BONUS SONNET: In Which I Test Out The Tweet Button

I'm testing out the new Tweet button, just
Because I wonder how it shall appear
And if it will be any help. One must
Experiment to answer questions. Fear
Not: if it annoys, it's coming down.
I simply had a moment, now, to spare,
And cannot help but want more readers. Frown
Not on me for this, please. I shouldn't care
About such things, I 'spose, but there: I do.
And honestly, who doesn't? Is it art
If no one ever sees it? Click on through
And tweet it if you've liked it, but my heart
Won't break if you just snort and roll your eyes
And move along. Just tryin' it on for size.
Tweet

Interstellar Feller: In Which Very Bad Things Happen

Sonneteer's note: this is the latest installment of an on-going sonnet serial, Pepito Mojito: The Interstellar Feller. New readers can get up to speed by clicking on the "Interstellar Feller" tag below to bring up all installments. Start at the bottom and read your way up to today's...

The Grokulator's armed! Nobody knew;
It's queen would really rather flee than fight.
But she's not its first owner; it's been through
A series of possessors. Now its bright
And puissant weapons target themselves on
The unknown planet. Pepi barks out "FIRE!"
And twists Yectara's arm some more. The dawn
The denizens just saw's their last; the ire
Of this, their erstwhile captive now destroys
Not just a city but the planet! BOOM!
Such weapons as Yectara's ship employs
Indeed can spell out anybody's doom.
And she's left wond'ring just what she has brought
Aboard her ship. He's not the man she thought...

In Which I Have A Proust Moment Of Sorts

The sound of bagpipes and the sight of plaid,
So vivid, and the taste of weak iced tea,
But why, on a plain Thursday? I have had
A tough time, just explaining what must be
A neuro-hiccough of some kind. Just now,
The revelation struck! A treasured friend
With whom I work has some way and somehow
Begun to smell just like another. When
I was a younger gal, Glen Glidden's home
Was quite a common destination for
My family. Once Glen and Dad did roam
The highways of a night and their rapport
Transcended how they made their livings. Sigh,
So nice to be reminded of that guy.

In Which My Day Is Loud And Fragrant

Infested now, my neighborhood, with such

Variety of workmen as I find

Impossible to name them all, has much

In common with disaster zones. I wind

Around its streets and cul-de-sacs aboard

Deep Blue and see some roofers, yes, and by

My "circle's" deepest curve, not just a hoard

Of all-but-shirtless men, but also -- fie! --

A reeking porta-potty twixt a pile

Of sand and some huge trucks. The din's profound.

It's gypsy contract season. With a smile

And promise of low pricing all around,

They've sucked in all my neighbors, it would seem.

How long will their work last, though, do you deem?

In Which I Get My Lamp!

You're in a cave, it's dark, what will you do?
GET LAMP, that's what! This film both made me smile
And stirred old wistfulness; the timeline through
Which we are taken largely took place while
Computers were unheard of where I dwelt
(Excepting those typesetting beasts employed
By newspapers). You'd best believe I felt
Deprived as I read how others enjoyed
Computer gaming in those early days,
How stories weren't just read but lived by those
Who solved their puzzles in ingenious ways,
How smart people were having fun! "But," crows
My fav'rite pusher "It is not too late!
(I paraphrase)" And thus he's sealed my fate.

In Which It Is ALIVE!

I haven't built since Nineteen Ninety-Four,

But as completion looms, I wonder why.

I really cannot think of much that's more

Rewarding than to build from base parts my

Computer! I feel silly, though; it's flash

With all those LEDs. The gaudy type

I really am not often. Do they clash,

The red and blue? The front doth bring a gripe:

I still want clear drive panel covers, so

If anyone can help me find some, please,

I'll be more grateful than you'll ever know!

The silver, well, will do at least, and ease

Is what I need right now for the next bit:

To set it up for Snow Leopard! Oh, shit!

Atomic Robo: In Which I Make A Plea For A Wish To Come True

Last week, while I enjoyed a casual chat
With Brian Clevinger (such is the pow'r
Of Twitter), he did casually mention that
Atomic Robo soon would have its hour
In gaming! Old school pen-and-paper play!
And Savage Worlds was in the running as
The system! This hath prompted me to say
"Hell yes! You must!" for all that each one has
Could but enhance the other. Both contain
Potential for high pulp, ever fulfilled.
The game frankly encourages the main
Conceit the comic offers: you can build
A weapon, but instead, why not a man
Of metal, full of humor and a plan?

