You may lose your head,
Dragon, skin, or maidenhead,
Sure you want to play?

Capturing meaning,
From life's flowing tapestry,
Rendered in one frame.

Pure hearts never die,
They stop beating and ascend,
From whence they have come.

Remembering Our Fallen on Memorial Day

Freedom is your legacy,
Paid for with your precious life,
Far from home and family,
In wars both wise and unwise.

I walk in light thanks to you,
Teach, write, speak, think without fear,
And our flag flies proud and true,
Beacon of hope through the years.

I stand proudly for our flag,
Hand over heart as I sing,
Our Anthem whene’r it plays,
As my voice cracks and eyes tear.

Emotions run high for me,
Not from empty foolish pride,
But because in her I see,
Your most poignant sacrifice.

Freedom comes not from its wish,
Nor peace from prayers on their own,
They come from soldiers like you,
Who selflessly gave their all.

I carry you in my heart,
Every day of every year,
The debt I owe you cannot,
Be repaid in words or tears.

Rest in peace, beloved dead,
May God grant you honors due,
Today I will fly our flag,
And in it always see you.
Death of a Quiet Soldier


Death of a Quiet Soldier

Behind enemy lines you gave your life,
The risks you knew and embraced willingly,
Red, black and green berets fought by your side,
And brought your body back to family.

Later in a ritual of their own,
They would name a field airport in your name,
And honor you, your brothers, far from home,
Their memory now your eternal flame.

I do not know your rank, your name, your face,
I only know that I am in your debt,
Who for your family can take your place?
Our debt to them we must never forget.

The freedom I enjoy comes thanks to you,
And all who serve with honor, proud and true.

Evil will triumph,
When we foolishly refuse,
To call it by name.

It is hard to soar,
When one's wings are soaked in tears,
But this too shall pass.

Some came back home with scars that would not heal,
Some were welcomed with ticker tape parades,
Some spit upon by cowards with much zeal,
Some draped in flags to rest in early graves.

They fought in all our wars asking not why,
For country, family, brothers in arms,
They fought that freedom should not, would not die,
They fought in cities, forests, fields and farms.

They bought our freedom with their sacrifice,
Paid with their blood, their limbs, their innocence,
They sought not thanks, though no thanks could suffice,
As payment for their great munificence.

Remember them, today and every day,
For those who live and all who died please pray.

An extinction event looms,
Death arrives in under two years,
Riding on an asteroid.

Earth's future is sealed,
Salvation not possible,
Can humanity prevail?

Will chaos rule our waning days?
Will we give in to despair?
Or will we refuse to yield?

Will we sacrifice our last days,
For the slimmest ray of hope,
To preserve our human seed?

Will we face our end,
In triumphant defiance,
Or embrace despair?

You can download a copy of my eBook science fiction short story by the same name free until May 15, 2022, but only at https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/428820

An excess of pride,
Paves the road to perdition,
As does want of it.

Fiction comes alive,
Dystopian visions thrive,
In Cities world wide.

A Clockwork Orange,
Lord or the Flies, Brave New World,
Nineteen Eighty Four.

Animal Farm and,
Fahrenheit Four Fifty One,
All have come to pass.

And they will perdure,
If we defend what's clearly,
Indefensible.

Feed a hungry beast,
It will grow and it will thrive,
And eat you alive.

Likewise criminals,
Who thrive when no consequence,
Attach to their crimes.

When crimes are excused,
And criminals deemed victims,
What should we expect?

Poverty, racism,
Broken homes, addiction, vice,
Contribute to crime.

But crime's true root cause,
Is immoral criminals,
And their enablers.

Moral compass lost,
Confident blind fools lead us,
On perdition's road.

When did we forget,
That the road to hell is paved,
With good intentions?

Death has no meaning,
For those who have sown good seeds,
That will bear sweet fruit.

We alone in the universe?
Inconceivable! Absurd! Illogical!
So why the silence?

We’ve been screeching “We’re here!”
For the better part of a century,
Sending our best and worst broadcasts,
(Mostly the latter) that have now traveled,
Nearly 100 light years in the Milky Way.

A-bombs and H-bombs also send out clear signals.

They know we’re here.
So why the silence?
Could it be they did respond and are here?
Perhaps.

But two other options are likelier, I think.
One, that they saw, heard, examined our broadcasts,
And did as we might if we discovered,
An island populated by billions of rabid baboons.
Unpleasant. Dangerous. Irrelevant.

