In Which I Mash Up Astronomy And Nirvana, Because I Can

I'm happy 'cause today I found my sun

Has much less lithium than it quite should

But it's not in my head, the reason, one

That is not in my head; my will is good:

I'll tell you why. Yeah. Planets make it slow,

The star's rotation, and the mineral,

So heavy, deep within the star must go,

Drawn there by mighty force to fuse. Farewell

To it then; it is something else. Thus those

With less of the third element, are more

Than likely candidates for planets. Prose

Ill serves such wonders. Mirrors? I've broken four!

But I must tell you I'm not going to crack.

I love this news; I'm never looking back!

In Which We Are Greatly Pleased

Comes now the news: the LCROSS probe has found

Some water where we'd long hoped it would be.

In Crater Cabeus on Luna, 'round

The Moon's south pole. This means a lot to me

For reasons that soon all will understand

(Though it means some slight rewrites must be done!)!

To have a source of water near at hand

Bodes well for future colonization

And making of the Moon a right foothold

For future space development. This here

Is just the kind of news that cheers my old

And sci-fi loving heart. I hold too dear

The hope that someday mankind will explore

And learn about the universe next door.

Friday Flash: In Which Unexpected Events Transpire

Sonneteer's note: this is the eleventh installment of my sonnet-by-sonnet summary of a larger work, The Interstellar Feller, to be released sometime next year. To see the story so far, check out Part the Oneth here, Part the Twoth here, Part the Threeth here, part the Fourth here, Part the Fiveth here, Part the Sexieth here, Part the Seventhuth here, Part the Octthhhh here ,Part the Ninth here and Part the Tenthethththth here. Wow!

The Grokulator's course now firmly set,

Yectara turns to our Pepito, smiles,

And pats him on the ass. "So now you'll get

A right reward for enduring these trials.

We're finally off on a trip through space

And maybe time." Pepito is confused

At this remark, but soon his handsome face

Shows more alarm than puzzlement as, bruised

By passing debris from a console, he

Grabs onto his Yectara in alarm!

The solar sails, deployed, bring up to speed

The ship, and just in time! Someone means harm

To all the Grokulator and her crew!

Or so that warning shot might tell one. True?

In Which I Try Not To Think

My kitchen table's empty for the first

Time since the last I had a dinner guest.

My living room has also seen of burst

Of ordering, and it's all for the best.

Much empty space is mine to contemplate:

"'Twill help you clear your mind," my Erin said.

Perhaps it's so, but nothing will abate

The sound of longed-for voices in my head --

Though even they keep saying not to think

But just to be. I think I've no idea

How that is done. I do not want to drink

Or take a pill; I seek no panacea.

I really want to find a little peace.

But grief keeps stalking like a hungry beast.

With Molly At The Off-Leash Dog Park Of A Wednesday Evening

So many doggies in the Mockler park

And Molly does not know how much she likes

To be among these animals who bark

And frisk about and sniff. One of these nights

I'll fail to get my girl to go at all.

She'll eye the car and know we're off to get

Some exercise, and she'll reject the call.

She likes okay the other dogs she's met

But much prefers to sniff the mail they leave

When it has aged. When proffered a fresh source

She turns her nose away. I do believe

At heart she is a kitteh, though of course

No kitteh would be caught dead herding labs

As she will do when toys are up for grabs.

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.

In Which I Gloat Over A Great Chance To Watch The International Space Station

My Twitter feed comes with a special "twisst":
An application that alerts me when,
Like Horkheimer I look up, I'd have missed
A special sight if facing wrong. I've been
A gawker at the skies since childhood, and,
Like many thought I'd be an astronaut.
That didn't happen, but in quite a grand
Tradition I watch ships launch and you ought
Not be surprised I sometimes crane my neck
And watch for our space station overhead.
Tonight at 6:07 a bright speck
Will come from west-northwest. I'm oft in bed
When such a chance occurs, or there are clouds.
Tonight though, I shall see it; nothing shrouds!

R.I.P. Peter Storer

It's been a while since I quaffed down a beer
With you my friend, and now I guess I won't,
Not evermore, but I resist the tear
I want to shed. Your daughter's right; you don't
Want us to cry. We had a lot of fun
In building our community. You were
A hell of a fun guy to know. I'm one
Of many who will miss you. There's a blur
Now in my eyes, but still to this I cling:
I've memories galore to make me smile,
As do we all. But may I say one thing?
While you had quite a run I still revile
That fate just took you from us. Friend, farewell.
I know that where you are you're raising hell.

