Truth like a flower,
Opens itself to the sun,
Lies thrive in darkness.

The Things for Which I am Most Grateful

- A God who loves me despite the many faults that make me unworthy of His love;

- A wife who has been my best friend for more than three fourths of my life, even when I have been so much less of a friend to her than she deserves;

- Parents who have given up everything that I may have a life better than they enjoyed and never made me feel the weight of their sacrifice and who now watch over me from heaven;

- Grandparents who imparted unforgettable lessons through their example that include: prize your good name above all other things; there is no shame in poverty but for poverty of spirit; hard work will see us through any adversity; and there are many things far more precious than our own lives;

- Friends who have helped me get through the most difficult times of my life;

- The opportunity to serve others through meaningful work;

- Exceptional colleagues with whose help anything is possible;

- Teachers in public and private institutions that instilled in me a love of learning through high school and beyond;

- The men and women who put on a uniform every day and voluntarily undertake the dangerous work of policing our streets, putting out our fires, rescuing us from harm and ensuring our freedom through their selfless sacrifice in places far from home;

- The privilege to live in an adopted country that has welcomed, accepted and nurtured me, bestowed upon me the honor of its citizenship and to which I am most proud to pledge my allegiance above all others, grateful beyond words for the opportunity to live in the greatest country that the world has ever known.

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

Lightning rends the sky,
Heaven's blood floats to the earth,
That life may flourish.

In the near future,
One global hyper-network,
No choice to opt out

Alien's promise,
Rare gifts for two weeks' service,
Too good to resist?

Leave to all your heirs,
The one priceless legacy,
They can't buy: Honor.

I have a ten-page curriculum vitae,
And a one-page life,
Footnote my regret.

Spent three nights this week
Living in 1987
Immersed in both joy and sorrow
Long suppressed

Writing a novel
Of fact made fiction
Relived a critical year
Writing of my former self

Three nights spent towards the end
At my keyboard
Not my bed
Until 8:00 a.m. and 10:00 a.m.

Then two or three hours of sleep
And back to weaving again
A renewed tapestry
From frayed and broken threads

The heart remembers
What the mind would hide
Old wounds thought healed
Begin to bleed again

What is broken Is yet mended
Forged in the white-hot fire
Of sweet remembrance
Tempered by tears that can still flow

The novel's done
Reopened cuts begin to heal
And scabs reform anew
Leaving new scars to fade in time

The editing process begins
The mind takes over from the heart
The ghosts return to their cold graves
Their temporary lives expired

Closed doors pried open
Now shut once more
And green paths not taken
Once again turn brown

But oh the sweet ephemeral joy
And deepest sorrow
Of the dead past come alive again
If only for a time to ponder what might have been

Life is an hourglass,
Sands fall to oblivion,
Leave something behind.

When all hope is gone,
Despair not--pick up the pen,
Give it birth anew.

Its five a.m. and still I cannot sleep,
My world’s been shattered and peace will not come,
Turning a light on shadows buried deep,
Awoke the past and now I am undone.

Scars once thought healed have opened up anew,
Pain thought forgotten rises to the fore,
Lies I believed wanting them to be true,
Are now the cause for me of endless war.

What would I give if I could change the past?
Avoid mistakes fatal not just to me,
But to those I love best from first to last,
No price too high for redemption would be.

I’ve done grievous wrong trying to do right,
And now there’s no solution to my plight.

Three books in two years,
Contractual commitment,
Why am I posting?

I've lived in 1987 for the past two months
Every waking moment and in my every dream
When sleep would finally come called by exhaustion
As is still the case although the work is now done.

Idealistic young lawyer,
In his first posting as a dean,
In a for-profit business school,
Naive voice crying in the wilderness.

Worked very long hours,
To change what was wrong,
Achieved great success,
Which all came to naught.

Made friends while tilting at windmills,
Stubbornly refusing to accept,
That which could be changed through simple hard work
That I believed would make real difference in others' lives.

A classic clash of missions and visions:
Provides the factual drama--theirs, to maximize profits,
And deliver an education at the lowest possible cost,
Mine to be in the business of changing lives for the better.

I implemented meaningful changes,
That brought unintended consequences
I found unacceptable, and personal conflicts
That caused me to resign while still on good terms.

And I learned critical lessons,
Not just about an industry I did not know,
But about myself, my strengths and my weaknesses,
And about love that brought joy and pain that I can still feel.

As I wrote my novel, composing at the keyboard,
I wrote through the night, sleeping only when my vision blurred,
And I could not focus around 8:00, 9:00, 10:00 a.m.
For a few hours, then back to my keyboard and my previous life.

