I do not wear religion as a shield,
Nor as a sword.

I wear it quietly in my heart,
A beacon of hope, faith, and love.

I know You love me, Lord,
Despite all my flaws that make me unworthy of Your love.

God made man, the best of us,
Who died to buy redemption for our sins.

You are absent from my Church today,
Three days of absence that mark Your death and resurrection.

Tomorrow you will return in Glory,
We will celebrate your resurrection.

My wife and I may not be at Your home,
Illness may prevent it, not for the first time.

But we are grateful beyond words for Your sacrifice,
And the love that made it possible.

We carry You always in our hearts,
With gratitude, love, and hope.

You have died. You have risen. You will come again.
Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia.

Change one person's life,
For the better through your works,
And you change the world.

Put away your phones,
Tablets, laptops, smart TVs,
Visit, hug a friend.

Estoy solo en la oscura estación de metro de Fulton Street,
Respirando el aire con olor a orina,
Exhalando nubes de vapor,
Un tren subterráneo se precipita a lo largo del anden,
No se detiene,
Muerde mis tímpanos,
Con la percusión dolorosa,
De miles de personas,
Gritando en silencio,

Yo no quiero ver,
     Yo no quiero ver,
          Yo no quiero ver,

El aire avivado por cada vagón de metro,
Me empuja,
Propulsa el ozono y el olor de frenos quemados,
En mis fosas nasales,
Junto con el aire,
Introducido a través de las rejillas de hierro,
A lo largo de kilómetros de las aceras de Brooklyn,
Llevando el olor de las llagas supurantes de una prostituta,
Y los gritos de un niño hambriento, sin padre en pañales sucios,
Y el gemido ronco de un concejal de la ciudad educando a un paje joven,
Y el perfume barato de una niña de catorce años de edad fugitiva,
Vendiendo su cuerpo por $20 en un callejón,
Oliendo de comida china rancia y perros humedos,
Y . . .

Yo no quiero ver,
     Yo no quiero ver,
          Yo no quiero ver,

. . . el olor de la sopa de repollo podrida,
Y los restos rancios de un perrito caliente enterrado en chucrut,
Y lirios putrefactos acostados en una alcantarilla,
Todos agrediéndome, obligándome hacia atrás,
Hasta que mi espalda presiona contra,
Las una vez blancas baldosas sucias, que queman fríamente sus grafitis en mi columna vertebral:

Dios está muerto,
Asa a un judío,
Los blancos chupan,
Mata a los negros,

Yo no quiero ver,
     Yo no quiero ver,
          Yo no quiero ver,

El tren finalmente pasa,
Sus ojos rojos retrocediendo en el túnel,
Húmedo y oscuro más allá de la plataforma,
Los gritos y chillidos lentamente mueren,
Sus ecos aspirando detrás de ellos,
El olor,
De mi,
Vomito,
Caliente.

Not about the tree,
Not about Santa or elves,
It's about His gift.

Flores florecen junto a latas de Pepsi oxidadas,
Regadas por la saliva de los traficantes de cocaína,
Y el ***** y el fluido vaginal,
De amantes en celo manoseándose bajo mantas,
Bajo estrellas débilmente brillando a través de niebla tóxica.

Refugio en la oscuridad para asaltantes, violadores, y otros maleantes,
Cuyo aliento profana las misma especies,
Que tan mal representan,
Degeneran la definición Platónica del hombre,
En pollos muertos, desplumados.

Abominación. Horrible no en sí mismo, si no en el uso que se le pone:
Un hueso lanzado a perros que nunca han probado un bistec,
Y se conforman en festejar,
Los trozos de carne fétida,
Restantes en huesos bien roídos.

Parque Central, el hueso que debemos roer,
Sonriendo complacientemente al ver los rascacielos,
Crecientes a diario donde las flores podrían haber brotado,
Nuestra humanidad hundiéndose en proporción,
A las alturas que alcanzan.

Si parezco ser de mente estrecha y cruel,
O ciego a la belleza de "Central Park",
Es porque he caminado en tierra virgen,
En verano, invierno, otoño y principios de primavera,
Y no puedo llevarme a amar a una puta.

