Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Victor D López Dec 2021
Can our dreams **** us?
One man finds they can and leaves
A warning and proof.
This is another teaser for my short story of the dsame name. You can hear a preview reading at https://open.spotify.com/episode/5qtz2Dr5ESxdMYa9DsgLNC?si=jpAF_48kS8-KjCUKGePu-g
153 · Apr 2020
If You Thirst
Victor D López Apr 2020
if
you thirst
for justice
quench your thirst friend
by doing what's right

if
you thirst
for glory
quench your thirst friend
accomplish great deeds

if
you thirst
for money
quench your thirst friend
through honest hard work

if
you thirst
for freedom
quench your thirst friend
setting others free

if
you thirst
for God's grace
quench your thirst friend
helping all you can

if
you thirst
for power
drink as you might
you will die of thirst
152 · Dec 2019
Pure hearts never die
Victor D López Dec 2019
Pure hearts never die,
They stop beating and ascend,
From whence they have come.
151 · Aug 2019
On Fading Dreams
Victor D López Aug 2019
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]
151 · Apr 2019
Stand Up to Evil
Victor D López Apr 2019
Evil will triumph,
When we foolishly refuse,
To call it by name.
151 · May 2019
Why I Like Haikus
Victor D López May 2019
Capturing meaning,
From life's flowing tapestry,
Rendered in one frame.
150 · Jan 2022
Memories
Victor D López Jan 2022
life's precious moments
swirl around time's vortex
slowly spun into fine threads
that melt away
like cotton candy
on the tongue
leaving behind
insubstantial
sweet, tenebrous
soft impressions
of what has been
150 · May 2019
Death has no meaning
Victor D López May 2019
Death has no meaning,
For those who have sown good seeds,
That will bear sweet fruit.
Victor D López May 2022
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
147 · Nov 2022
On Veterans Day
Victor D López Nov 2022
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.
Victor D López Jan 2023
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.
You can hear my just-posted new reading of my Unsung Heroes six-part poem free at https://anchor.fm/victor-d-lopez or through your favorite podcast app.
146 · Apr 2019
Sorrow
Victor D López Apr 2019
It is hard to soar,
When one's wings are soaked in tears,
But this too shall pass.
146 · Mar 2023
On Crime
Victor D López Mar 2023
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?
Victor D López Dec 2018
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.
(C) 2018 Victor D. Lopez
Victor D López Jan 2020
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?
144 · Dec 2020
Celebrate Christmas
Victor D López Dec 2020
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
143 · Mar 2019
Counting Sheep
Victor D López Mar 2019
Counting sheep an hour,
Very bored but not sleepy,
Will try chasing them.
Victor D López Oct 2024
You were brought to the U.S. at eight years of age,
By hard-working parents seeking a better life,
Especially for you and your sister, Carmen,
Than was available in your native Galicia of the time.

Both of your parents, Carmen and Manuel, had strong work ethics,
That allowed them to pull themselves up by their bootstraps,
Through hard, honest work in very hard times,
Guided by a strong moral compass they passed on to their two children.

You and your parents lived for many years in Downtown Manhattan,
In a tenement on Cherry Street where Spaniards gathered amongst their own.
You began working at a very young age unloading and delivering newspapers,
And in other jobs that included working as a soda **** in a drugstore.

The Lower East Side was your cradle and your domain in which,
You made life-long friends, including your best friend, Larry Morell.
You learned responsibility there, and a yearning to succeed,
Never letting humble beginnings serve as an excuse for failure.

You were frugal then of necessity, but also generous to a fault with those less fortunate,
And even when working in an office job, you’d walk miles every day,
To save the five-cent subway fare that would leave you a quarter,
For your favorite Saturday activity—the movies.

Every Saturday you would spend that hard-saved quarter only after walking
To every local theater to determine which offered the best movies,
Before spending your quarter in a temporary palace offering two films and a newsreel,
Your silver-screen gateway to excitement, travel, and your window to the world.

You were a gifted athlete in track and field, successfully competing in meets
And earning numerous medals. Your son, Bob, surpassed you in his athletic
Prowess and earned so many medals and trophies even before and during high school
That his mom quipped he must be buying them at a local store.

Good genes and hard work propelled Bob to excellence in track and field, soccer, rugby,
Basketball and only he knows what else since childhood through his years at the
Air Force Academy and beyond. He retired as a Lt. Colonel, special forces para-jumper, and Held multiple levels of command with numerous combat tours he never talks about.