Another possibility is that they cannot distinguish,
Our primitive signals from the general background noise,
And natural radio emissions of a static-filled universe,
Any more than we could hear the most ardent efforts,
Of a paramecium vigorously thrashing its cilia,
In an effort to let its existence be known to the universe.

No, we are not alone.

We can’t possibly be.

We are just not worthy of acknowledgement,
Or perhaps of notice.

Worse yet, we might be like a cancer cell,
Attempting to communicate with the body it inhabits.
Whether it succeeds through its efforts,
Or is discovered by independent means,
Is there any question as to its likely fate?

Why have you left me, sweet old dreams of youth?
I tried so hard to hold you in my heart,
Where have they fled, faith, honesty and truth,
Or were they only visions from the start?

Do I hear music deep within my soul,
Or mocking echoes of a bygone time?
Embers still glow, though I am growing old,
But they grow dark and cold, as does my rhyme.

Each passing moment wears away my hope,
As does the blowing sand the desert stone,
Symphonies fading to a single note,
Leaving me empty, bitter and alone.

I grieve not for my life; I have more sense,
I grieve far greater loss, my innocence.


[You can access my reading of this poem at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lJ4EVKhvEYQ]

Celebrate Christmas
Not with presents under trees
But with grateful hearts

The birth of Jesus
The path to eternal life
This is our true gift

Gift most dearly bought
His life to redeem our sins
Let us not forget

I've posted a new reading of my poem,
About my unsung heroes who have passed,
All are closest to my heart and to my home,
All worthy mentors, from the first to last.

These troubled days true heroes we do need,
Share the lives of your own, sow wisdom's seed.

A poem is a song,
That resonates a lifetime,
In receptive hearts.

Poetry is life,
That grows from the fertile soil,
Of our broken dreams.

Poets are weavers,
Who spin fragile threads of hope,
From dust in the wind.

Captura el significado,
Del tapiz fluido de la vida,
Interpretado en un fotograma.

Los errores son las herramientas,
Que El Creador nos otorga,
Para esculpir nuestras propias almas.

The door to myself,
Intricately gilded steel,
Rusted shut by tears.

Beyond it dead dreams,
Endless verdant sylvan paths,
Better lives unlived.

What use my regret?
Precious treasure left there,
Cannot be retrieved.

You are a seedling with limitless,
Potential reaching for the sun,
No scars from cutting,
No needle tracks,
No self doubt,
If only you could see yourself,
Through my eyes.

Como arenas en vientos fuertes,
La experiencia desgasta,
La dulce inocencia juvenil.

Scientist's playthings,
Cause the end not just of earth,
But of our universe.

Counting sheep an hour,
Very bored but not sleepy,
Will try chasing them.

My feet are bound to clay,
While my heart longs to soar,
On angel's wings above.

Below lies my future,
My ashes will return,
From whence they were inspired.

Above lie all dreams,
Canopied by ancient light,
From billions of suns.

Civilizations,
Long since turned to dust,
Still cry out to us.

Wish I could see them,
Hear their sweet silent music,
Understand their lives.

I cannot do so,
Yet I feel their life force still,
Rippling out through space.

Bound to their own clay,
Yet their spirits now roam free,
To the end of time.

__________

Ecos de luz estelar

Mis pies están atados a arcilla,
Mientras mi corazón anhela elevarse,
En alas de ángel hacia arriba.
,
Debajo yace mi futuro
Mis cenizas volverán,
De donde se inspiraron.

Por encima reposan todos los sueños,
En pabellón de luz antigua,
De miles de millones de soles.

Civilizaciones,
Desde hace mucho tiempo convertidas en polvo,
Todavía nos aclaman.

Ojalá pudiera verlos,
Escuchar su dulce música silenciosa,
Comprender sus vidas.

No puedo hacerlo,
Sin embargo, todavía siento su fuerza vital,
Ondulando a través del espacio.

Atados a su propia arcilla,
No obstante, sus espíritus ahora vagan libres,
Hasta el fin de los tiempos.

I detest the euphemism "making love"
When people just mean "having ***"
As the latter is too often devoid of the former.

Rabbits do not make love. The copulate.
Dogs in heat do not make love. They copulate.
Roosters do not make love. They **** all hens.

Men in bars at closing time are not looking to make love.
Nor are the women nursing their last drink then.
They are looking to have *** with a stranger.

I do not judge the rabbits, dogs, roosters of barflies.
Humans who sate their urges with any willing partner
Have my best wishes for happy, healthy,  STD-free lives.

