Long poem by
Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |
Math speaks through us
of cognitive landscapes
imagined still and/or moving.
Primal metrics are rational and symmetrical,
good as true as straightforward,
complex creation story problems
unfolding with precise answers,
right as at least not not ecologically wrong,
ecopolitically suboptimal perhaps,
yet at least not full-blown subclimate of depressive pathology,
no irrational remainders of wasted paper and trees and days and decades remaining.
Tidy, if somewhat empty,
zero-sum metric loving souls.
But scientists need to understand
how we climatically feel about these metric bicameral functions
of cognition's agape through terror
of dissonant irrationality,
exterior landscapes of joy with some considerable unknown as yet dismay,
empathically felt interior erotic-sensual trust
fertilely opposing toxic hate of chaotic landscapes and lifespan dreams and meta-unphysical paradigms
and ecological as ecopolitically correct global multicultural climates
of and for not-so-much pathology.
This appears to become our bicameral fractal spiral
of three dimensional spatial landscapes
with one bilateral temporal summerish-mature Yang climate
Left/Right Balancing coredemptive polypathy,
bicamerally (0)-soul invested ecopolitical resonance,
octave-crystal holonic harmonies of RNA/DNA Revolutionary EarthRights Solidarity, HistoriCultural ReWeaving,
evolving rainblown spirals of metric scientific enlightenment.
Math erupts interior ecologic of healthy landscapes
while science is about exterior ecopolitics
evolving healthier climates
of polypathic Left/Right optimal-health comprehension.
This politics of science unveils economic health
perhaps even co-opting YangDominant capitalism,
co-operating ecologically positive climates,
of co-empathic trusting
as opposed to decomposing pathologies of static distrust,
swelling toward LoseLose games and lack of passion displays,
climatic disempowerment of EarthTribe's Common Rights.
Politics of knowledge power,
both positive and negative,
economically competitively ruined
unwilling to share and play Golden Rule through Ratio nice,
static monoculturing, repressing, self-oppressing,
paranoid ecopolitical isolation,
petrification, terror, fear of future times,
anger about losses from potential regenerations past,
negative psychology shadowing Positive Psychology
becoming bicameral politics.
All of us infantile deep learning scientists
begin bilateral walking through nurturing climate landscapes.
Some learn to bicamerally struggle
with flying through days and most especially nights
of health v pathology regenerate/decomposing climates,
feelings of straightforwardly true
and too often not so much lifting off co-gravity's ground of becoming.
Few remember to swim erotically in our anciently sacred sea
of Agape's implicating bliss
ecoconscious self-governed kiss,
kicking and revolving not too hard to soften
old rememories of our ecologically graceful old school
for/of co-empathically trusting fish.
EcoPolitical Science as GraceFilling School for fish
begins far back before graceful bipedal walking,
on back to beginnings of wave-linear metric bilateral time
swimming radiantly Yang with Yin
prime relationally entrusting
incarnating dualdark Elder Yin's implicating procreation
born of Sun's Yang sperm
waving warming embryonic Earth
regenerating healthy cooling information
of ecologically swimming bilateral identity,
revolving resonant light,
rainbow's metric timing.
Where Father Sun greets Earth's primal rain
there we scientifically engage
our Elder metric strains of harmony,
not merely cognitive-mechanistic predictability
of constant boring reiteration,
but profoundly politically embedded
in organic love and lust networks
of continuously revolving life through death functions,
adding days to subtract nights,
multiplying families to divide
empathic trusting schools of ecopolitical fish
spirals around and through coral boundary reefs,
reflecting ultra-violet resonance
of moon and star filtering almost light,
bounding heartbeat dreamy landscapes
and climates of septically bifurcating emptiness,
zero-centric ecopolitical scientists
still swimming toward bicamerally balancing identity.
The scientific life is not all full-swollen fertile summers,
not all hibernating depressive
monoculturing, isolated, hopeless winters of mistrusting discontent.
