:
O BikeSnob NYC, you harken to
Jacopo Belbo, who would always say
"Take out the cork" to one who did imbue
Too much importance in his speech or thought.
Bike culture's smugness clouds the clearest sky,
But it's just funny when we all have got
This kind of mockery on tap. This guy
Would mock me, too, I'm sure, to see me ride
Deep Blue to work each morning. I'll abide.

In Which I Take A Stroll Down Empire Avenue

I cannot yet decide if it's a toy
Or a new thing that might just change the world,
This Empire Avenue. I do take joy
In checking out new projects as unfurled.
With thanks to David Forbes, whose stock I own,
For bringing this to my attention, I
Have dipped my toe in these waters unknown.
And if you are already there, please buy
Some stock in me, the Sonnet Queen; let's see
If in this day and age the market cares
For ventures such as mine, in poetry.
'Tis not real cash you're parting with for shares,
You know. Influence peddling can be fun,
Or so they say. We'll see when all is done...

In Which My Preliminary Reaction To A Popular New Book Makes Me Queasy

TV has soaked up free time, it is true,
But I am nervous as I start to read
Clay Shirky's newest tome. I tend to view
New books with generosity but need
To ponder this. It's not that this book's bad;
His own excitement that we can do more
Than sit there now, alone and watching, sad,
Unworthy of our heritage, is, for
A moment quite contagious, but then he
Goes on to cheer how our free time could hence
Be harnessed for collective projects -- see,
That's great, until that view gets too intense
And I'm reviled should I choose not to play
As I'm expected to, a given day.


Epmire Avenue EAVB_JRYBRYMDIN

In Which I Am Scientifically Immodest (Or Is That Immodestly Scientific?)

'Tis sympathetic magic, is it not?

This notion that a girl's unfettered boobs

Can anger deities, get them so hot

They unleash seismic fury on the rubes.

Today's Boobquake experiment is far

From scientific, but it's funny, so

Though I'm home sick I'm doing my small part.

I'm told the theory's disproven, though:

Taiwan took 6.9 boobquakes today.

Hojatoleslam Kazem Sedighi

Shall surely soon be having a field day

With this news. So the egg is spread on me

Or in my cleavage; better than my face

Though some might argue either's a fine place.

In Which I Muse On Expanded Sensoria

A prayerful silence often seems the norm

'Mongst strangers gathered publicly, it seems.

To each his own has never taken form

So powerfully as now; we watch our dreams

Played out before us on our jeejahs, each

According to his fondest wishes. We

Ignore each other, all but eschew speech

Though still we're talking; we don't hear but see

What's being said by others far from us,

Communing with our private worlds; our god,

Now customized, sits on our laps and thus

Absorbs us so, we smile and mutely nod

And look solipsists, but we are aware

Of more; not less. The world is is ours to share.

In Which I Divulge A Secret

I do quite well without cable TV,
As I have said before. But really, how
Is this, these days, a possibility?
Tonight shall be a good example. Wow,
Have I got hours of entertainment planned!
A new-to-me podcast, and You Tube clips
(A lot of these) shown to me by a grand
Array of wondrous friends, and then some blips
Of William Burroughs with Dave Cronenberg!
I'm overwhelmed a bit, just keeping track;
Have made a list and it's quite long. My word!
Good thing it's Mriday and I've got some slack.
And really, as my nights go it's not rare.
My TV might as well just not be there.

Happy Birthday, @RitaJKing!

Dear Rita, I have just begun to see
What all you bring to life with ev'ry day.
I love how you have set your own mind free
Imagining what few of us can say
We'd ever think of on our own. It's rare.
We met in sadness but you make me smile
(And drop my jaw, applaud and sometimes stare),
A beacon t'wards the future, all the while
Enjoying fully what's at hand right now.
Someday we'll meet in person and we'll toast
The mem'ry of our friend and wonder how
We would have met without him; but the most
Important thing is that we did. You are
A wonder of our world, in fact, a star!

In Which A Conversation Is Continued

A Twittering, sad panda showed me this,

To use the net and be depressed are linked,

This work suggests. I follow there my bliss,

Though sometimes am made sad, to be succinct

(As sonnets and as tweets require). But, see,

Depression far predates computers in

Both human and in pers'nal history.

A stigma still exists, a taint of sin

Still hovers over mouseclicks done instead

Of "real life." But on this point I've got news:

That life is life, in body or in head

No matter how you spend the time. I choose

To pass a lot of time with those I've not

Met in the flesh; I gloat at what I've got.