In Which I Have A Tiny Panic Attack At Work

Alone here in a fishbowl, full of folk
Absorbed in work and play, ignoring me,
I suddenly can't shake or call a joke
The feeling that has made me want to flee:
Just weeks ago a jackass in a truck
Hit me on Deep Blue as I crossed a street.
Just days ago another tested luck -
The driver, texting, nearly made me meet
My newly-dead friend sooner than I'd planned:
Was head-on for me and swerved as I did
To miss. It seemed dead-certain that my grand
Time on this Earth was done. Did someone bid
Him look up? It's unknown. But now the sense
That something wants me dead, too, is intense.

In Which The Construction Gods Smile On Me At Last

Returned from Saratoga, lo, I find

That Dell Range Avenue is nearly back

To normal, on my eastern end. My mind

much eased by this, I failed to note that smack

Amidst us all, new traffic lights now hang

At Marble Avenue! So that is what

The mess was for? Illus'ry safety bang

In my own subdivision? That's great, but

I still won't fall for it, not on my bike.

Or in my car, or walking. Red or green,

They're still just symbols. Sure we all would like

To think they are preventive, but the scene

Just down the street at Converse surely proves

That head-in-ass is still how traffic moves.

November

The trees are naked in November sun,
Shed leaves are dry and clatter through the street;
Cool browns, dull greys, some golds but only one
Bright hue relieves the muted palette. Sweet,
The year is ending. Dormancy prevails.
Yet deep inside each thing is closely held
That which against all chills' attacking fails.
Not death but strength tones down the colors. Quelled,
Then, should be any talk of loss, ennui
Or sadness. Beauty sometimes takes on stark,
Surprising forms if one has eyes to see.
It's there throughout these days, e'en in the dark.
Take time today; go outside and admire
The bold tenacity that guards the fire.

In Which My Ipod Punks Me Slightly

It was a lovely noon Wyoming drive
To Saratoga after playing chess
With a dear friend. I felt well and alive -
And blaring loud my iPod, I'll confess -
When suddenly my heart stopped; in my ears
Mac Tonnies' voice was murmuring. I had
Reloaded just that morning; it appears
I missed that -- and I won't say this is bad --
His Coast-to-Coast appearance made the cut.
I'm proud of what he did there, though the shock
Of hearing him while driving hurt me. But
Once tears cleared I stopped my car and took stock:
I've him and all the music we have shared
Right there, and it's OK now I'm prepared.

In Which I Geek Out On Some Cool Objects

Those who have seen me 'round know how I love

Two pieces of odd jewelry that I've got.

Each morning these days I dither: which of

These two artworks I'll wear and which I'll not

(The two of them together would not work;

They both are necklaces). The Earth and Moon?

The grasshopper? Sure, you may smile and smirk

But get some Surlyramics of your own

And see how good you are at choosing which

To wear each day! If science turns your crank,

If skeptic witticisms flip your switch,

Then you'll do well to click over and thank

Me later for the tip. I was not paid

To write this, mind. I just like what she's made.

In Which More Good Medicine Comes My Way

As doors open and close, we spin around
And sometimes we lose track of who has come
Through with us. Mostly those we've lost are found
But sometimes gone for good, and we're left dumb,
Confused and sad and lonely, crying out
For someone who's no longer there. That's pain,
But those same doors whose closure gave us doubt
Can also bring just what we need: we gain
In losing. Old friends still along with us
Step up and help, and strangers become new
And wondrous sources for what we lack. Thus
Has gone my week-and -change since something drew
Mac Tonnies from our lives. There all along
Were people waiting to help me be strong.

In Which I Rejoice In Having Lots And Lots Of Company!

Of NaNoWriMo it is Day One; I
Have yet to write a word, but am not blue.
Though precious hours keep on ticking by,
I'm sanguine, though there is so much to do!
Those fifty-thousand words of fiction won't
Just write themselves, but I think I might feel
A bit like they are! Now, dear readers, don't
Go thinking I'm blase; this is a real
Commitment, but this year so many friends
Have made it with me that I'm giddy from
Anticipation. We bust out our pens
(Or typewriter in my case) and succumb
To that old urge, court muses, make our starts
And know that all around beat sim'lar hearts.