Naïve young lawyer,
Quixotic quest to right wrongs,
Deemed unrightable.

What could not be done,
Creativity, hard work,
Would soon accomplish.

Love won and love lost,
Humor, drama, will expose,
Higher ed's failures.

Triumph bought with pain,
Life altering lessons learned,
Was it all in vain?

Through an evanescent mist I see a vision,
Of four horses--white, red, black and pale,
Galloping from the four points of the compass,
Towards a preordained meeting that will end the world.

The white horse tramples freedom in endless conquest,
Along its path of false glory, extremists reviving dead empires,
Thirsting still for lost hegemony under red and black banners,
With hammers and sickles, swastikas and waxing moons with stars.

The red horse crushes the bones of the innocent,
Under its ****** hooves as they march to a steady drumbeat,
To **** brothers and sisters born in other lands, as well as
Neighbors near and far labeled enemies and marked for death.

The black horse sows famine with its every hoof fall,
Leaving blight, thirst, and hunger in its dusty wake,
To the everlasting glory of misguided, foolish, evil rulers,
Of countries once graced by great people and wealth.

The pale horse leaves death in all lands it touches,
planting seeds of hate, fear, and envy that bloom into unbridled evil,
In the hearts of fatuous, self-righteous, hubris-filled monsters,
Who defile humanity to impose their ends by any means necessary.

Take your eyes away from the mirror, put away your smart phone,
Shut down your computer, turn off your television set, wake up from your slumber,
Scan the horizon, you will see the dust clouds growing near, and hear the soft,
Galloping hoof falls above life’s normal din—they’re coming for you.

God's grace in this world,
Can overcome and vanquish,
Cruel hearts filled with hate.

I read the pages of my life so clear,
Its images dismissed as pains of youth,
And yet, though far, I see them all so clear,
Relive the fear, hope, warmth glimmers of truth.

Vague shadows visit me and leave behind,
Uneasy feelings draped in tenderness,
I see too well, yet wish that I were blind,
And fear above all else my truthfulness.

If only I believed that I could find,
One path in life to follow faithfully;
How sad that knowledge can be so unkind,
And pain the wages of our honesty.

I'd gladly give my life for peace of mind,
Yet know in life it is not mine to find.

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!

[To hear my reading of this poem, you can visit https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=757IZDfihJU&t=9s]

Flowers bloom next to rusting Pepsi cans,
Watered by the spit of ******* dealers,
And the ***** and vaginal fluid,
Of hot lovers groping under blankets,
Under stars faintly glowing through acrid smog.

After dark haven for muggers, rapists, other fiends,
Whose breath profanes the very species
They so poorly represent,
Degenerating Platonic men and women,
Into dead, plucked chickens.

Abomination. Horrid not in itself, but for the use it’s put to:
A bone thrown to dogs who’ve never tasted steak,
And are only too pleased to feast,
Upon the remnants of fetid meat,
Clinging to well-gnawed bones.

Central Park, the bone we are to chew,
While smiling complacently at skyscrapers,
Daily rising where flowers might have grown,
Our humanity sinking in proportion,
To the heights they reach.

If I seem narrow minded and unkind,
Or blind to the brighter side of Central Park,
It is because I’ve stood on ****** ground,
In summer, winter, fall and early spring,
And cannot bring myself to love a *****.

With tender care the gardener plants her seeds,
Pregnant with hidden beauty yet to be,
Tends it with loving toil the season through,
Reaps the reward in May of glorious blooms.

Far more than flowers grow for all to see,
Civic pride, hope, inspiration bloom there too.

By losing we win,
When pride is the only prize,
In our loved one's eyes

Romantic love can fade and does with time,
Like hunger of those starving in a feast,
Or a child let loose in a candy store,
Who quickly tires of endless sugar highs.

No fire can burn forever, not on earth,
The hottest flame to cinders is reduced,
And cinders' glow can warm but not consume,
And so we search for other fires in time.

Great is the need for a consuming love,
Once felt, it haunts us to our dying day,
And we engage in a most foolish quest,
Looking for that most rare eternal flame.

And when we find it, or think that we do,
We cling to it and bid reason adieu.

