Green Wake: In Which I'll Visit But I Would Not Want To Live There

Green Wake is where I would not want to be.
Is it a town, or just a spot in hell?
Whatever, it is surely not for me.
That's not to say I won't just set a spell
And peek in on its doings - and I can
Through comics, which is really just as close
As I would like to get. No, Wiebe's your man.
He went there so we don't have to. A dose
Of god-knows-what, and he and Rossmo bring
Us news of that most dark, unpleasant place,
Where anyone, and nearly anything
May be a future frog, where any space
May melt you into nightmare forms, destroyed
By your own guilts and sorrows from the void.

In Which @Bug_Girl And Her Camera Make Me Smile

Bug Girl hath learned today: it does not take
Too great an effort to earn a hoorah
From me; indeed all it took for to make
My day, to make me smile, to send my jaw
A-plummeting toward my chest was this:
A snapshot from her garden -- but not just
A plain old plant shot, no, for that's to miss
All buttons on my keyboard. No, you must
Provide me with some insect porn if you
Would seek my fond devotion. And, what's more
While a Manduca's always welcome, due
To my weird standards, braconids will score
Much higher on my charts. And here are both
In one shot. Here's to those coccoons' quick growth!

In Which Is Born A Strange Dynamic

There's grass in our backyard now! Doggies dream

Of such things, when of such they've been deprived --

Well most dogs, anyway. D'ja hear that scream?
"Eek! Grass!" quoth mine own collie. I've not jived

You there, I do assure you. When I go

Outside to sit and watch the sprinkler keep

The sod moist, does she join me? Mostly no.

Indeed, her mistrust seems to run so deep

That when her loneliness sets her to choose

To seek my company, she gives a scratch

Upon the backdoor -- but alas, you'd lose

The bet that she is coming out. The catch

Is that she wants me there indoors instead.

Politely I refuse. She bows her head.

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 Try To Say Good-Bye To Max Bell

I knew the day would come when we would reach
For our friend Max, and he would not be there.
That day has come, it seems, and now we each
Must find the words -- they're all we have to share.
I've braced myself to feel his absence, yet
E'en so, I was not ready. It's a cheat.
I can't recall what we last spoke of, bet
'Twas something mordant, funny, even sweet
(For, snarky though he often was, his heart
Dictated kindness, even when the dumb
Just burned). I'll deeply miss him, for my part --
Or will when I am over feeling numb
And empty. Ev'ry day's a touch more dim
And more so now, with no comment from him.

In Which I Have Said "Sod It"

My future backyard threatened to dry out

While sitting on its pallets through the morn.

I eyed it there and failed to stifle doubt

And heaped upon myself no little scorn.

I should have womaned up and planted seed

According to my first plan, but the toil

That job was obviously going to need

Was more than I could do alone. The soil

I'd readied was already sprouting crap

Much faster than I could spade over it.

I'd fallen into a homeowner trap

From which I'd not escape, so I said, "Spit!

And sod this; suck it up and call the pros.

It's only money, right?" And so it goes.

Spotted on Google Plus

I think I need this stencil, though perhaps

I must needs change this up a tiny bit.

Since I'm a girl, I should salute the chaps.

The chaps love sonnets, too, I've proof of it.

You think Mac Tonnies loved me for my face?

That Ommus gave me work because my tweets

Brimmed o'er with wisdom? That I found a place

On Mr. Hrab's great podcast 'cause I meets

His standards with my prose? No, sirrah, no.

Iambic pentamistressing's the way

I find to win the hearts of men, turn foe

To friend, and friend to sweetheart (well, I'll say

I hope that last is true at some point). Let

The sonnet bells toll loud for those I've met!

In Which I Agree With South Park Children About Summer

The stupid sun just blazes in the sky
And I'm too close to it, here in Cheyenne,
Though I'd be closer back at home. It's dry,
But lo, it burns like napalm when it can.
When waves of it are visible, and when
The wind forgets to blow, when e'en the birds
Tweet less, I think of all the times I've been
Prostrated by the summer time. No words
Can e'er convey my sunburn's pain; no balm
Can comfort it, save vinegar, which stings

As much as it stinks also. But I'm calm.

I'm almost home, where, among other things

A ceiling fan and lemonade await

If I can make it. If not, good-bye, Kate.

In Which I Enjoy My Flash In The Poetry Pan

(Click to SONNETSIZE image)

I know that this is really just a fluke

Of Amazon and of my awesome friends

Who jumped today to go and buy my book

(It's there now, just like Smashwords). This portends

Not one thing for the future, but today

My sonnets were on this bestseller list!

My name was ranked with Whitman, Poe, hooray!

I feel as though the Sonnet Fairy kissed

My forehead. Thank you all. This gives to me

More motivation, now, to finish work

On getting out that print edition. Whee!

Next week just watch me go all-out berserk

To get it done. Now off to have a drink

With local friends. I've earned that, don't you think?

In Which An Ebook Is Published!

At long last, I am pleased to offer here

(At SmashWords) and on Kindle just as soon

As Amazon does what it has to -- dear,

Oh dear, watch out, your sonneteer my swoon! --

An ebook of these sonnets. Later on,

In hot July, I'll make available

A print edition you may feast upon

And hold in your two hands -- I wouldn't pull

Your leg on this! But if you just can't wait,

And have an e-device on which to read

Some silly poetry by your pal, Kate,

You needn't! And the cost is low indeed.

And dig the art, by M.R. Neno, who

Did quite a job, I think! How about you?

Empty Nest

The ice that's in the trays sits undisturbed.
No random power tool noise fills the air.
My collie's 'thusiam 's somewhat curbed;
Her fav'rite human (my dad) isn't there
When she comes back indoors from her patrol.
The kitchen table's empty and quite clean
(Apart, that is, from artichokes mom left --
By accident or charity? I mean,
They're artichokes, of which she's oft bereft
In Saratoga!); the spare room is, too.
Just when I'm used to sharing, I'm alone
Again. Another visit now is through,
My mom and dad are now safe back at home.
I have, of course, a great big load of stuff
To tackle in their absence, sure enough.

Cruisin'

It's summer; school is out, the kids are free,
And they go screeching by in all their cars
As though it were a Friday night. When we
Were that age we were just the same. The stars
Glowed high above us, burning, dying, while
We paid them hardly any mind, except
When we were waiting, sometimes with a smile,
Sometimes with bitterness, for those who kept
On telling us "just one sec." Being out
At night time was so new, so glamorous,
E'en if it just involved a car, a route
That took us back and forth, some beer, some fuss
O'er what to blast through speakers. Life is short,
Especially when you're seventeen. Cavort!

In Which We Watch This Space For Details

Phil Rossi (and some others), long ago,
On learning of this foolish project which
I'd undertaken, said to me, "You know,
This has to be a book." I've had the itch
To make one of them ever since, and soon
Such shall be ready to be crassly bought
At all the normal outlets. From the Moon
To deep beneath the soil, to where one ought
To don some gloves and goggles, there's no place
My sonnetizing has not gone, and when
My format-angel and my artist grace
Me with the final touches, darlings, then
I'll put a sonnet ebook up for sale,
And then a dead-tree version, without fail!

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!