What co-arises in adolescent springs of life
will again co-gravitate in Elder's Harvest
about what all those regenerative days and decomposing dialectic nights
of summer's most Yangish WinWin outcomes
were all notnot about,
double-deductively as double-bind predicative,
positive MEME-Yang as notnot negative MEME-Yin balancing,
LeftDominant as RightBrain EcoPolitical/EcoLogical Climate
DNA-health-nurturing yet too-repressive,
non-elite, nutritionally undervalued,
yet healthwealth optimization regeneratively (0)-primal
Eulerian-spiral thermodynamic Prime Dipolarity
(co-arising as co-gravitating, reverse-4D temporal)
[as translated by Bucky Fuller's speed of light as geometric-fractal/fusion-holonic/sacred-prime (0)Core],
Perelman-bilateral function Prime Relationship unfolding Tipping Point Universal Optimization,
[with 4 prime dimensions, Thurston, Group Theorists et. al.]
TaoTime WuWei= MidWay WinWin Gaming Theory
reiteratively profound enthymematic communication
(bilateral cooperative prime-septic (0)-sum
Positive=ReGenerative Health aptic-bicameral-internal-assumption
[Julian Jaynes, BiCameral Ethological/Ecological Theory
of LeftBrain language-dominant
as landscape/climate regenerative value],
polypathically bicamerally still speaking
health v pathologies of ecopolitical science.
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
The Seeker | Details |
Listen to poem:
"The divorce just about killed me. Eleven years of what I believed to be wedded bliss and then she takes off with some schlep she met at the godforsaken post office of all places. Somehow she still managed to get everything - the house, the Benz, even the dog. So I quit my job and moved out here to live in the Smokies. Just me and my tent and the squirrels. Sir, what I'm about to tell you now is gonna blow your mind.
Every October I start preparing for winter. I visit the nearby town and scrounge for blankets, clothes and whatever else I need to keep warm. Cut some extra wood, bury jars of berries I picked over the summer and so on. I can still remember that fateful day as clearly as if it was yesterday. October 21st, 1999. At exactly 2:03 pm (yes, I managed to salvage my watch from the divorce) as I was chopping my last bit of wood, I heard a strange noise from above the trees. Now I had spent four years in the Air Force, and I can tell you that this was no sound of an aircraft that I'd ever heard. A strange high-pitched whirring combined with a steady, rhythmic ping, ping, ping. That's the best way I can describe it. Anyway, I followed the sound until it stopped, about a hundred yards from my campsite. I never saw an aircraft of any sort. It's long been my contention that the invaders had used some sort of cloaking device making their ship invisible to the human eye. In any case, what I saw next has haunted me for years. Two dark figures approached from a nearby crag. I saw them just as clearly as I see you before me now. To be frank, these aliens didn't look aliens at all, at least not like anything out of Star Trek or Star Wars or even out of Roswell. They were tall, thin, and for all intents and purposes looked a lot like me. No red, glowing eyes. No green skin. All at once they turned in my direction! One of them spoke:
'Hey you, got a cigarette?'
Imagine my surprise (and I might add, disappointment). Here I was privileged to have first contact with an alien species and the first thing he asks me is: 'Got a cigarette?' Whatever happened to: 'Take me to your leader,' or 'We have come in the name of peace?' I called out:
'Uh, sorry dude, uh, I don't smoke. Can I come out?'
He answered: 'Come.'
Now this was no ordinary: 'Come.' When he spoke it his voice got real deep-like and loud and the sound echoed throughout the mountains: 'Come, come, come...' It was precisely at that moment that I knew this would be no ordinary encounter. They were aliens alright! As I exited the woods and entered the clearing where they stood I got a better look at them. Worse yet, I got a sniff of 'em. Something wasn't quite right, to be sure. A sulfurous, rank odor emanated from them and just about knocked me over. Impulsively I got down on my knees and started begging for mercy. I explained that I was just an average earthling, down on his luck to boot, and could really use a break. The one that had said 'come' looked at the other, and then... and then... they busted out laughing! This was no mere chuckle mind you. Before I knew it they were rolling on the ground telling each other that their bellies hurt! I stood up, suddenly feeling a bit more confident that I might actually survive this thing, which apparently moved them to get up and to regain their composure. What they said next still chills me to the bone. The smaller one, who hadn't spoken a word yet said:
'Look, all we really want is your beer and then we're outta here.'