Your daughter, Alice, also inherited your athleticism and was accomplished in fencing and Gymnastics in high school. And she is also an excellent writer with outstanding Organization skills—it took three people ((one full-time, and two part-time) to replace her in The Publications Department when we married, and she left her job for our move upstate.  
You Volunteered to serve in the Korean War and attained the rank of Corporal.
The touch-typing skill you learned in a Manhattan business school served you well,
And you became your company’s clerk, serving by the border with North Korea,
In a more serious version of the beloved character of Radar O’Reilly of MASH fame.

You almost never spoke about your service. But on two occasions during our long talks,
You mentioned that only once during your tour of duty did you actually hold a gun,
When ordered to escort a prisoner further South on a long Jeep ride while another
Trooper drove. Though always in danger very close to the hostilities, you never saw combat.

Your second war story told through tears more recently, but before the dementia
That plagued you for the past years of your life robbed you of your memory,
Included your efforts to quietly help North Korean families fleeing South who
Sometimes wandered through or near your camp in the middle of the night.

When you returned home from your tour of duty, you took advantage of the GI Bill,
To earn a college degree at night as you worked in an office clerical position,
And you continued your graduate studies when you became a high school teacher,
Earning at least one master’s degree over an extended period of time.

After your service in Korea, you traveled to Spain, fell in love, and married
Your wife in your native Galicia, a beautiful, loquacious woman, Marisa, who helped
To soften your serious, no-nonsense persona and draw out your social nature
While giving you a daughter and then a son and supporting your long years of study.

She joined you in Lower Manhattan when her visa was granted. And a two years later,
After your daughter Alice was born, you both bought your forever home in Queens.
It was a very old, two-family home that needed a lot of work which you undertook,
While working and still studying for your first college degree.

Your daughter was 25 months old and your son three months when you moved,
Leaving your young wife to raise two young, active, energetic children as you worked and Studied, with very little support, working tirelessly with limited funds and patiently
Waiting for you to complete your studies which took more than a decade.

You got your teaching certificate and began teaching at Bryant High School
Within a short walking distance from your home. You taught Spanish to native speakers,
And continued your studies for your master’s degree also at night, traveling for years to
NYU, St. John’s University, and Hunter College for courses.

After five years of night classes, your wife gently began to ask you “When will you finish?”
You told her seven more years. Even after the 12-year ordeal, you remained busy with
Grading, lesson plans, and the unseen work all teachers knows only too well.
But your wife and children finally got to see you at the dinner table nightly.


You loved the freedom of summers off, and traveled most summers to Spain,
With your wife and children for two months from 1964 on,
Living there with your parents and finally having your wife able to spend time
With her own parents, a short ride by car or bus from your parents’ home.

During those summers, you came across widows struggling whose husbands
Had worked for many years in the U.S. but had died in relative poverty.
You took on the role of advocate for them, getting for many Social Security
Survivor’s pensions for husbands who died without filing for benefits themselves.

You took this on without being asked as a charitable act that during hard times
Brought desperately needed relief to some living in abject poverty.
It was one of many acts of charity, of kindness, that you extended to others
Throughout your life—known only if beneficiaries gratefully acknowledged it.

You loved music, especially classical music, opera, and crooners like Frank Sinatra
And Perry Como. You often retired to your study to listen to music as you worked.
Just days before passing away when you no longer communicated or recognized
Loved ones, your son noted how you tapped your fingers on your table listening to opera.

The last year of work before you took early retirement, you gave up your
Teaching and advisement duties at Bryant High School and accepted a
Promotion to the Board of Education to work on creating new standards for
Bilingual education and help in their implementation.

Rather than a short walk to work, you now had to drive during rush hour to and from
The Board of Education near the Brooklyn Heights area. It was not a pleasant commute.
Moreover, you were tasked once the plan was in place with traveling to high schools
All around NYC to help implement and assess the program.

Despite your commitment to a program you believed would help thousands of students,
You were miserable with your administrative duties and constant driving to schools
In Manhattan and in the outer boroughs. After about a year, you’d had enough,
And you took early retirement to travel with your wife and enjoy life.

Before and after retirement, you were an avid writer. You leave behind hundreds of poems,
An unpublished historical novel, and goodness knows what else locked away in your
Computer’s hard drive. You loved history, especially the history of Spain generally and Especially Galicia, as well as U.S. and world history. You were also a talented painter.