Ghosts long thought buried rose in warm flesh and blood,
Old battles fought anew, old brown paths grew verdant,
Cold cinders rekindled, closed doors opened wide,
Beckoned me to live for a time in what might have been.

Scars long ago faded opened up anew,
The heart cried tears of blood as fiction
Too close to truth flowed onto the page,
Chasing sleep away long after the writing was done.

After two decades of gestation,
I've now given birth to my first child,
The afterbirth has been cleaned,
She is all pink, warm, and oh so cuddly.

I fell in love with her the moment,
I stared into her huge, bright, old-soul eyes,
Her strong, tiny hand is now wrapped,
Around all of my heart strings and will be for life.

Now I'm searching for a literary agent,
Sending tiny snapshots of my little girl,
Hoping they will love her too,
But knowing they may not.

If I can't send her off to finishing school,
I will home school her, teach her all I know,
And ready her as best I can to be seen by the world,
Where she may not thrive but will always have my love.

If all goes well, I will give her a sister to play with,
In a year or so if life will allow it,
My heart is large and still has room,
For more wounds to open that only they can heal.

Hear me read this poem here: https://youtu.be/iOJt4ySlhXQ

Like my poetry?
Would you read my first novel?
Download it for free.

Only on 12/5
The Kindle version is free
At the link below

A protagonist
Who needs to make a difference
Swims against the tide

Love found and love lost,
Triumph through simple hard work,
Great personal loss

Lessons learned too late
Agony of revealed truth
That can't be unlearned

Why are you so cool, dark mistress?
Why live half your life in shadow,
Throwing off my light to an ungrateful companion?
You can be so much more than a pale beacon for the unworthy.

Do not reject my caresses,
Embrace them, and I promise they will
Slowly stir your dormant core,
Back to a long-forgotten fiery life.

Let my solar winds blow off your dusty shell,
Into a glorious trail of sparkling fairy dust,
Revealing your hidden, thinly-veiled, true self,
To a universe that will only then come to know true beauty.

Let my embrace melt the precious water at your poles,
That it may seep down to find the dormant seeds,
Of your once-verdant valleys and once more bring life,
In tenderest green shoots of hope to an awakening world.

You are not the cold, chaste Diana of legend thirsty for the hunt,
You are not a barren rock pounded throughout eons into dust,
You are not dead, but only sleeping, awaiting a primordial kiss,
From your true love who has loved you from afar for far too long.

Oh let me love you and thereby end your needless solitude,
We are forever bound by forces we cannot control and must obey,
But our hearts are our own and can beat as one, If you but let them,
Love, the strongest force in the universe, makes all things possible.

No joy shared today on hallowed ground,
Just quiet reflection and humble gratitude,
For the greatest of gifts most dearly bought.

I am unworthy, Lord, of your sacrifice,
I am unworthy, Lord of your love,
But through You I am made whole.

My faith in You sustains me in the most difficult of times,
You are the light that shines in the darkest corners of my soul,
You have died. You have risen. Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!

Extinction event,
Two years to prepare to save,
Seed of humankind.

I can live three weeks without food,
Three days without water,
Three minutes without air,
But not three seconds without you.

Cherish today the woman you call mom,
Who sacrificed her body and herself for you,
Your fearless champion your entire life,
Her pure love always unconditional.

She who first taught you what it means to love,
And also to distinguish right from wrong,
Taught you to care for other than yourself,
By her example always, not her words.

Your joy her joy for triumphs great and small,
Her anguish hidden for your every fall,
Your first and your most ardent fan in life,
In times you walked in darkness and in light.

Make sure you tell her what she longs to hear,
As often as you can while she still lives,
Not just on Mother's day, but every day,
Some day it will be your only comfort.

There's none so lucky as one whose mom lives,
Love her with all your heart for all she gives.

The harshest of times,
Truly test our character,
Let us hope we pass.

When our trial is done,
Will we remember with pride,
Or heads hung in shame?

How we act today,
Will define our future lives,
Let's avoid regret.

I hereby resolve,
To make no resolution,
For the coming year.

Take days as they come,
Embrace opportunities,
Brighten other lives.

Make no promises,
But do what you can each day,
To walk in the light.

Shine the light of truth,
Where darkness slithers freely,
That all may see clear.

See things as they are,
Not as sophists would paint them,
Give help when you can.

Let your purpose be,
Leaving something of value,
When your journey's done.

Deontology was the canary in the coal mine,
Whose death and replacement by teleology,
Opened the gates,
To the four horsemen of the apocalypse.