___________

This blank verse above is my teaser for my short story Amor Vincit Omnia which deals with the subject of true love and our need to embrace it no matter how unlikely the source. It is one of my most unusual short stories from my Echoes of the Mind's Eye collection from a very personal point of view with humor and tongue only slightly planted in cheek.

Dos libros de texto terminados,
Dos manuales de instructor,
Dos bancos de pruebas también.

Dos artículos sobre el derecho,
Enviados a dos diarios académicos,
Pronto se publicarán.

Elevado también,
A Profesor Distinguido,
Una noticia muy grata.

Investigación realizada,
Para un nuevo curso universitario,
Derecho de Inmigración.

Pero todo a un precio:
Insuficiente tiempo con mi esposa,
Viajes postergados nuevamente.

Todos los amigos lejos,
Lo mismo la familia,
Padres en el cielo.

Esclavo sin necesidad al trabajo,
Las arenas del tiempo se desvanecen,
¿Esto es todo lo que hay?

Although I have published millions of words,
Twelve texts on law, fourteen peer-reviewed articles and more,
My favorite book of all is tiny,
Only seven thousand and eighty words.

A quarter million words about the law,
Between hard covers feed a hungry mind,
But seven thousand words and a few more,
Fed my young soul and stitched my broken heart.

I'm grateful my non-fiction is widely read,
But wish it were my poetry instead.

We are brothers and sisters of the pen,
Toiling in darkness, hoping to shed light,
Clicking away our life's blood every day,
Passionately crafting words that go unread.

Of all the things in life that we could do,
None would yield lesser tangible rewards,
We do it not for gain, or praise, or fame,
We do it because it is simply what we are.

We write with ink, with toner, or with blood,
To allow others to see through our eyes,
A world that's stripped of facile, false facades,
And rendered to expose its naked truth.

We travel solitary paths of joy and pain,
Hoping some friends along the way to gain.

Few words are needed,
To convey honest meaning,
That comes from the heart.

You can read my novel free,
Though fiction, it's about me,
Come walk with me for a while,
Shed a tear, laugh, or just smile.

Fiction that is based on truth,
The man I'm now in my youth,
Fighting windmills every day,
Twelve hour days for little pay.

Triumphed where told I could not,
Pyrrhic victories the lot,
Valuable lessons learned,
Optimism scorched, not burned.

Round robin I danced with love,
Seeking guidance from above,
Scars thought healed yet bled anew,
Writing this book, sleepless too.

Now it's published and on sale,
But through August I'll regale,
New and old readers of mine,
With a free version online.

And I've traslated it too,
You can find it free there too,
In English or Spanish read,
Let not for naught be my bleed.

And if novels you disdain,
And would not its wisdom gain,
Of other things I do sing,
That may pleasure to you bring.

You'll find my short stories there,
No need to read them change spare,
Until August thirty one,
They're free for you, every one.

In English and Spanish true,
I hope some bring joy to you,
And with this I'll leave you, friend,
As this poem has reached the end.


[  To read my complete novel or latest book of short stories free of charge through the end of August, you can copy and paste the following link to your favorite browser:
https://www.royalroad.com/profile/368939/fictions ]

I do not care what others think,
I care somewhat what others say,
I care the most for what they do.

Thoughts in themselves won't hurt or ****,
Words do not heal or peace achieve,
Actions alone can change the world.

Fear not the man who likes you not,
Raise not a hand to answer words,
Fear those who smile with knives in hand.

Don't waste your time on pleasant dreams,
Don't write to those whose eyes are closed,
Actions, not thoughts or words, bear fruit.

I quest for meaning,
Knowing it's not mine to find,
Yet the quest goes on.

Evil seduces,
Good uplifts you to fly free,
Will you soar or fall?

Although I am an only child,
I have billions of siblings,
Men and women,
Young and old,
Jewish, Muslim, Christian,
And of all other religions and none.

I am but a leaf,
Of a very old tree,
Planted by one God,
Known by many names,
And worshipped in many ways,
Perhaps to His amusement.

Regardless of what any religion teaches,
Including my own,
I know we are all His children,
And He loves each of us,
Who strive to do good,
More than doing well.