I only object when they refer to a physical act that is
Engaged in solely for pleasure and devoid of genuine
Affection for the object of their lust as "making love".

If you use others and allow yourself to be so used
And are of legal age, more power to you (just be safe!)
You will have more pleasure out of this life than I.

But please do not defile, defame, demean the most
Important word and most important feeling humans can share
By making it into just another four-letter word.

By all means say making love and make love often,
As there is no greater gift that human beings can share
But please do not profane the term. Enjoy ***. Just call it that.

We search for true love,
Often for a lifetime,
Yet seldom find it.

Love's not hard to find,
Especially when we're young,
Consumed by passion.

As we age we find,
The embers still glow brightly,
But do not consume.

Yet the pain persists,
Emptiness that we can't fill,
However we try.

If we find true love,
No force in the universe,
Can keep us from it.

No matter the source,
No matter the circumstance,
We meld into one.

Love freely given,
Ripples in the universe,
To outlive the stars.

Enigmatic Sphinx,
Its true purpose discovered,
Its warning ignored.

I do not write for money,
And even less for fame,
I write because I have to,
It's simply who I am.

I'm a jack of many trades,
And the master of a few,
But they do not define me,
They are just the things I do.

What I write will not endure,
Much of it will not be read,
Little of all I publish,
Will survive long once I'm dead.

I'd write if no one read me,
In ink, on sand or in blood,
As long as reason abides,
I know that I will not stop.

It is so for all of us,
Who are writers at our core,
Writing is our very essence,
It is who we are, no more.

All that you have and all you may yet own,
Can be stolen, lost, consumed or destroyed,
The state can tax it to oblivion,
Or outright confiscate it--some or all.

There's only one most precious thing you own,
Beyond the reach of corrupt governments,
That you can use and share but not use up,
And pays high, tax-free dividends for life.

Its value is undiluted by strife,
It thrives in markets of both bulls and bears,
It is inflation- and recession-proof,
Beyond the reach of world economies.

It is not stocks, or bonds, or precious jewels,
Nor is it currency of any kind,
It is invisible, intangible,
And may be held by princes and paupers.

The more you own, the more its value grows,
Though it can largely be obtained for free,
Once obtained it can be improved, reshared,
For a price, or at no cost, as you choose.

Its ownership is the only true wealth,
To which wise humans in life should aspire,
The wealth I write of is of course knowledge,
The only coin with which wisdom is bought.

Under the radar,
One avoids the flak of life,
But will never soar.

Words spoken by fools,
Are unworthy of notice,
Let them fade away.

You are surely mad,
When you believe yourself right,
And the whole world wrong.

Christmas has now passed,
Yet its spirit lingers on,
In receptive hearts.

The child in me still yearns,
To sweep above cumulus clouds,
Afterburners engaged,
Contrails marking my passing,
For a time before fading,
Silently screaming,
I am here,
Flying with the angels,
For just a moment,
Leaving behind the chains,
Forever binding me to clay.

A grasshopper once came upon a colony of ants seeing to the fall harvest.
“Give me some grain. I’m hungry” he said.
“Where is your winter store?” they asked.
“Don’t have one. Too busy singing all summer” he replied.
“Well, if you sang all summer instead of working, you may as well
Dance all winter,” they replied smiling and returning to work.

The grasshopper turned from green to red, fuming.
“The harvest is not yours! You did not build it!
You did not make it rain.
You did not cause the sun to shine.
You just reaped the bounty of mother earth.
That belongs to us all. Now give me my fair share!”

The ants kept working, smiled and shook their heads.
The grasshopper cursed and stomped away.
But he returned an hour later with many kindred spirits.
They beat the ants silly while stealing their grain.
And as they beat them they chanted catchy slogans
While pumping firsts in the air:

No justice no peace!
Power to the people!
It takes a village!
Yes we can!
Soak the rich!
Property is theft!

Then they took away all the grain they could carry,
And burned the rest to teach the unconscious ants a lesson.
Back at their village, the grasshoppers had a wondrous feast.
It lasted three full days until the food ran out.
When winter came, they begged nearby villages for food.
But they were also populated by singers, dancers and actors who’d likewise
Spend the summer singing, dancing and making love, not war.

So having no food, they held hands, hugged a tree and
Sang Cumba Ya while lamenting the tragedy that had befallen them.
“All their fault. All their fault” they whined in unison.
“Those stupid, egotistical, greedy, inhumane, hoarding, hate-filled
Worthless bugs. Why could they not have been as enlightened as we?”