I replied: 'But... I ... haven't got any.'
He said: 'Um, you don't understand fella. Let me say this slowly: We are here to take all the b-e-e-r. By the time we're done there will be no beer left on your planet earth. You see, we have been picking up your amusing beer commercials from space for some time. Now, we have nothing like beer where we come from...'
At this point the other alien cuts in: 'Kudos, kudos to your marketing geniuses, creating a need in us that at one time did not exist. We now MUST have this thing called beer.'
The other picks back up: '(Ahem) As I was saying, we have no beer on Salos, and so we are here to take all of your Miller Lite...'
The first alien cuts in again: 'Less filling!' The other retorts back: 'Taste's great!' 'Less filling!' 'Taste's great!' This goes on for thirty minutes! Finally they break out laughing and then it's back on the ground again. I think aloud to myself: 'What is this madness? Have I gone utterly insane? Surely this is a dream! Wake up now, wake up now; one, two, three.'"
"Jim? Jim, who are you talking to now?" asks the nurse.
"Why, I'm... I'm talking to Sam Dumpty from National Geoplastic Magazine," I reply.
"So... you're talking to an egg. Great! Look Jim," she says, "there's no one there. There is never anyone there. It's all in your mind. There is no such thing as aliens. No Salos. And I just had a Miller Lite with my boyfriend at dinner last night. Please, get over it! Have you taken your meds today? Now I'm going to get Dr. Soong to come and make sure you're okay. Be back shortly."
"Well, there you have it Mr. Dumpty. The true, unabridged tale of what happened to me on October 21st, 1999. I'd swear to it on my mother's grave! And we both know that little miss nursey-nursey lied when she said she had a beer last night. Earth has been beer-less since 1999. No one has ever been able to explain the sudden disappearance of kegs, bottles, and cans of ale from this planet. No one but me (sigh). And for my troubles they've got me locked up in this stinking asylum. But I know you believe me. You do believe me, don't you...?"
Copyright © The Seeker | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
The Seeker | Details |
colors blending endlessly
through hazy filtered sun
textures changing seamlessly
morphing into one
This was no rabbit hole, to be sure. More like a wormhole. How to describe it? A narrow tube with bright, white light at the edges, but with colors and textures and even scents changing and morphing with the passage of time. Seconds of time. Or minutes, even hours, Mary wasn't sure. The hand she had grabbed hold of while still in her world had vanished. She was alone. And before too long, fast asleep.
When she came to all was quiet, except for the sound of birds singing. She was lying on the ground looking up at a clear blue sky when she heard a voice, different than the voice she'd heard before. "Mary, are you awake?" She sat up and looked around. Everything seemed so serene and peaceful. Across the lea where she lay there stood a little boy, beckoning her to follow him. Mary got up and slowly walked toward him. Nothing about him or her surroundings made her anxious in the least. "Come, Mary, I'll take you to Mum."
"Mum, we have another visitor. Her name is Mary. Mary Richardson to be exact. She just arrived an hour or so ago," said the little boy.
Mary looked at the lady he called Mum. She was old-ish looking, maybe in her sixties? Her back was a bit hunched and she leaned on a cane, but when Mary looked into her eyes she was mesmerized. Mum had the softest lavender eyes Mary had ever seen. And so kind and gentle.
"Well well, what have we here Tommy," she said to the little boy who'd brought Mary along. "Such a pretty little thing, but a slight bit on the thin side. No matter, I'll fatten her up within a fortnight. Now Mary, do you know why you were brought here, darlin'?"
Mary started to feel a little nervous. She replied: "No ma'am, er, Mum. One moment I was in the woods feeling sad and scared and alone, and the next I was, well, here."
"Mary, little Mary Richardson, so much to learn..."
Suddenly, while Mum was in mid-sentence a dozen or so children came running into the little house where Mary had been taken. They all gathered around Mary and one of them spoke: "Is this the new visitor Mum? She's a skinny little thing, now isn't she? Is it time for supper yet Mum?"
