Second Guesses

My keys, I have them right? Oh, but of course

How else would my car's engine roar along?

My phone, do I have that? I had to force

Myself to leave it be when tweeted. Wrong,

So wrong, this second-guessing, but it can't

Be helped. An active brain will always chew

On what it has available; if scant

Is fed to it, its own substance will do.

Garage door -- surely closed -- but better check.

That pocket bulge is just your wallet, though

Best make sure it's not out there on the deck

Or on the kitchen table still. You know,

Self-trust seems most elusive when one must

Prepare for something special. All is dust.

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Strange Cargoes

I crossed the mountains twice today, each way

With something diff'rent in my car. I took

My dog to Saratoga, where she'll stay

A week while I am gallivanting. Look:

My car was dogless coming home, but in

Her place, an Apple keyboard and some fish!

The one, from mom, who had the funny whim

To see if it will work, as we might wish

On something I've been building; by its side

Some frozen cutthroat trout from dad - his fun

Is catching these but we've sought far and wide

For recipes including them; not one

Meets his approval. On the other hand

I find them, for the eating, simply grand!

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In Which... In Which... In Which...

My last day ere vacation's finally here,
And really, it could not have come too soon.
Already I can taste the good stout beer
I'll quaff with Laroquod that afternoon
Three days hence. Now, my head a-spin with plans
And trying to catch up the time I lost
In dealing with some other crap -- these spans
Of time I've wished away I'd now accost
And put to sterner purpose, if I could.
I'm still not packed and would keep having dreams
In which I've left my passport home. Not good!
But such is ever my state when it seems
I'm soon to be a-traveling. My head
Has done the work my body now must dread.
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In Which The Aftermath Is Always Worse

The fun won't stop, not yet, and not because

The problem did, is past and gone and done.

It's still curled up and waiting for a pause

Within my busy-ness to pounce. It's one

Of many little quirks biology

Has left in us; still animals, we learn

More deeply through our crap recovery

Than through the instant when we took the burn.

It's psychic, though, what happened, so it's kept

Within my body far too long. I breathe

And tap as I'm supposed to, but I've wept

A lot. There's still a lot to do. I seethe

Resenting just a bit how I've been caught

In atavistic traps that chance hath wrought.

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BONUS SONNET: In Which I Take A Duck To The Face At 250 Knots

"It could have been much worse," I chant again.
I could have lost another friend today
But he was luckier than some have been,
Was rescued from his fate. But still I sway
My heart beats its arrhythmia which took
Our Mac from us (it has been diagnosed;
I just can't have caffiene). I'm told I look
As though eight hours of sun burned me like toast.
It's true: a bullet dodged is scarier
Than one that hits. Adrenaline begone!
I did all that I could and did not err,
But still I shake a bit. I'm holding on,
But cannot help but damn these unjust fates
That brought me to this pass this, of all dates.

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In Which Blagojevich Makes His Next Move

Fitzgerald had it wrong, for second acts
Are quite endemic these days, witness how
Our fav'rite Prostnic Vogon -- these are facts --
Acquitted (mostly), has announced that now
He's going to be at Wizard World to sign
Some autographs and read some poetry
To any whom his minions capture. Fine
And dandy, but a bit odd, seems to me!
O Blago, you're the cruelest captain yet!
I'm sure that Paula Nancy's wet her pants,
And clutches tightly to her crown (I'll bet
The Azgoths know they haven't got a chance).
Oh, freddled gruntbuggy, I hope you'll show
Some mercy to those who still choose to go.
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Interstellar Feller: In Which Pieces Need Picked Up

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 chunks of Alderaan that near destroyed
A certain famous smuggling ship are not
Unlike what buffets Grokulator. Freud
Might ponder if that isn't where he got
This notion. He's an earth boy, after all,
Our Pepi. When he had the time to learn
Just what this little ship could do must gall
His lady love; indeed, we see her burn
With wounded curiosity. She takes
Her arm from out the weapons socket, eyes
The damage, then develops mighty shakes
Of rage or fear, we can't tell. The demise
Of an entire world is no small thing.
But Pepi shrugs. It's good to be the king.
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In Which I Plead We Shut Up About The Ground Zero Mosque Already

You'll find no spot where nothing has occurred
That we could e'er call tragic. Why do some
Get privledged over others? It's absurd.
But that is not the only thing that's dumb
About the current controversy 'round
Ground Zero and a Muslim center. There
Around it sits a lot that's truly bound
To cause offense already, and to spare:
Like crappy souvenir shops where one buys
Mementos made in China -- commerce, though
Is what is truly sacred, I surmise.
We've come so far, but have so far to go:
There's joblessness and homelessness and war
That need all our attention so much more.
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A Crater, Please, For Mac

A Martian crater named for him would be

Most suitable, to help remember Mac

And teach new generations how much he

Once meant to us who'd gladly have him back.