All human beings,
In their infinite precious variety,
Are my siblings.
All are bound by our God's love,
All spring from the same holy seed,
That He planted in eternal hope we might do right.

If I hurt my siblings,
I hurt myself more,
And disappoint He who created me,
And all whom I love more than words can say.
I weep for the injustice humanity wreaks upon its own,
I weep for He who filled the void with light that we might see.

I weep for those who injure my brothers and sisters,
Almost as much as I weep for the victims of their evil deeds,
For I know the victims will return to God's embrace,
While their tormentors will reap a bitter harvest,
From the poisoned seeds they sow,
And will never share in God's embrace when their days are done.

God is love,
Love is God,
God love is.
Love His children well,
As He well loves each one of us,
Let not His love go unrequited.

Intentionally,
Avoiding productive work,
No guilt, no way, nope.

I've read some poems I'd written long ago,
Tenderly kept by one I love most dear,
And through them I've come to once again know,
Old feelings which inspired both warmth and fear.

For a moment I saw my love revived,
And was engulfed by growing tenderness,
There was much power in words which survived,
To pay mute homage to past happiness.

Yellowing, crinkled paper brought to me,
Glimpses of young, unbridled, simple love,
The awkward, fading words helped me to see,
That I have lived the dream I'm dreaming of.

How can I feel this painful emptiness,
When by enduring love I am so blessed?

The road not taken,
Yields incomparable views,
In rear view mirror.

The world is my oyster,
Though it is three days dead,
Malodorous coffin,
Lined in mother of pearl,
Concealing no treasure,
Not a perfect large pearl,
Just my flesh-covered bones,
And the dreams I once dreamed,
That died while yet I lived,
And hoped they might be born.

Dos libros gratuitos tanto en su versión original en inglés como en mi nueva traducción al español disponibles gratis por primera vez.

El primero, una novela sobre la lucha de un abogado por hacer el bien en un ambito donde solo las ganancias gobiernan el día.
El sacrificio produce éxito, pero a un costo demasiado alto.
Lecciones aprendidas que cambian la vida sobre lo que importa: el liderazgo, el trabajo significativo y honrado, el conocimiento de uno mismo y, sobre todo, el amor.

El segundo libro ofrece 13 cuentos que abarcan los confines más recónditos de la mente hasta los límites exteriores del espacio y el tiempo, y mucho más en el medio.

Pueden leerlos a ambos sin costo y sin tener que registrarse en "Royal Road" si no lo desea hacer en el siguiente enlace: https://www.royalroad.com/profile/368939/fictions

A carnival ride,
Of limitless potential,
With little control.

Mistakes are the tools,
The Creator provides us,
To sculpt our own souls.

Peaches from my tree,
Eaten by deer every fall,
Before I pick them.

When assessing fault,
Find your eyes in a mirror,
Then say who's to blame.

When conformity,
Is imposed by government,
Tyranny has won.

If freedom of thought,
Comes at the cost of one's life,
It is worth the price.

Children are watching,
Learning from your every deed,
Careful what you teach.

El cursor parpadea en vano,
En espera de inspiración,
Riendo desde lejos.

I am an ostrich, hiding deep within myself,
My head submerged in murky moods,
Screaming in a vacuum.
No, not a vacuum, but a sound-proof room,
With walls of ten-foot stone,
A fortress,
Clammy, cold and, dimly lit,
That admits no sound,
But the monotonous percussion,
Of a heart that knows the one eternal truth:

We are born dying,
And every breath that we take,
Every beat of our heart,
Brings us one step closer,
To the grave.

It is easy to forget a world exists outside,
My diminutive cell when my teeth chatter,
Not from the absence of warmth,
But from the absence of meaning.

Perspective, perspective, perspective,
Echoes through my fruitless cell.

I am a foolish,
Ugly bird,
Cowardly bird,
But needlessly.

I heard a song today, a soothing melody,
Sung by an angel dressed in woman's clothes;
Oh, sing again, dear love, I had
Almost forgotten your sweet voice!

Es difícil volar
Cuando las alas de uno están empapadas en lágrimas,
Pero esto también pasará.

