Kirsten, Kirsten, Rest in Crazy Ass Enthusiasm

A crazy-ass Zen saint, I watched in awe
As we grew up together. Nothing stopped
Her having fun. I never, ever saw
A person so alive. Oft my jaw dropped
To witness such enthusiasm. There
Has never been her like. My fortune's great
To have had her example and to share
Times good and less so with her. And now fate
Has, cruel, decreed that we have had enough?
"Screw that," Kirsten would say, and I agree.
In memory of her, I'll make neat stuff
And do amusing things, will try to be
A bit more like her. And sit in my dress
As she did, now and then. It was the best!

R.I.P. Neil Armstrong

We knew your footprint would outlive you, yet
It's sad to see this day we've gotten proof
Of this. Test pilot, teacher, icon, let
Us shout as one: we'll miss you. Those who spoof
Your great achievement may not ever stop,
But we who watched you live, or benefit
In other ways from what you did won't drop
The torch you've passed to us. We thank you. It
Still staggers me, that step. I cannot think
What life's been like for you since you came back.
Did you think you'd be first of many, drink
Toasts to our future colony? I lack
The words right now to share just how I feel.
At least the whole world knows this grief is real.

James "Ben" Sherrod, Farewell and Rest In Peace

Folks ask me how it's so that I've no fear.
In part, I tell them, it is just because
I'm of this tribe, together year by year
And day to day, though later distance was
A factor. Something I have always known:
My uncle had my back, just as my dad
Has had my cousins'. Thus secure, I've grown
Into a stronger person; I have had
The fierce and doting love of Ben Sherrod
For all my days. Of this there's been no doubt.
I know that's rare, and some may call me fraud.
I feel for them, who've had to do without
A rock like he has been. And now, I, too
Must share that lack. Dear Uncle, I'll miss you.

In Which I Try To Stay Positive In the Face Of Unfairness

Life's short, so grab your nearest love, for me
And hold him tightly for a moment; say
All that you should (same goes if it's a she)
Ere darkness falls and closes out this day.
Not ev'ryone today is going to lose
That last chance, but we never know until
It's far too late. Therefore it's best to choose
To lead on with your heart, suppress the will
To self-defense. Far better risk the hurt
Of some misunderstanding or rebuff
Of your short, deeply honest, silly blurt,
Than to regret you never said enough.
Too short a time amongst us, Kenny; I
Was really not prepared to say good-bye.

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 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.

Mac Tonnies: A Sad Anniversary

There's still a Mac-shaped hole, but when I peer
Into it now, I see a new world, filled
With people and ideas that help me steer
My thoughts away from sorrow, and rebuild
This life of mine. My awe at what I've found
Within that absence cannot be expressed
Except imperfectly. And though the sound
Of that dear voice still echoes, I can wrest
Myself from sadness, knowing what we'll make --
In part to honour him, in part to show
Who we are whom he touched, who cannot shake
His influence and would not -- how I glow!
The possibilities are just as wide
As they were when we had him at our side.

In Which I Try To Offer Some Comfort

I wish that I could give you all a hug,
Around the world and missing Chris; you know
You're not alone, don't you? I'd feel a slug
If I did not remind you of this, though.
We each of us have in our memories
A version of him, know what he would do.
It seems unfair that, despite any pleas
We're never going to have from him a new
Perspective, essay, or idea to play
Around with or to share, but ev'ryone
Can take up just a piece of what we'd say
Was his responsibility, begun
But now unfinished. Set your shoulders square
And ponder on what you can, if you dare.

In Which We Lose Another - R.I.P. Chris Al-Aswad, aka Lethe Bashar

I first found Chris -- or should say, he found me

On Twitter, of course. That is where great minds

Who think alike unite, these days. Valery,

That symbolist and poet -- such rare finds

Are people who know of him or will ask

When reference is made -- and so began

A strange collaboration. Each new task

We gave each other showed more of the man

Behind the pseudonym. Feverish, bright

And willing the world to be a bit more

Like that he found in books and paintings. Slight

Here is my praise; the shock's too new. If you're

Of any mind to see what he could do

Check out his novel. Chris, I shall miss you.

In Which Another Good'Un Leaves Us

My parents' home bears witness to his skill

In carpentry; my freezer, too, has held

Much bounty from those fishing trips. Dear Bill,

Called Famous in my old blog, I'm compelled

To thank you for so much, and I'm so glad

I had the chance before we lost you. Oh,

I smile right through my tears; the fun we've had

As families can n'er be stolen, though

Your presence 'mongst us has been, far too soon.

Alternative bird festivals, for one,

And endless chats at coffee, through 'til noon...

I missed the house boat on Lake Powell but, son,

That one was for you grown ups anyhow.

I'll miss you so! Wish you were here right now.

In Which A Delivery Brings Up Stuff

The last book of a friend is a strange thing,

E'en if, I do suspect, though do not know,

It's not about a subject like this. Bring

It on, I have long thought, I'm ready. No,

It turns out that I'm not. It came today,

Mac Tonnies' latest book. And I did share

His thoughts while it was written, in a way

(O Internet, such strange things happen there!).

Now here it is, his last work, in so slim

A volume, dense with meaning e'en before

It's subject's taken up. My eyes go dim

And blurry at the sight. I've tears and more.