Our home turned into a prison,
Porting all my lectures online,
Working in quiet desolation,
Long past midnight.

Afraid to go out not for myself,
But for fear of bringing home,
What could prove a deadly contagion,
To the woman I love.

No long commute to work, it's true,
But also no sea of bright faces,
Greeting me, motivating me,
Giving meaning to my life.

No beautiful campus to walk through,
No national arboretum,
With foliage lazily unfurling,
From a long winter slumber.

No squirrels scurrying about,
Begging for treats or rummaging,
In waste paper baskets for discarded,
Gastronomic treasures in the quads.

No tender tendrils of tulips and,
Daffodils tentatively reaching,
Through their earthen blankets,
In search of the sun.

No sea of fresh faces hovering,
Throughout campus like,
Glorious butterflies freshly reborn,
From ten thousand chrysalises.

Each with the face of an angel,
Eyes bright and curious,
Looking ever onward to futures,
Where all doors yet remain open.

I am old when not in their presence,
But always young when among them,
As if newly emerged from my chrysalis,
Reborn, renewed, rewound.

Technology is wonderful,
I embrace it in most of its forms,
But human interaction is not meant,
To be reduced to bits and bytes.

I want my classrooms back.
I want my students in them.
I want them, my loved ones, friends, and colleagues,
All whole, safe and fear-free again.

This too shall pass. I know.
And yet I see the daily death numbers grow.
Death all around where my loved ones live.
Both here and in Spain. Both today and tomorrow.

I don't care at all for myself,
I've had a good life, most of it,
In the company of loved ones and,
Students become colleagues become friends.

But lives far more precious than my own to me,
Are at risk and I am helpless to do anything about it--
Save for staying indoors, in my self-imposed cell,
Surrounded by dead leaves and nary a butterfly.

May they rest in peace,
Innocent victims of hate,
Bless their families.

Gone--not forgotten,
Echoes still reverberate,
Of their too-short lives.

Let's stay vigilant,
Reject those that would excuse,
Monstrous, insane acts.

Let us embrace all,
From all races/religions,
Who show compassion.

For all who were killed,
From all races/religions,
On this fateful day.

Hate the evil men,
Not their innocent neighbors,
Who were victims too.

"I know that I know nothing" said the wisest man who ever lived,
"I know that I know everything" said the dumbest of them all,
The rest of us fall somewhere in between the two.

Wisdom comes from knowing that the smartest humans,
Are like amoebas trying to understand the universe by examining,
In minutest detail the drop of fetid pond water they inhabit.

When you don't know what you don't know,
And realize you are as ignorant and insignificant as an amoeba,
You will have begun the long journey to enlightenment.

Can't choose whom you love,
But can choose whom you marry,
Make sure you choose well.

Hadron colliders,
Scientists' pricey playthings,
That will end the world.

Do good where you can,
Seek not praise or a reward,
And you will find grace.

Caminando en la puesta de sol final,
Mi sombra se extiende muy por detrás,
Tocando todo lo que he hecho,
¿Ha sido suficiente?

When men **** nature,
Sterile children may be born,
Of concrete and steel.

Angles sharp and tall,
They grow to the sky daily,
On their mother's grave.

Then in false homage,
They build a fake monument,
With locks of mom's hair.

This is Central Park,
A manufactured green space,
For all that was killed.

Malodorous meat,
Offered to the hungry dogs,
Who think it prime beef.

I’m not woke
won't buy a pig in a poke
'cause my common sense ain't broke
won't slip my head in your yoke
no joke

CRT? That’s not for me
of mind manacles I'm free
so go climb or hug a tree
and let rational people be
your Marxist-inspired lies even a blind man can see

if all you see is racism
I suggest you change your prism
try a little optimism
it will free you from the prison
of binary thinking derision

racism, alas, exists
but by no means just in whites
the antidote is to resist
polarizing angry fights
that shed smoke, heat but no light

there is but one human race:
**** sapiens sapiens--all precursors have expired
it comes in wondrous diverse colors, sizes and is wired
to experience humane grace
there's just one known race in known space

let's stop making false excuses
for success or failure of individuals in a group
and address the real abuses
that make some fail to bear fruit
or may even cause some good people to loot

but keep it real if you please
stand for anything and you’ll stand for naught
no one is entitled to success with ease
it requires hard work, sacrifice, and doing what one ought
failure by not following the rules deserves not a second thought

spreading lies as truth
is propaganda, not woke
nor is poisoning our youth
fanning smoke where there's no fire
false loyalties to acquire