False friends are like leaves,
Blowing in an autumn wind,
Colorful, dry, dead.

If we had two years' notice,
Of our world's impending doom,
What might humanity do?

Would we bend our knees and pray?
Would chaos reign supreme?
Would we quietly despair?

Would our flame shine brightest then?
Or would we embrace darkness?
I suspect we would do both.

But I doubt we would give up,
I hope we'd go out fighting,
For one final, great lost cause.

Ingenuity is ours,
I believe we would unite,
To save humanity's seed.

Humanity would survive,
Some on space stations perhaps,
Others would flee underground.

Moon bases might yet be built,
And perhaps even on Mars,
That human kind might go on.

An asteroid can destroy,
All that humankind has built,
But not the human spirit.

_____

This is a teaser poem about one of my longest short stories, Mars: Genesis 2.0 about humanity's struggle to preserve its seed in the face of an extinction event. You can download the short story (one of 13 in my Echoes of the Mind's Eye collection) free through 3/10/2022 but only at the following link: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/428820

When seeking knowledge occupies your mind,
Start close to home, and wisdom you may find.

Cast hubris out, and then truth will appear,
You may not know it, but it's always near.

Look not to the horizon to find truth,
Lest there you find only your wasted youth.

I’ve sown words on fertile ground,
Watered them with sweat and tears,
Fertilized them with dead dreams,
And they grew, flowered and thrived.

A rich harvest have I now,
Bushels full of dead, pressed leaves,
Bound in colorful covers,
That others may thumb at will.

They bring rewards and some joy,
Will survive me, if not long,
And help others still to learn,
And I hope help improve lives.

Wish though I’d sown fewer words,
Reaped fewer bushels of leaves,
Chosen to sow other seeds,
That would have bloomed into souls.

In a heartbeat I’d exchange,
Bushels of pretty dead leaves,
For a daughter of my own,
To have loved through all my years.

Choices cannot be undone,
Roads not taken beckon still,
At least I know when I’m gone,
Dead leaves will never cry tears.

Work is a true joy,
When it involves your passion,
Choose careers wisely.

Of your time on earth,
Much will be spent preparing,
For work and working.

Make your life's work count,
By choosing meaningful work,
Leave something behind.

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

The holidays approach with quiet grace,
Floating above the merchandising din,
Their spirit fills our hearts, their proper place,
Displacing hate, greed, envy, and all sin.

Whether you worship Jesus, as I do,
Allah, YHWH, or other Deity,
That teaches justice, honor, all things true,
We are family joined in piety.

Those who would divide us worship no god,
They worship power, seek not grace or truth,
They sow the seeds of hate on fertile sod,
The minds of fools and our innocent youth.

I bid you peace in all your holidays,
May God’s light burn true paths through evil’s haze.

No escribo por dinero,
Y aún menos por fama,
Escribo porque tengo que hacerlo,
Es simplemente quien soy.

Soy competente en muchos oficios,
Con maestría en algunos,
Pero no me definen,
Es simplemente lo que hago.

Lo que escribo no perdurará,
Gran parte no se leerá,
Poco de lo que publico,
sobrevivirá mucho tiempo cuando muera.

Yo escribiría si nadie me leyera,
En tinta, en la arena o en sangre,
Mientras la razón perdure,
Sé que no voy a parar.

Es así para todos quienes somos,
Escritores en nuestro núcleo,
Escribir es nuestra esencia,
Es lo que somos, nada más.

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

Pandemic home bound,
Completed my first novel,
Begun decades past

What was dead revived,
Sleepless nights spent writing it,
In two months complete.

Wanted an agent,
But pandemic made it hard,
To get a response.

So went indie route,
Published hard cover and soft,
But too few have read.

So I decided,
To make it available,
Free of charge online.

Never meant to make,
Profits from this work of mine,
Just wanted it read.

It is a story,
That others should know,
About higher ed.

Drama, love, humor,
Triumph, life altering loss,
Sacrifice for naught?

You can buy it, yes,
But now also read it free,
At the link below.

Will post it complete,
With Echoes of the Mind's Eye,
Latest short stories.

Click the link below,
To access both books free,
English / Spanish--both.

https://www.royalroad.com/profile/368939/fictions

I am unworthy, Lord,
And yet You love me.

I am a sinner,
And yet may be redeemed.

