In Which I Scratch My Head Over A Meatspace Encounter

I'm only halfway here, 'bout half the time,
And sometimes I get schooled in a big way
On how I'm mentally not at my prime
When my attention is divided. May
It be that I just got bamboozled, or
That I was hoping that I would be? Could
I still not understand what happened? More
And more this seems to happen. Really, should
I fret that what I seem to have agreed
To join in on tonight might be quite strange?
But then I say, "Oh reason not the need,
Such questing just shows I've a fear of change.
No matter what, I'll know in just a while
The truth behind a sly and secret smile.

Interstellar Feller: In Which Dissention Is Dealt With

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...

Not since the Paris tennis court has such
Resolve from any body been so clear!
Unanimous the group is not, though. Much
Attention has been paid to those most near
To being mighty heroes, but their ranks
Contain also the frail and rusty dame
Who earned from fair Yectara recent thanks
For her suggestion on how to reclaim
Pepito. She swears not the mickle oath;
Instead floats off to warn their cyborg queen
Of pending mutiny. But she's been loath
To use enough oil on her limbs. She's seen
Some centuries and squeaks some, and the noise,
Alas, betrays her plans unto the boys.

In Which I Gain Another Sobriquet

I must confess, it often makes me blush,

As vividly as does my best guy when

I tweet him compliments or silly mush,

That Ommus calls me "Sonnet Queen." These men

Are merciless betimes; now comes today

When Ommus, blaming iPhone for the flub,

Bestowed on me a brand new sobriquet,

And so the pair of them now fondly dub

Me "Sinnet Queen", which, near as I can tell,

Has aught to do with ropes and weaving, which

Suggests that I'm to be tied up real well?

Or am I being saucy here? No glitch

Do I see in my reasoning, so, Paul,

And Ommus, I accept this name you call.

In Which I Become A Seeing Eye Dog For A Bit

My Erin brought two black labs to Cheyenne
But neither has the training we required
This afternoon. No fear; we had a plan,
And if I may say so, one quite inspired.
Th'optometrist insisted he'd a need
To dilate Erin's eyes. With pupils wide
And all but sightless, struggling e'en to read
A stop sign, and still wounded in her pride
(She has to get bifocals), to her aid
I came, to guide her all about the town
(We had a chauffer, too, dear Ian), made
All efforts so she would neither fall down
Nor bump into an obstacle. 'TWas fun
But I'm glad now to tell you that we're done!


-- Post From My iPhone

In Which I Ponder Cells As Their Own Entities

A single cell, we barely understand,

Says Brian Ford, and why is he not right?

We know what's up within but in the grand

External scheme, so little's come to light

Because that's not where we choose now to look.

Take neurons, he says, are they just a switch?

Is what goes on between them thought? I took

Some time, consid'ring this, and find it rich:

Somatic cells do what they must with no

Great micromanagement from human brains.

If just a liver cell works on its own

What wonders can one neuron entertain?

Reductionists miss out; let's learn some more

About whole cells and what they have in store!

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... Er... Try To Think Of Stuff (Achoo)

It's someone's birthday, I am fairly sure.

But I can't find it eas'ly in the haze

Of Nyquil. Facebook shows me naught. Endure

With me this anguish. If it's you, don't laze

And brush it off. I'm feeling bad enough.

My springtime trip through Hades has begun.

It happens ev'ry year; I've not the stuff

To beat it just by resting, it seems. None

Of my most trusted remedies have stepped

Up to take on this crud -- though I have just

Remembered I have Mucinex. I get

Confused on sick days, as I 'spose one must

Whose clock is out of whack, who is on drugs

Whose life's reduced to battling with these bugs.

BONUS SONNET: Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, Paul @Laroquod

I am no Marvel girl, but well I know

When I've committed heresy, of course!

And since I've done it twice in public, lo

Must I atone in public, too, or force

Dire retribution from my fav'rite fan

Of ages Gold and Silver, Laroquod.

Although I still maintain John Hamm's the man

To play Steve Rogers and the Captain (odd

That I thought of this not myself! For shame!)

He is not blond, it's true, but tell me this:

At day's end, at the heart, will you, Paul, blame

My loving more a dark-haired man? Don't dis

Me overmuch, I pray, for going mad.

