The New Generation

'Tis hauntingly fantastic, the divides
Of time and mind between my generation
And that of my grandfathers' and grandmothers'.

The ship's sails have turned to steel propellers,
Spun by wrought iron machines, and further,
Beyond the next frontier, rocket engines,
In their awe inspiring, sonic glare.

Far off galaxies, light years away
Telescopes drawn in, searching for planets,
Perhaps new life will be found, if not alien,
Then breeding grounds for our childrens'

Childrens' childrens' childrens' children.
For unless our spawn turns against us all
Technology will never fade away.

Time and space are the God which will replace
That deemed holy, no longer able to save face.
There was once a man who was made God's son,
Now we see our God is indeed the infernal, raging Sun.

Present Future Tense

This is the end, beautiful friend,
The end.

Of that which was of what came before
And after which what will never be again.

Still, it is there, a faint whisper,
The tides pulled in around it.

If it had never existed,
The future could not be the same.

It is living, forever in the reactions
Of the ripples in time and space
Which it creates.

Its consciousness never ceases to exist,
Lost in the future past of the present future tense.

But alas! The horror sets in,
In thinking of never thinking again;
Who will be there, to carry the flame?

The flame will die with no eyes to see it,
The heat will be lost on rotting corpses,
Shivering in the darkness.

No ears to hear music, verse, and song,
No hands to shape the earth we live upon,
A mind set free into the dying suns.

What then will be called love?

Between Dusk and Dawn

Only in the calm of the latest of night,
The earliest of morning, halfway
Between dusk and dawn, can I see;
Yet barely. Cars are still out driving
The people to their late-night places;
Trains, carrying hellish blacken coal,
Pumping ceaselessly through the veins
Of that machination deemed society.

Machines have no society,
And if they did, it’s a good bet
The human race would not.
What state must I be in
Where all I see is doom?

Alas, into a dream,
Free of humanity’s
Useless things.

Sailing across and endless azure sea,
Flying on an emerald hummingbird,
I came to a place of eternal spring.
It was here I would plant my seed,
In this virgin forest, far, far away
From cars, concrete, and modernity.

In limbo, the sun begins to rise.
The duties paid, but never in full,
The far away world of dreams
Fades into the coming dawn.

“Have you never seen
The tossing and trembling
That goes on?”

The tumult between
Life, Death, Dreams.

Memories

Says the Chief

Bad Medicine

Gun pointed between your eyes;
Masked man with metal power;
Bad medicine, nefarious intent.

Like wasps in fiery defense,
Police swarm, yet no arrests;
The getaway car, long gone.

Months later, suspects on the bench,
Judged guilty, shackled and sent,
To a place where taxes pay rent.

Gangland, government sanctioned,
Where the bible is the money book;
Judges prejudiced by bribes, selling lies.

A congress of squabbling cronies,
A house of fortunes, ill spent,
Curators of disease, in the capital sense.

Egos fighting for their insatiable id,
Raining arrows of destruction,
On those misunderstood.

War, it seems, is inevitable,
When death is the only truth;
Still, hope for change, a brighter day.

In dire times, have faith;
When human justice fails,
Mother Nature runs her course.

The Spider. Etching from woodcut.