You enjoyed speculative documentaries on the possible interaction between alien visitors And early humans along the lines of Erich von Däniken’s Chariots of the Gods.
You knew my interest in science fiction and loved to pose “what if” scenarios on
The possibility of our civilization having cyclically destroyed itself and risen from the ashes.


You and I shared a love for writing fiction, poetry, and non-fiction and had countless Discussions on these topics, and music, teaching, art,  politics, and so much more.
When I bought my first computer, you were fascinated and asked me to order you one.
I did. In the days before the Internet or books on the subject, you were willing to learn.

I taught you the basics of the DOS operating system, and WordStar, and then WordPerfect.
You were a good student, though the new technology was a challenge for you.
Nevertheless, as a touch-typist you were happy to abandon your manual typewriter
For the wonderful flexibility of a full-featured word processor.

We spent many, many hours on your new computer—and the many others you later
Asked me to order, but you never looked back and in your late 50s became a convert.
When my dad retired, I did the same for him in his 60s, and he took to it like the proverbial
Duck to water, though my dad was far more interested in and experienced with technology.

You were much more than my father-in-law, family, and a trusted colleague and friend.
I loved you dearly, as I did my mother-in-law, and was blessed to have a special Relationship with you both and to have spent so many years in your company.
I will miss you forever, as will the thousands of people whose lives you’ve touched.

The world is diminished by your passing.
But in the end, it has been enriched by your journey in it.
Your bright candle burned weakly in recent years and has finally sputtered out.
It’s smoke now swirls slowly towards the heavens where loved ones await you.

Rest in peace.
141 · Dec 2019
Inocencia
Victor D López Dec 2019
Como arenas en vientos fuertes,
La experiencia desgasta,
La dulce inocencia juvenil.
140 · Dec 2019
Errores
Victor D López Dec 2019
Los errores son las herramientas,
Que El Creador nos otorga,
Para esculpir nuestras propias almas.
138 · Mar 2019
True Love
Victor D López Mar 2019
Vital living flame,
That never burns itself out,
But forever warms.
138 · Dec 2019
Por Qué Me Gusta el Haiku
Victor D López Dec 2019
Captura el significado,
Del tapiz fluido de la vida,
Interpretado en un fotograma.
Victor D López Dec 2021
Scientist's playthings,
Cause the end not just of earth,
But of our universe.
This is one of two quite different end of world scenarios in my Echoes of the Mind's Eye short story collection. This novelette is at once the darkest of my short stories precisely because it is quite plausible. It posits a completely new theory of cosmology that explains both the birth and death of universes in the multiverse (or omniverse, my own coined phrase) based on the role that black holes play in the creation. and extinction of an endless number of bing and colossal crunches of universes both large and small. If you would like to hear me read a free preview of about half of the short story, you can do so at https://open.spotify.com/episode/2UaNRr1aRdran3DEcidYu9?si=NPJbA-uIShe3JSyQWJb87Q
Victor D López Jul 2020
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.
137 · Jul 2024
The Door to Myself
Victor D López Jul 2024
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.
135 · Dec 2021
Flight of Fancy
Victor D López Dec 2021
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.
135 · Apr 2019
Fly High
Victor D López Apr 2019
Under the radar,
One avoids the flak of life,
But will never soar.
135 · Apr 2019
Epiphany
Victor D López Apr 2019
January 6
Three Kings
Balthasar, Melchior and Gaspar
Bearing gifts for He who would become
The lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world
God  made  flesh
To redeem our sins
Through His great
sacrifice
Alleluia.
This poem was posted earlier today in response to a one word challenge (the word was Epiphany) at AllPoetry.com
135 · Jan 2022
True Love
Victor D López Jan 2022
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.
134 · Mar 2019
Love Freely Given
Victor D López Mar 2019
Love freely given,
Ripples in the universe,
To outlive the stars.
134 · Mar 2019
In My Eyes
Victor D López Mar 2019
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.
134 · Jan 2020
True Wealth
Victor D López Jan 2020
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.
133 · Apr 2019
Madness
Victor D López Apr 2019
You are surely mad,
When you believe yourself right,
And the whole world wrong.
131 · May 2019
Why I Write
Victor D López May 2019
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.
131 · Apr 2019
Fools' Words
Victor D López Apr 2019
Words spoken by fools,
Are unworthy of notice,
Let them fade away.
130 · Dec 2019
Christmas has now passed
Victor D López Dec 2019
Christmas has now passed,
Yet its spirit lingers on,
In receptive hearts.
129 · Apr 2020
Corona Virus Lockdown Blues
Victor D López Apr 2020
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.
It has been an incredibly stressful and busy time for all of us of late. I hope you are all doing what you can to remain centered, and finding joy, distractions, purpose where you can. Stay away from the news 24/7--it will drive you insane. Trust me. Find solace in friends be it by phone, Skype, email or any other available means to stay connected. Embrace movies, music, reading, writing, singing, playing an instrument if that is a talent--or one you'd like to develop. Dance like nobody is looking. Rediscover your library card--the local library may well be closed, but not the virtual lending library where you can borrow ebooks, videos, audiobooks and other electronic media. Visit your library's home page--you may be surprised at what they still offer. Read a good book--or even a bad one. To that end, I've made most of my own indie books (fiction, poetry, etc.) available for free through April 20 through Smashwords. (I can't do that as easily through the other retailers that sell my books. Nor can I do that with my traditional publishers.) Other independent authors have done likewise. Check them out. Lots of free books on Amazon for their Kindle reader too. You can find my free offerings (including my first book of poems) here: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/VictorDLopez (scroll down to see my books).