Yo también he conocido la angustia,
Aunque pocos que me conocen lo saben,
He anhelado que terminara.

He oído la dulce llamada,
Susurrado en mi oído a veces,
De acabar con todo.

Pero siempre pasó,
Demasiados sueños incumplidos,
Que no podía dejar morir.

Aunque no soy una chica joven,
Todavía puedo relacionarme con un dolor,
Demasiado difícil de soportar.

Traen lágrimas de sangre,
Palabras de jóvenes colegas con el dolor,
Que ellos luchan por soportar.

Haciéndose daño,
Para escapar del dolor mayor,
En sus preciosas vidas.

Les ruego a cada uno, por favor,
bajen el cuchillo, la jeringa, la pipa,
No hay respuestas en ellos.

La respuesta está en ti,
En esa chispa oculta enterrada,
Debajo de todo el dolor.

¡Increíble tú!
Única, en el multiverso,
Ninguna otra como tú.

Nadie con tus habilidades,
Ninguna otra voz como la tuya,
Para cantarnos tu verdad.

Potencial ilimitado,
Todavía una pequeña semilla preciosa,
Esperando a echar raíces.

El estiércol fétido de la vida,
Con lágrimas de alegría y tristeza,
Te ayudarán a florecer.
  
La chispa en tu corazón,
Estallará en llamas con el tiempo,
A través de tu poesía.

Purificando todo,
Los espectros y sombras oscuras,
Que ahora atormentan tus noches.

Mira en el espejo,
Más allá de las cicatrices y las huellas de lágrimas,
Al resplandor de esa brasa.

Debes saber que florecerás,
Y tus poderosas ramas darán,
El fruto más dulce.

Los recuerdos asaltan mi mente,
Y me hacen beber un trago de oscuridad muy propio,
Los rincones de mi mente una vez llenos están vacíos ahora,
Y aunque acompañado, estoy solo.

He dado todo lo que tenía para perseguir un sueño,
Que me atormentó durante demasiado tiempo,
Fragmentos de la realidad ahora cortan los estribillos vacíos de lo que pudo haber sido,
De verdades destrozadas y sueños que han salido mal.

Busco con el hambre de un alma moribunda,
Y soy recompensado por mi insensatez,
Con un vacío sin fin donde el único significado que puedo percibir,
Es la sombra proyectada por mi mente moribunda.

¿Qué hay de Don Quijote y su fiel Sancho Panza,
Cuando los dragones comienzan a tomar su verdadera forma y aparecen molinos de viento? Lucha para aferrarse al sueño y al no poder no hacerlo,
Muere por el peso aplastante de su realidad.

Cuando me despierte, voy a enrojecer profusamente,
Y deshacerme de mi lanza deshilachada,
Para tomar mi lugar legítimo,
Junto a los grandes idiotas de nuestro tiempo.

Sin embargo, todavía duermo, aunque conozco la inquietud de la vigilia incipiente,
Me aferro al sueño, conociéndolo un sueño,
Porque en su dulce promesa se encuentra la única verdad que puedo aceptar,
Mi única esperanza, el ensueño evanescente de una mente inmadura.

Mi gran ambición,
Que todos mis alumnos,
Brillen mas que yo.

Volantón,
Ala rota,
Cuidadosamente alimentado,
Protegido,
Nutrido,
Amado.
Saludable otra vez.
Alas Vantablack,
Poderosamente batiendo,
Propulsándolo hacia el cielo,
Alimentado por,
Los ojos del benefactor.

What price would you pay,
For a chance to change your past,
Would you give up life?

If you cannot live,
With a life-changing mistake,
No price is too high.

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

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

We must **** evil,
Not with the sword but the pen,
Truth it can't abide.

Government can take your land,
Confiscate your property,
Tax your earnings into dust,
Deprive you of your freedom,
Extinguish your very life.

But the knowledge you acquire,
And the honor that you earn,
Are a treasure they can't steal,
Tax, redistribute, destroy.

Governments come and they go,
Just and unjust ones alike,
And fade from memory in time.

Entropy rules in this world,
And the brightest lights fade out.

Knowledge and honor perdure.