He looked toward Mars with a special eye,

Both skeptical and curious; the Face

And Fort intrigued him but he ne'er let fly

With theories. Only questions had a place

In what he wrote and thought and shared. His point

Was not to prove that someone once lived there

But that we'll never know until a joint

Or single effort makes the trip - a fair

And reasoned one. There's myst'ries to explore

And Mac's no longer with us keeping score.

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In Which Primary Election Day Holds Some Surprises

I bought a house a year ago or so,
And thus changed my address, but little did
I realize that this day I would go
Both far and wide to exercise, as bid,
My franchise. Last time 'round 'twas just a block
From where I lived to where I cast my vote.
My new pad's just a quarter-mile to walk
From those old digs, but now (I failed to note
Before today), I'm in a district new
To me, and now the locale of my poll
Is many miles away. The air's still blue
From my much-thwarted process there -- how droll:
Construction everywhere meant that it took
Almost the whole alloted hour. Fists shook!.
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In Which I Am Editing

This sonnet-writing's tightened up my prose,
Which was a goal I had back at the start.
I cherish this but now I've got my nose
Deep in a slash-and-burn, I find my heart
Just wants to break; I have to cut much more
Of what I thought already nice and lean.
I've got more notion, though, of what it's for,
These words and thoughts, but still I think it's mean
To hack and cut as I must do. I tell
Myself the final product then will shine
The brighter, but right now a kind of hell
Or something near it surely, is all mine.
And deadlines, self-imposed or even not
Just make this seat of mine a little hot!
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Sunday Comics

No sleep, but Sunday Comics led me t'ward

My workday, willingly. I spent last night

Too late at work, alas; today my hoard

Of saved-up floppies kept my spirits bright.

Daytripper, luminous as e'er, but dull

Compared to other issues; then I took

A look at Morning Glories, which I'll cull

From my subscription list; a tawdry book

And too overt. But Fringe, I'd nearly dumped

This one, but it surprised me well. And then

A great mass of a book I'd mostly lumped

As someday reading: Rotten, which has been

My fav'rite of the day. I like my gore

With story and invention; that and more!

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SESTINA SATURDAY: Looking Foreward

I could be on the cusp of major change
Or just a false alarm again. One step
Could easily decide it all. I'm brave,
But there is much to lose if I let fly
My words and deeds and wishes. Much has gone
Untried already, though. I will know soon

If what I contemplate is true. How soon
Is relative. One thing that e'er does change
Is how long moments feel before they're gone.
Some times a lifetime floods our ev'ry step;
At others days and weeks just seem to fly
Fast past us. Just the powerful and brave

Can seize them each and hold them in a brave,
Unflinching grasp, examine them ere soon
Their spines emerge. We drop them, then. A fly
Might lap the blood they draw or, for a change
We might let go in time. Each one's a step
Towards an e'er receding end that's gone

Before we realize it. I have gone
A-chasing wisps before, put on a brave,
Disguising face to mask me when I step
Into the mire I thought was golden. Soon
I'll stride again, all in the hopes I'll change
Myself and others' fates. Too late to fly

Now from this challenge. Gleefully we fly
Into the face of disapproval, gone
To madness, some say, for to seek out change
Is folly. Fortune does not love the brave
As much as the wise planner. I'd as soon
Be foolish, though. One life is mine. I step

Into an unknown world each day; each step
Could lead to death or danger. Why not fly
To where I've never been; my end is soon
In grander terms, and when I'm dead and gone
The dangers that I never dared to brave
Will still be there. Decay will be my change.

Too soon all chances lost. I'll take the step
And risk. I'm bored, crave change, am bound to fly
To somewhere new. While gone, I will be brave.
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Unburdening

Mundane and quiet, Saturday has passed.
Some friends are re-arranging, others purge,
Well knowing that there's little that will last
And will survive that never-ending urge
To get new stuff, replace what has grown stale,
And keep up. Summer's fading, and the change
Will do us good. Just one more quick yard sale
And then we're fine, right? Doesn't it seem strange
This churning? But it's what we've always done.
We shed our burdens gladly, breathe in free
And fresh new air, but then, because it's fun
And sexy, start accumulating. Whee!
But one day all of this will have to stop;
Another must dispose of what we drop.
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In Which I Am A Shamless Starla (@riznphnx) Fangirl

My Dreamer's Thread runs long and all throughout
This world of mine, and currently it weaves
Into a shameless tapestry; I'll shout
For Starla's awesome basket (who believes
These contests can be real, now, anyways?).
The story was great fun for listening,
And playing a small voice part in -- a craze
'Mongst all the cool podcasters, quite the thing.
If fairy tales were e'er your bag, you owe
Yourself a listen, though now you can get
A printed one, or ebook, dont you know?
And hold on to your socks, for you can bet
King Cyrus and his crew will charm them right
Off your two feet (but 'twill be a delight).
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