I'm sure Chris Evans won't be all that bad.

In Which Muck Is Mucked

We know that April's cruel, but could it crush
Our spirits so by any other means
Than snow that falls and turns, right off, to slush
And stays that way, at least until the freeze
At nightfall comes? The daffodils poke from
The sluggish soil, but soon do wear a coat
Of icy muck; would turn my fingers numb
To try to free them from it, and my throat
Already burns; a springtime cold is mine.
I peer outside while coughing, but I must
Remind myself that soon all will be fine,
And all this moisture will keep down the dust.
And when all of you others say good-bye
To blossoms, in the future mine still lie.

In Which We Wish @JorgeCandeias Parabens (Or Happy Birthday)

Comes now the time to bring to our Jorge
Candeias love and greetings. Parabéns.
I only follow half of what you say
But that's enough to know we're ever friends.
I can't wait till your novel's in my hands,
Admire what you do and how (this guy
Translates into the tongues of other lands
The better science fiction we let fly
In English). I know that I've faltered in
My effort to use "awesome" somewhat less;
As you have teased, it's so American
To make that word all-purpose. What a mess!
Mas O meu amigo, tratarei
To do a better job after today!

In Which I Join The Chorus Singing "Crown The Shat"

I'm often proud of our friends to the north,

But I don't think a single thing could make

Me prouder than if they do sally forth,

Pull William Shatner home, and let him take

Viceregal honors. Of course, well I know

It's mostly up to him; there'd be acclaim

From most Canadians, but would he go

For it himself? All glory to his name,

But could he leave the acting world behind,

Become an emmisary of the Queen

(Though this might be the role of a lifetime!)

And cease all jokes on being a has-been?

Still it's a lovely thought I'll cherish well,

E'en if he bids his countrymen to hell.

The Interstellar Feller: In Which It's Really Going To 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...

"But how shall we protect us from her wiles?"
Asks Quodlaro, and all who plot now pause.
He's right; one word from her and they're all smiles
Her bidding all they wish to do. Their cause
Could come to naught before it's e'en begun!
But Doctor Vuhl comes through with cotton balls;
And like Odysseus' crew now everyone
Is deafened. Good! And now TriBruno draws
Up plans. There's only one they need subdue:
That's Captain Droze, a proper martinet,
Who brooks no nonsense from his motley crew.
He's just one being though, and they can get
The drop on him. If they coordinate
He'll have no choice but share Yectara's fate.

More Than A Sort Of Homecoming

I've been in motion for a solid week,

Just lighting here and there for moments. May

I call a stop, for now, at last? I speak

Not to complain but rather to convey

My wonder at these orbits I did spin

And how I managed partially to share

Experiences with you. Epic win

On scales untold has been mine ev'rywhere,

Delight feels etched forever cross'd my face

(Disguised a bit, perhaps; exhaustion can

Deform the brightest smile). Now to this place,

The KATE STATION I'm come, and I'll say "Man,

It's good to be back home; I'll stay a spell!"

But soon I'll get the itch again. Oh, well.

In Which Is Considered Mile Marker 332

The interstate fogged in across the top,
Just me and near one hundred giant trucks,
We slow sometimes to something like a stop;
A wreck up here gets messy and my luck's
Been on a streak of awesome; if it runs
Out here I'm in big trouble. One mistake
However small, begets much bigger ones
As trucks crash into crashes. How I quake
Just driving past a milepost where once burned
So many trucks at such an intense heat
The pavement melted and eight people earned
Their tickets out of this life. Caution's meet
As I traverse the area; I've got
More now to live for than I ever sought!

In Which I Rant A Bit About A New Character Design

Accept my testimony, bitches. What

Have you done to our Daleks, crazy boys?

They never were that scary, really, but

Now they resemble crushable desk toys!

All plastic, brightly colored, and on top

A black accordion that should collapse

Quite satisfyingly should I just stop

And smash it with my fist when I relapse

Into a moment's rage. I could have used

One of them just today when I took in

The newest Who, which pleasingly first fused

These killer robots with (this made me grin)

A '40s tank in olive drab. Hell yes!

But that's not our aesthetic now, I guess.