There's only one first time to read it; I

Fear, though, that it will always make me cry.

Mike McIlvaine: Feb. 2, 1970 - April 25, 1989

Just three years old, we met at the ballet,

Not knowing then just how close we would get.

We'd be together almost ev'ry day

For sixteen years. I never will forget

Our kissing at the movies, the front bench,

While "Jack the Giant Killer" played onscreen,

Just little kids but there was love. The wrench

Of losing you, I still feel, very keen.

Though our last talk in person was a fight,

We made up on the phone. Then you were gone.

It felt as though someone put out the light

Of my entire life, but I pushed on.

Each day since I have lived my life for two.

Today you would be 40. I miss you.

SESTINA SATURDAY: Mac Tonnies: The Alchemy of Time

Like my "new look"? ;-), originally uploaded by Mac Tonnies.

October started fine; dissolved in loss.
My hopes had soared but crashed down into grief.
Mac Tonnies, much adored - surprise - was gone.
In pain I shut down badly, and my friends
Were helpless to console me. In their love
I took some comfort but did not taste joy.

Mac and his blog were sources for rare joy.
I'd read them each day, always at a loss
For words. Always, there, something new to love,
Always surprises. I would say "Good grief!"
And rush to show his finds to all my friends.
I missed him right away when he was gone.

I feared my inspiration, too, had gone
For one great project that had brought us joy,
A project for which many of my friends
Were waiting eagerly. But in my loss
Each time I took it up I felt the grief
Like new, and let it swallow up my love.

Mac's quality's reflected by the love
That poured out at the news that he was gone.
I knew I suffered not alone in grief,
And started swapping stories of the joy
I had in knowing him with those whose loss
Was just as keen as mine; we became friends.

Some of these people already were friends
Of Mac's and mine; through him I'd come to love
A whole new set of people. In this loss
We pulled together, missing what was gone,
Determined though, to keep alive the joy
He'd brought us all, and to assuage our grief.

But more were new, discovered in my grief.
A bittersweet way to acquire new friends,
But nonetheless, I find in them new joy.
There will not be another Mac, but love
Wears many faces; just because one's gone
Does not mean recompense won't come for loss.

Such alchemy! A time of loss and grief
For one now gone, made bearable by friends
Both new and old; their love has brought me joy.

In Which Humans Are Sometimes Cool: Together We Are Mighty!

There's limits to how cynical I'll be

(Remem'bring, too, its roots, that word's, in stuff

Dog-like and pure and poor and largely free

Of selfishness). Sure, there's reason enough

To think the worst of projects folks put forth,

But then sometimes such thoughts turn inside-out.

Ms. Ballantine reached out in all her warmth,

A chorus rose, first murmurs, now a shout:

"Together we are mighty!" Sonic Boom

And Tee need love, but tangible support

Will help more than your words as vast costs loom,

And they two face a future one Mom short.

Six thousand bucks and change already fills

That coffer, and I trade my sneers for chills.

In Which I Almost Give Up

A place I have found sweet threatens to turn --
I won't say sour, but there's a bitter edge
To my experience these days. Tears burn.
Remembering one to whom I made a pledge
Of endless love and friendship won't be there
Is hard, but harder still, I start to find,
Is when another denizen won't spare
A thought to why things change, becomes unkind,
And makes me feel unwelcome in my space.
I'm digging in my heels but there are times
When I just want to give up, turn my face
Away. But I would lose much more. To rhymes
I turn to put my discomfort in words.
I'm really just a chicken and it hurts.

Atheist's Grief

I'm sorry, I'm a skeptic, don't believe
My friend is "out there" somewhere. He's just gone.
Not waiting in a next life to receive
Me or his other friends when we've "moved on."
An afterimage burned within my heart
Still glows and will do so for long years yet
As ever happens when one does depart,
Those left behind must strive to not forget
The lost one. If they do, there's nothing left
But ashes blown before the wind. That's all.
I wish I could think otherwise, bereft
As I am now. 'Twould be nice, but I call
Myself out for pretending. Mac's just dead
And all that's left's his voice inside my head.

In Which A Month Passes

Today's the first when I have thought, in truth
Of skipping on the sonnet-writing. Why?
Well, Twitter's like a smile with no front tooth
Since one of us was lost. I look and cry
Whene'er something reminds me that he's gone.
Today it was the shuttle launch. I gawk
At ev'ry one and know the day will dawn
When up will go the last of them. Such talk
Was part of what I shared with Mac - we feared
The space program had peaked and would decline
Through politics and budget cuts. I cheered
To see Atlantis launch, was feeling fine,
But then, I don't know why, it hit me square:
A month has passed since he left us. Not fair.

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.

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 Thank My Medicine Men

It takes strange tools to patch a torn-up heart,
Takes songs and tales and poetry and play.
Comes time for me to thank those who, in part
Have made or done the things which, I may say,
Have proven the best medicine for me.
Phil Rossi wrote a song that e'en before
The hardest blow came down did help me see
A light at tunnel's end. And there is more:
For Jeremy Shipp's novel did a lot,
As did a poem by Gregory Wright
He wrote just for me, to tell me I'm not
Alone, not even in the darkest night.
Thanks too, to my White Rabbit and John Ladd:
Chess therapy is good, too, when I'm sad.