Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Victor D López Apr 2020
Beautiful small castle on a tranquil bay,
Of beauty seldom seen on any shore,
Museum now of artifacts of old,
From Roman digs and our Celtic ancestors.

Treasures displayed from my Galician soil,
The lost kingdom's uncovered still,
Yet nary a manacle, or bar seen,
Of a fascist makeshift prison once here.

My grandfather tortured, condemned to death,
But set free by a jailor/patriot.
My maternal grandfather was a supporter of the failed Republic before and during Spain's Civil War. He never took up arms as he hated violence, but he wrote and delivered speeches in his home town of Sada, in Galicia, Spain. He also translated news from the British and U.S. newspapers as he had lived in New York City (Number 10 Perry Street in the Village)  with my grandmother from about 1918 until I believe the early 1930's prior to the start of the Civil War in Spain. Although he had good friends among both the Republicans, monarchists and Franco's supporters, he was an outspoken critic of fascism and ardent supported of the Republic. He was eventually imprisoned, tortures and sentenced to death. He spent some time in this castle turned military headquarters during the war and was held there awaiting execution in La Plaza de Maria Pita where he was to be shot with others by a firing squad for treason--read, opposing the fascist forces. I don't know whether his remaining friends who supported Franco, including a judge  who prized my grandfather's friendship and integrity above their opposing political beliefs, politics intervened or paid off one of his military jailers or whether the jailer may have been a Republican sympathizer not yet excised from their ranks, but he was set free by his jail door being unlocked in the middle of the night and  his being told to swim to shore despite his bad physical condition. My grandmother always claimed he swam more than a mile across the bay to freedom, though I doubt he would have had the strength and think it more likely he swam ashore closer to the city but away from the surrounding area of the castle--perhaps 100 yards or more. The castle itself is accessible from the shore as it is only a few meters into the water, though he certainly would not have been able to walk out the foot bridge as one does today. I've written about this and his prior and subsequent life in my "Unsung Heroes" longest ongoing poem about my grandparents and now my parents who have also passed away--all leaving behind the treasure of their noble examples that is my legacy and which I prize above all that I own, am, or will ever be,
Victor D López Apr 2020
In hour fifty-five,
"Houston, we have a problem",
200K miles.

No rescue to come,
So easy to accept fate,
Say their last good-byes.

But not for these men,
Surrender not an option,
Theirs is the right stuff.

Just work the problem,
MacGyver a solution,
Use what is at hand.

Squares fit into rounds?
No problems for NASA's best,
Duct tape and a sock.

Make spare scrubbers work,
Remove CO2 before,
Death comes to all three.

The workaround works,
Freezing heroes fly back home,
Glorious splash down.

Ingenuity,
And the hearts of true heroes,
Disasters avert.
Written for a poetry challenge on AllPoetry.com
Victor D López Apr 2020
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.
Victor D López Apr 2020
Lightning rends the sky,
Heaven's blood floats to the earth,
That life may flourish.
Victor D López Apr 2020
Free but ends today,
My fiction and poetry,
But only at Smashwords.

See my author's page,
Scroll down to find books you want,
And download today.

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/VictorDLopez
[Ends April 20--My gift to readers on lockdown]
Victor D López Apr 2020
I so yearn to ring,
Chimes that waken sleeping hearts,
And lift them skyward.

Like Keats and Shelley,
Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Blake,
Or Whitman and Poe.

Sadly my chimes are,
Like a cracked church bell struck by,
Leaves in a wind storm.

__________

Anhelo Tanto Sonar

Anhelo tanto sonar,
Campanas que despierten a corazones dormidos,
Y los exalten hacia el cielo.

Como Keats y Shelley,
Wordsworth, Coleridge, Blake,
O Whitman y Poe.

Tristemente mis campanadas suenan,
Como hojas batidas por una tormenta,
En contra de una campana de iglesia agrietada.
Victor D López Apr 2020
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.
Next page