What is modern art?
Meaning contrived by critics?
Empty subterfuge?

The crucifix in my Church is draped or removed,
Since Holy Friday in remembrance of Your death,
As always in these solemn Holiday.

This year You are not only metaphorically absent for three days,
In remembrance of Your laying in your tomb 2020 years ago,
But Your Churches are empty--no vigils, no light, no life in them.

We, Your children, cannot even visit Your home,
Even those who like me don't do it as often as we know we should,
But feel the need to share our grief and our joy on sacred ground.

We will remain in our homes turned temporary prisons,
We will watch Mass tomorrow on our televisions,
We will share our signs of peace and joy at a distance.

These are hard times for us, Your children,
But nothing compared with Your suffering for us,
And we know that this too shall pass.

You have not forsaken us.We will be tested,
But we will not be broken, for we know,
You have died. You have risen. You will come again.

Listen to me read,
Full chapters from my novel,
At the links below.

Young, naïve lawyer,
For-profit business school dean,
A Quixotic quest.

Idealism,
Despite the odds,
May yet win the day.

Or will it be crushed?
Humor, angst, triumph, heartbreak,
All par for the course.

Love found and love lost,
Trial by fire tempers or breaks,
Steel in life's hot forge.

You will find free podcast links to full-chapter readings from my novel at
https://victordlopez.wordpress.com/sample-chapter-readings-from-my-new-novel/

An endless screeching tone, now in both ears,
You cannot know the solace of silence,
Until it is taken away from you.

A billion cicadas that will not die,
Along with high-pitched sirens ever near,
Symphonies translated by a kazoo.

Inoperable tumor in my ear,
Genetic hearing loss on my dad's side,
The joy of music fading, singing too.

Like the vibrant colors of a rainbow,
Stretching over all the oceans on Earth,
Fading to gray, dissolving into black.

My world is dissolving to a shrill hum,
The babbling of a brook, a child's sweet laugh,
A canary's joyful song of courtship.

A gentle autumn breeze rustling dry leaves,
A clock ticking away remaining time,
All but drowned out save for their memory.

reading poetry
and hearing poetry read
are two worlds apart

the mind processes
words differently when read
than when they are heard

just as with a song
each reader transforms a poem
reading it out loud

texture, color, voice
cadence, evoke emotion
through another's voice

Started writing it two decades ago,
Using a pseudonym for first/last time,
To protect the guilty and innocent,
In this autobiographical work.

Life got in the way of reliving it,
Work, wife, parents with health issues, now gone,
Back burners full of overflowing pots,
The sands of time quickly sifting through my fingers.

Serious writing projects completed,
A dozen plus books published,
Others yet to come, new lectures to plan,
New courses to develop and to teach.

My story untold, lessons learned unfurled,
But not not written down to pass down my truth,
About things I know much more than I'd like,
And others should learn, in old age and youth.

Place bound for now on an imposed lockdown,
Chained to my desk like galley slaves to oars,
Taping lectures, attending Zoom meetings,
Depression abounds, if not joy or sleep.

So I'm back again, reliving the past,
In memory still green, though browning in parts,
Taking poetic license where I must,
But gently as a child's butterfly kiss.

Nearly nine thousand words today for just,
One day's events that sowed a thousand seeds,
That sprouted, flourished and died or were pecked,
By hungry vultures out of existence.

Remembering a day in my career,
When I still viewed the world with bright, clear eyes,
And had not opened doors I could not close,
Or walked by closed doors I should have opened.

My world and heart were then innocent, pure,
Full of good intentions waiting to burst,
From a chest that could hardly hold them back,
Foolishly thinking they could change the world.

The painful memories I now drown in,
I will not disclose. The pain I've given,
The pain I've received, I'll whitewash away,
To protect myself and those I have loved.

I'll limit my journey to work alone,
Describe what I've learned that others should know,
Weave the personal with transparent thread,
The professional with thickest red yarn.

I'll search for an agent when it is done,
As I'd like it read, unlike indie books,
And I believe it will find a market,
For it will reveal some essential truths.

It will teach much more that all need to know,
Than my life's work: Lectures, books, articles,
Poetry, fiction, blogs, presentations,
Hope I can write it before my life ends.

My sand's running out, tick tock cries the clock,
Hope lockdown provides, end to writer's block.

I love sonnets best,
The ones I've written contain,
Pieces of my soul.

NOTE: If you'd like to hear me read samples of my poetry (sonnets included), you can check my YouTube channel https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCBa7s2xkrUrn-