I try to walk in the light,
And yet at times walk in darkness.

I fight despair,
And yet it lives and thrives.

I know that I know nothing,
And yet I am not wise.

I know the best in me lies buried,
And yet it may still rise.

I know hope is a dream,
And yet it will not die.

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.

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.

Fear not the dark clouds,
They'll throw a weepy tantrum,
And soon will be gone.

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

Redemption

What if a long-dead beauty,
Let you see your failings in life,
Would you fight for redemption?


Modern Art and the Critics

How do we know that what hangs,
On modern art galleries now,
Merits our calling it art?

The above hakus are teasers for two short stories by the
same names that you can download free until May 31
but only at https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1138974

Life is but a prelude to that which is to come,
Our pain and ecstasy are just ephemeral dreams,
We dream along the journey through the birth canal,
That leads to our emergence draped in glory's light,
Of our true birth in the arms of eternity.

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

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.

If you have betrayed,
The one you pledged your life to,
Why would I trust you?

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.

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?

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.

The wise speak softly,
Fools yell out their every thought,
That all may know them.

¿Por qué me han dejado, dulces viejos sueños de mi juventud?
Me esforcé tanto por mantenerlos en mi corazón,
¿Dónde han huido, la fe, honestidad y verdad?
¿O eran sólo visiones desde el principio?

¿Escucho música en lo más profundo de mi alma?
¿O burlantes ecos de un tiempo pasado?
Las ascuas aún resplandecen, aunque estoy envejeciendo,
Pero se oscurecen y se enfrían, al igual que mi rima.

Cada momento que pasa desgasta mi esperanza,
Al igual que las arenas en el viento la piedra del desierto,
Sinfonías que se desvanecen a una sola nota,
Dejándome vacío, amargado y solo.

No me apena mi vida; Tengo más sentido común,
Lamento una pérdida mucho mayor, mi inocencia.

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

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

We your inspired clay,
By exercising free will,
Save or **** ourselves.

When did she lose touch with my inner heart?          
Was it so long ago she held it near?                  
It was so easy from the very start,
To share it all with one I love so dear.              

How can she thumb the pages of my life,
And find fault with the words at every turn?          
So easily she crosses out a line,
Ignoring all that from it she could learn.            

I smile, she smiles, but does not understand,
And she goes on, perusing through my soul;            
In just a moment I will take her hand,
And we may both yet smile as we grow old.            

Our love is strong, its long-fueled flame still burns,
But what is gone will never more return.


NOTE: You can access my YouTube poetry reading of this previously unpublished sonnet and 15 others at https://youtu.be/umgmhtxrtVE

At the end of life,
My only concern will be,
Have I done enough.

Respect must be earned,
It is not bestowed by birth,
And cannot be bought.

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

Night has come once more,
But the world will not release,
Its grip on my mind.

Today I give thanks,
For the unbridled joy shared,
With those here and gone.

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.

Opinions are made of flexible cloth,
That can adapt to drape any body,
Regardless of how strange or fine its shape.

Truth is made of rigid, hard, brittle cloth,
That must be worn exactly as it comes,
Alter it for comfort's sake, and it breaks.

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

Obey the golden rule, my friend,
But not by rust gilded with words,
Like politicians feed the herds,
That have no value in the end.

There is no parsing of the rule,
Not for those who are honor bound,
Let kindness, helpfulness abound,
Even when others call you fool.

When others scorn you, show them love,
I know it's not easy to do,
But your kindness will shine through,
To them and to your God above.

If you sow bitterness you'll reap,
A bitter harvest in due time,
To reap a harvest that's sublime,
Sow only kindness, take that leap.

Obey the golden rule your whole life through,
It may not save the world, but may save you.

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?

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

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.

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

I tried so hard to share my love with you,
To make you see the dream I saw so clear,
Yet you could not believe my words were true,
Could not let go of your consuming fear.

I waited hoping for some subtle change,
Ignoring every sign it would not come,
Until the dream was clearly out of range,
And hope, an evanescent shadow, gone.

The emptiness I feel knows no regret,
So do not weep for me, sweetest of friends,
Each fleeting moment shared I'll not forget,
I know what love is now, and how it ends.

The love I felt will live while I take breath,
The dream I'll carry with me to my death.


I posted this sonnet today along with 15 others in my latest poetry reading at  https://youtu.be/umgmhtxrtVE