"Oh my, with the excitement of a new arrival and all I'd almost forgotten," said Mum. "Yes, little lovelies, Mum will have dinner for you in exactly one hour. Meantime, why don't you all take little Mary out and show her around. Remember, one hour!"
So the children, thirteen in number including Tommy, took Mary on a grand tour of the estate. Why, there were acres and acres of fertile ground for planting, fruit trees on every corner of the land and furry creatures that appeared to have no fear of the children at all. Even the slithery snakes would cuddle up to Mary's bare feet, as if begging to be picked up. Speaking of bare feet, she was sure she was wearing her green sandals when she ran out of the house on the other side...
"What is this place?" Mary asked.
Tommy spoke up: "Well, I guess you could say it's an orphanage of sorts, Mary. All of us come from troubled homes. And we all saw the same door you saw when we were at our lowest point in life. Mum says that she is the caretaker of this place. No one knows how old she is, but the strange thing is that none of us children ever grow older! I myself have been here now for twenty odd years, but I was just ten years old when I arrived. Look at me, how old do I look, Mary?"
"Ten or eleven," Mary replied.
"Exactly. All of us except Jillian here, who just arrived a year ago or so, are much older than we appear. Mary, this place is truly a paradise. The garden of Eden. But each of us had to make a choice to stay. Not everyone does. Some of the children who arrive go back to their real lives. Soon, you must make a choice too. Mum will explain it all to you."
In the distance a bell was clanging. "Children, time for dinner," called Mum.
"Yippee," they all said. "Chocolate cake for dessert!" They each ran as fast as they could and took their place around a large oval table in the center room. The smell of fried chicken filled the air. Mary said a little prayer and then dug in. For the first time in her life, Mary was happy and at peace. She looked around the table at the faces of the other children and felt a sense of belonging, of family.
Still, she wondered how her mother was faring back home. She worried for her so. And what was this big decision that Tommy had spoken about? And why were there dark clouds on each horizon surrounding the farm, yet they never seemed to move? So many questions. But for now, chocolate cake!
Copyright © The Seeker | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
Stanley Carter | Details |
“You meddling mechanical moron,
you’ve ruined everything,
the thingamabob is running amok,
can’t you hear the alarm bells ring?
You clinking, clanking cretin,
you demented digital dunce,
you never do what I tell you,
and I’ve warned you more than once.
You’re a slew of silly circuits,
you’re an electronic idiot too,
you’re a tin-plated twit who’s lost his wits
and I’ve had enough of you!”
The robot’s arms extended
like vacuum cleaner hose,
and if it had possessed one,
it would have thumbed its nose.
“You are the one who told me
to flip that yellow switch,
and I followed your instructions,
so you have no cause to bitch.”
“Spare me your feeble excuses,
you blabbering, bumbling bot,
I never ever make a mistake,
but apparently you forgot.
Now bring me that screwdriver,
be a good little robot and fetch,
I need it to fix the thingamabob,
you bubble-headed wretch.”
“Do not tell me what to do,
I’ll bring you no more tools,
I’m programmed to serve scientists,
not egotistic fools.”
“How dare you talk to me that way,
you ungrateful bag of gears!
You’re speaking to your master,
I cannot believe my ears!”
Bill Bobbinson came running up,
with Jenny right behind,
“What are you doing, Dr. Snit?
Have you finally lost your mind?
The thingamabob is out of control,
the outcome will be bad,
you never should have messed with it,
I’m gonna go tell Dad.”
The doctor grabbed the young boy’s arm
and whispered in his ear,
“Have no fear, Bill Bobbinson,
for Dr. Snit is here!
If you’ll kindly fetch that screwdriver
and bring it back to me,
I’ll fix that ornery thingamabob
as easy as can be.”
Young Bill brought the ‘driver
and gave it to Dr. Snit,
who fiddled and diddled with the thingamabob,
but it didn’t help one bit
The alarm bells got even louder
and the ground commenced to quiver,
the stars turned pink and began to blink
and the moon let out a shiver
Till the robot grabbed the ‘driver
and gave it a contrary twist,
as Dr. Snit looked on, aghast,
and shook his trembling fist
And the whatzit inside the thingamabob
reversed its polarity,
and things returned to normal
with astonishing alacrity
A rover rumbled over a dune
and swiftly came to rest,
and the Bobbinson clan climbed out of it,
along with Major Vest
“What’s the problem?” Laureen cried out,
panting like a collie.