Whatever you do, please stay safe and help your loved ones to do likewise. I bid you peace.
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.
129 · Sep 2020
911
Victor D López Sep 2020
911
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.
129 · Feb 2019
On Wisdom
Victor D López Feb 2019
"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.
Victor D López Dec 2021
Enigmatic Sphinx,
Its true purpose discovered,
Its warning ignored.
This is one of my favorite brief short stories in my Echoes of the Mind's Eye collection that tries to explain both the original nature and purpose of the Great Sphinx of Giza before it was defaced by a megalomaniacal pharaoh carving his image out of the original lion's face and mane. the truth is finally revealed by the world's most famous Egyptologist in prime time to a world-wide audience. You can hear me read the entire short story in my podcast at https://open.spotify.com/episode/4PHC2O2OJI7FH7fryQ5d3q?si=R6UhNkTvTICSiIiLOyRgFw
Victor D López Jan 2020
Hubristrology is the pseudo-science,
Created when the human mind,
Attempts to reduce the infinite complexity,
Of the universe to its understanding.

It can lead to absurd conclusions not unlike,
A blind man who has spent his life in the desert,
Attempting to deduce the form and function,
Of a great white shark by examining only the tip of its dorsal fin.

In our efforts to unravel the secrets of the universe,
Even the wisest among us is like an amoeba floating on a leaf,
Attempting to distill the infinite secrets of the cosmos,
By examining in minutest detail the fetid drop of pond water it inhabits.

Square pegs don't fit into round holes? Worry not.
Hubristrology to the rescue!
Find a peg of lesser diameter,
And it will fit just fine.
This poem echoes a main theme in my most disturbing and perhaps prophetic short story, "End of Days." A little knowledge is a dangerous thing! It was posted first at AllPoetry in response to a prompt to create a new word, define it and use it in a poem.
127 · Jan 2022
Galactica
Victor D López Jan 2022
Cylons and humans,
Can end their war, choose peace,
Why oh why can't we.
126 · Apr 2019
Do Good Where You Can
Victor D López Apr 2019
Do good where you can,
Seek not praise or a reward,
And you will find grace.
125 · Jul 2020
Can't Choose Whom You Love
Victor D López Jul 2020
Can't choose whom you love,
But can choose whom you marry,
Make sure you choose well.
125 · Jan 2021
Don't Analyze Love
Victor D López Jan 2021
Put love in a slide,
View it in your microscope,
And you'll see it die.
124 · Apr 2020
O Castelo de San Antón
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,
124 · Jan 2022
Writing Sets Us Free
Victor D López Jan 2022
Writing sets us free,
To transform that which now is,
To what it could be.

Render for others,
The world from new perspectives,
So that they may see.

One word at a time,
Ours the power to create,
A new universe.

Share my worlds with me,
A journey of the mind's eye,
With lessons to teach.
Victor D López Mar 2019
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?”
This is a takeoff on my update to Aesop's classic fable of a few years ago. It seems ever more relevant to me these days. :)
124 · Mar 2019
False Friends
Victor D López Mar 2019
False friends are like leaves,
Blowing in an autumn wind,
Colorful, dry, dead.
Next page