Beneath the rubble of civilizations past
ancient souls cry out to be remembered
from great societies that didn’t last
their wisdom buried in history’s ashes
their lives that passed too fast
who will give those souls peace?
and tell their stories?
of past glories?
historians are the bridges
connecting the past to today
their tireless work
a timeless passion play
***
He rocks back-and-forth on the rickety wicker porch chair. He’s everyman, late in life with wrinkles distorting a once smooth face, and body. His life wasn’t spent seeking redemption in real time. His subconsciousness never gave a hint of being interested in the subject.
Memories did sometimes rudely intrude upon his daily routine and reality. As a combat veteran he was intimately acquainted with death. The sight. The smell. The moment he fired at a human being. The horror.
But he just keeps on rocking in his wicker chair every day, a modern response to Old Man River who just kept rolling on.
He isn’t plagued with regrets on not being “saved” by any religion, or by being led to redemption like a sheep on the way to being sheared.
Freedom is his redemption for being alive and having survived many perilous times in his long life. His arthritis a badge of honor. His physical scars medals earned during a long life of adventures. His silver hair a crown of achievement.
He makes no claims of having redeemed others from sins and stupid moves in their lives. He never wanted to lead others to the top of any proverbial mountain. He’s unaware of ever being anyone’s leading light in life.
He just keeps on rocking in his wicker chair every day, a modern response to Old Man River who just kept rolling on.
the end
I watched in wry wonder
the speaker in the park
with a voice like thunder
some family’s patriarch
preach about end days
as the crowd gathered around
in the smoggy haze
waiting for salvation
and better days
not condemnation
guessing he was mad
the crowd drifted away
many feeling sad
and others feeling led astray
***
there is only one truth
in reality
there’s no guarantee
on what you hear or read
is not a partisan screed
facts are often muddied
with lies
that galvanize
people’s bias
until
tidbits of truth
break through
people must make do
with the tried and true
**
as chaos swirls around the world on cruise control
and madness reigns in the streets across America
you might as well burn a bowl
of sweet ganja
to lighten your soul
don’t end up in an ideological manhole
become one with the universe
and burn a bowl
**
Everything was reduced to a survival mode
when mankind walked down Apocalypse Road
the journey was slow but sure
after each world war
until there were no more
and civilization broke down
in every city and town
leaving few humans around
and those that did survive
fought every day to stay alive
until the Apocalypse finally did arrive
no surprise
but
there’s still stars in the sky
and planets and meteorites
that still exist in forever nights
solar systems and galaxies
planets with water and trees
and life evolving mysteries
have you ever had a day when everything seems strange?
like normal routines interrupted with a sudden change?
days when nothing seems right?
days darker than night?
days when you wonder what you’re doing?
days when you feel like people are pursuing?
days when you find nothing going your way?
days when you just don’t get to have your say?
days that seemed like some sort of odd dream?
days when to your horror nothing was as it seems?
then you’re just agreeing
that you’re a human being!
(146 words – flash fiction/poetry)
In the massive new industrial age of 2061 where cities glittered like the sun with copper shields and chrome walls that frowned down upon the shining halls of Factory Town, a legendary producer of machines and the biggest around, there was a group of controllers who ruled as lords…
Passage from The Book of Lords of Factory Town:” “… And you shall hold no other adjusters above us… for we are your mechanics, and hope for eternity.”
Passage from The Book of Deus ex machina “… therefore nothing can be built without the blessing of the God from the Machine Deity who makes us free by constantly seeking tranquility…”
One day, the Lords of Factory Town looked around and found robots following the Book of Deus ex machina in their city…
Last Passage from The Book of Lord’s of Factory Town: “... and they rose up against the false deity, and made it’s death a terrible sight for all to see, but they still had to flee to another country…”
I hated getting up in the morning when I was in school
giving up delicious dreams to attend classes wasn’t cool
when I was on my own and working nearly every day
dragging my body out of bed in the morning wasn’t child’s play
but
now that I’m retired and have no place I have to go
I wake up early to watch the sunrise’s beautiful tableau
I once knew a chap
who wore a cap
when he wasn’t wearing
another hat
made from canvas
or something
like that
I called him
Hat Man Do
because he
always looked cool
in hats of every design
rocking Derby’s
to top hats
all the time
Journal
Thoughts, Stories, The Poem
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Epic fantasy & military sci-fi author.
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