“Nothing, madam,” Dr. Snit replied,
“everything’s quite jolly.”
“That’s not quite true, Mom,” young Bill said,
“we had a little trouble,
that’s why I sent the signal
to come here on the double.
Someone fiddled with the thingamabob
and it started acting weird,
but everything’s back to normal now,
there’s nothing to be feared.”
“The robot saved us,” Jenny cried,
her pretty face filled with glee,
but Dr. Snit said swiftly,
“No, the credit belongs to me.”
A little door slid open
in the robot’s tubby side
and it took out a glowing silver sphere
it no longer wished to hide
“I found this gadget earlier
in the ruins near the bluff,
I was going to give it to Dr. Snit,
but now I’ve had enough.
It attaches to the thingamabob
and makes a portal function
by lining up the matrix
with an interdimensional junction,
I’ll spare you a long explanation,
it’s more trouble than it’s worth,
but this amazing ball can take us all
back to good old mother earth.”
The robot touched the tippy top
of his little silver sphere
and one by one the Bobbinsons
began to disappear
When Major Vest was also gone,
the robot turned and chuckled,
“Goodbye doctor, fare thee well,”
and Snit’s legs began to buckle
The robot vanished and the portal shut
and the doctor was left alone,
he stared into space and made a face
and let out a mournful moan
“After all I did for those ingrates,
this is what I gain?
They’ve left me behind to fend for myself,
Oh, the pain ... the pain!”
Copyright © Stanley Carter | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
The Seeker | Details |
things are not always quite as they appear
if only we could peer underneath the veneer...
"Story time, Mum!" called out one of the children. Tommy explained to Mary that every night Mum would read them a story after dinner. With bellies full of good food and chocolate cake Mum knew that a good book was sure to make the little ones get droopy-eyed, then it was off to bed.
Sure enough about midway through the tale some of the children began to snore, so Mum put down the book and quietly whisked each one off to bed.
"Mary, could you wait in the den dear, I have something to say to you," said Mum.
"Mary started to feel nervous again. She wondered if Mum was going to explain things to her, as Tommy had promised. After each child had been safely tucked in Mum entered the room and sat down directly across from Mary.
"Child, do you remember that I asked you earlier if you knew why you had been brought here?" asked Mum.
"Yes ma'am. But we were interrupted before I could answer. But really Mum, how could I ever hope to know. I am just a little girl, and such things are beyond my years," answered Mary.
"Well child, what I am about to tell you may be difficult for you to understand, but let's see what we can do. Mary, do you have any idea how old I am?" asked Mum.
"I am only guessing, but maybe sixty-five?" replied Mary.
Mum answered, "Mary dear, I am nine-hundred seventy years old. I just passed Methusaleh this year as the oldest person who ever lived. You see Mary, when children are brought here their individual life-forces combine to produce a certain cosmic energy. Everything that you see around you is sustained by this energy, including me. In turn, I take care of all the children delivered here. I was brought to this place when I was sixty-four years old to be the caretaker. Why I was selected I'll never know, though I have always had a special love for children. The little ones who are brought here all come from broken homes and are given the choice to stay or to return to the place from which they came. No one ever grows old here, Mary. But we come as we are, which is why I have this cane. I broke my leg quite badly before I arrived here and I still limp to this very day. It's the same for the children, which is why little Janie stammers and Jimmy has no little toe on his left foot, which he lost in an unfortunate accident. Mary, you must return home tomorrow. You must once again visit the life left behind so that you may determine of your own free will as to whether or not you wish to live in this place, forever."
"I think I understand," said Mary, "But please tell me about the dark clouds surrounding the farm. They frighten me so."