In Which Canada Shall Do Its MATMOS

Mars' methane has long puzzled those who care
To ponder the Red Planet (and of these
I do know many). How did it get there
And in such unexpected quantities?
Comes now, from Canada, upon the scene
A new spectrometer, which shall be sent
Mars-bound soon; the year Two-Thousand-Sixteen
Shall see the MATMOS sniffer there, bright, keen
And ready to precisely gauge where, when
And maybe how the gass appears. Perhaps
'Twill furnish proof of life at last. Till then,
We can but wonder, as that best of chaps,
Mac Tonnies, pointed out, we'll never know
Until at last we try and boldly go!

In Which A Technology's Use Is Past Its Prime

Once quite a boon, they now cause teeth to clench
E'en though they now can play a fav'rite song
When interrupting us. Oh, how they wrench
Attention from important tasks is wrong,
And yes, it could be less so, what we do
When suddenly they chime or screech or ring.
The diff'rence 'twixt these states, one has no clue
When he's the caller. "Drop it, stop that thing
Right now" is what's conveyed when a phone call
Cuts in. And it's resented. Minutes flee
From both of us. We needn't be in thrall
In this way, not these days, oh, don't you see?
A chat or visit's one thing when we're far
Apart, but otherwise? Texting's the star.

Interstellar Feller: In Which Aggression Is Imminent Again!

Sonneteer's note: this is the latest installment of an on-going sonnet serial, Pepito Mojito: The Interstellar Feller. New readers can get up to speed by clicking on the "Interstellar Feller" tag below to bring up all installments. Start at the bottom and read your way up to today's...

Blood wells up from the gash created when
Pepito sought to meld him with the ship.
In zero gee, these crimson globules, ten
Or twelve of them float free; no one will slip
In Pepi's gore. He grits his teeth, goes deep
Into his flesh; wires grate against his bones,
But nothing happens; nary sounds a beep
Nor glows a light. A wordless curse he groans,
Then reaches for Yectara, jams her arm
Into a nearby socket, twists it, and
The panel lights up. Pepi means them harm,
Those aliens below, or else her hand
Would not be jammed against a trigger! She
Cries out "What are you doing? Let them be!"

Migraine Day

Today it's solely by an act of will

These lines appear. Had I not so resolved

To write a sonnet daily, e'n it kill

Me, there'd be nothing here. So much involved

In fighting just to sit and look, I peer

Through veinous eyes at this far too-bright screen.

And that is just because I had a queer

And mightly upsetting, ugly dream

In which today became the one I failed.

The tinnitus still sounds, and I must pause

Between waves of harsh light, from which I've quailed,

And those of nausea, all of this caused,

No doubt, by my own faults. I estimate

Beyond what I can handle, seems, of late.

Mark Van Name's CHILDREN NO MORE: In Which A Book Makes Me Misty-Eyed Before I Even Read It

Imagine a trained killer. Now tell him

He cannot have a brownie till his plate

Is clean, and that his ev'ry whim

Will not be your command. A child of eight

Who knows more ways to maim than you know quotes

From Star Trek -- what shall life be like for one

Like that without some major help? So notes

A sci-fi author who has really done

What many still just dream of: he has made

A promise: all hardcover sales of this

New novel are to benefit and aid

The Falling Whistles charity. Don't miss

The chance to get a great read and to do

A good deed in the process, and thank you!

In Which I Commit A Stupid Error

To make sense now is daunting, even though

I did just sleep for sev'ral hours. It's

My fault and no one else's, as you know.

The day gig's short on staff -- this is the pits,

But it's an opportunity to lay

Aside more funding for my coming jaunts

Whereat I'll wander, meet new folks and play

(I hope) some games. Today, though, this just haunts

My body and my soul. My error lies within

Accepting overtime piecemeal without

Considering the pieces' fit within

A larger context of a day. A bout

Of sleeplessness of nearly twenty-four

Resulted. Brain's a puddle on the floor.

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 @MightyMur Impresses Us All

Quite possibly, we'd say the very best
Of features that the internet hath brought
Is knowledge that somewhere, someone's been blessed
With an extraordinary time. I've sought
(But not too hard) to see just who, today,
Could claim that title, and I find it's Mur,
That Mighty Girl. When she popped in to say
The word count she had reached exceeded her
Top record for one day, and wasn't done
(Nine thousand and six hundred words!), my jaw
Dropped just a bit, then later found her run
A truly Lowellan twelve thousand. Awe?
Try reverence, and really not a little!
And Mur, I'll take the one that's in the middle.