SESTINA SATURDAY: Performing Art

"The Smoking Chap" - speed painting by Chris Butler, aka Isoban

I watch it all begin with just a line,

Then more, from which will soon emerge a shape.

A face appears! Then as he adds some shade

And fine detail, there bubbles up a word,

Perhaps a name: The Smoking Chap! What verse

Can I create to catch this painting's tone?

An ugly face, say all, which sets the tone

As this chap comes to life. With ev'ry line

More tufts of hair and wrinkles show (in verse:

The flow of time is speeded on). My shade

Is there to follow Chris's hand; the word

I want is "telepresence." More takes shape.

O that a world like ours now holds its shape,

So real, though so much of it has the tone

Of fantasy! The ether bears my word

To he who draws; he answers. A new line

Appears upon his screen and there's a shade

Of character there now to haunt my verse.

We live now in a wholly sci-fi 'verse.

Our daily world has taken on a shape

Which leaves both Verne and Wells off in the shade.

No one imagined one day that his tone

Of voice as he makes ev'ry brand-new line

Could be shared with so many, and each word.

Some still believe it started with a Word,

This world; they quote in turn each Bible verse

As though it had that power. Not my line,

Such thinking, though I watched as Chris did shape

A Fremen next by my request. In tone

It owed much to Leone's cowboy shade...

Now migraine-haunted I lie in the shade

Of my cool room; unbidden comes the word

"Sestina," all-commanding in the tone

Of this, my smoking muse, demanding verse

To celebrate his strange birth, taking shape

From Chris's hand to my uncertain line.

A line and then another, thought and shade

Bring forth a shape and then a hail of word

To form a verse whose tone is veiled in smoke.

Sestinator's note: Today's sestina was largely inspired by a most unusual experience I shared with a few friends earlier this week. The creator of the speed painting which appears above executed it live via his Ustream channel. He -- and we -- enjoyed it so much that we're going to do it all again sometime this weekend. If you would like to join us, keep an eye on Isoban's Twitter feed for the announcement and follow the link. Join our painting peanut gallery!

In Which A Flickr Pool Absolutely Makes My Day

Stag Beetle(Dorcus titanus), originally uploaded by Nishida Shatner.

I deeply miss the grasshoppers who flit
Around the Greenway as I pedal through
Their congeries in summer. Sometimes it
Was my best moment all day. How I rue
Their passing and the odd mantid who hid
Among them. But today I found this pool
With help from Bug Girl - she's the one who did
Call my attention to it. All my cool
Escaped me in one squee to look at these:
So many origami arthopds!
E'en entophobes among you, if you please
Will find one to delight you. Oh, ye gods!
The internet's a true, great treasure chest.
But I love all the insect pr0n the best.

SONNET DARE: In Which I Consider The Volatility Of Online Relationships

The written word is marvelous, unless
It is the only basis folks have got.
For understanding. It's too hard to guess
Intent behind bare words when they have not
A face to watch, a voice to listen to.
Relationships online have this pitfall
Built in before one thought, even, comes through
For misinterpretation. I won't call
This flaw a fatal one but it's severe.
Imagination fills in gaps that would
Best be left empty, and the common fear
That one is being dissed -- which never should
Come into play, still does -- and what we find
May shatter 'stead of bring us peace of mind.

In Which I Uncertainly Prepare To Catch A Wave

Today on impulse I just threw it out
That I would take a Google Wave invite
If one were offered, though I am without
A clue, really, as what might come to light
Once I am on there with my Twitter buds.
Collaboration always sounds quite good,
But sometimes leads to unbearable duds,
If no one has an idea of what should
Be happening. Does anybody know
What we're supposed to do once we're on board?
I'm always game to give something a go
And pitch in with my best creative horde.
Right now though all I think about is hype
And wonder if I'm quite the waving type.

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Consider Overstrained Emoticons

I look upon my keyboard's topmost row,
And what a strange assortment meets my eye!
A choice of numerals or marks that go
(For the most part) at the tail end of my
Long sentences -- or such was once the case
Ere email and its ilk came on the scene,
And people sought to make of them a face
To try push the words past what they mean
In dictionary senses: Sarcasm,
A gentle tease, confusion, any hue
That ears or body language could draw from
The spoken word, or eyes see as a clue
From handwriting or facial expression.
Emoticons, ubiquitous, have won.