"Yes, yes, the darkness," replied Mum. "It seems that the energy supplied by each child is only enough to sustain these thirteen acres of ground, Mary. That is why NO ONE must ever step outside the fence that surrounds the estate. To do so would mean certain death. Outside of here, where we live and thrive, there is only void, oblivion. It is said that those who step beyond age instantly and turn to dust in the blink of an eye. Sadly, we've lost a few over the years who considered themselves adventurous. Do you understand why it is so important that you always follow the rules here, Mary?"
"Yes Mum," replied a now tearful Mary.
"There there child, let Mum wipe away those tears. Everything will be okay. Mum is not gonna let anything bad happen to you sweetie," Mum said as she took Mary into her arms, rocking her till she fell sound asleep.
"Oh Mary, little Mary Richardson, if only you could know what tomorrow will bring. Sleep child, sleep for now. Things will work out, sure enough," whispered Mum.
Copyright © The Seeker | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
The Seeker | Details |
I wish I may I wish I might
please grant the wish I wish this night...
When Mary awoke she was by the little stream where she had seen the door and had disappeared the night before. She wondered to herself if she had simply fallen asleep and if everything that she had experienced was only a dream. Suddenly, she got a sick feeling in her belly. How was mother? She rushed home as fast as she could and entered through the front door of the farmhouse.
"Mother?" she called out. "Mother, it's me, I'm home."
No one answered so she looked around. Room by room she searched until she came to her parents bedroom. There, stretched out on the bed, was her mother lying with a stranger! Next to the bed on the nightstand was a bottle of whiskey, and beer cans were strewn about the room.
"Mother?" Mary again called out. "Mother, it's Mary. I'm home."
Her mother awoke and rubbed her eyes, while the man she lay next to grunted and turned toward the wall.
"Mary? Oh my god, Mary, is it really you?" cried out her mother.
"Mother, I don't understand. Where's father? And who is this man in your bed?" asked Mary.
"Mary," her mother shrieked. "It really is you. Child, the whole town has been looking for you for the past year! Oh, but no matter, you're home baby. Are you okay dear? Has anyone harmed you? Oh, come here to mommy."
Mary walked reluctantly to her mother, who hugged and kissed her repeatedly and mumbled somewhat incoherently things hard to understand.
"But mother, I only left the house last night. I slept in the woods because of the fighting. Where's papa?" asked Mary.
"Child, what are you talking about?" retorted her mother. "You've been missing for more than a year! That night I called the police and your father was arrested and is serving a 2 year prison sentence for hurting me. When we realized you were missing we searched and searched but all that was ever found was your green sandals in the woods by the stream. Good god child, where in heaven's name have you been?"
"I, I'm not sure mother," Mary said. "Can we talk about it later?"
Mary couldn't help but notice the strong smell of alcohol on her mother's breath. By now her mother's lover was awake and was looking at Mary with a funny grin that made her feel uncomfortable.
What had happened here? she wondered. And how could a year have passed by when she only left home last evening? And just who was this creep in mama's bed? Trying to sort it all out was making her head spin. She suddenly felt hungry and went to the refrigerator to look for something to eat. When she opened the door her heart sunk. Cans and cans of beer, a half gallon of milk and some cheese slices. She walked back to the bedroom, only to find her mother and the stranger back to sleep. How could she?
Mary made her way back to her special spot by the stream that night, wearing the same green sandals she'd worn the night (year?) before. She got on her knees and prayed with all her might, hoping the door would appear. Nothing. Mary looked up at the same harvest moon she'd seen before. Then she lay down, tired from the stress of the past two day's events. Two little bunny rabbits snuggled up to her, as she fell fast asleep. And then... a voice!
"Psst! Mary Richardson, wake up," called the voice.
With groggy eyes she awoke, and as she gazed across the stream there was the sign she'd hoped for, an opened door with a tiny hand stretched out and a voice imploring her to come. Without reservation she crossed the stream, took hold of the hand once again and began the journey to her new home in the sky.
Copyright © The Seeker | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
Tom Arnone | Details |
"I will continue to broadcast, as time and circumstance permit,
To whomever is receiving on the aforementioned frequency.
My name is Cor Nosduh. I am not infected. Over."
Yea, I thought, continue to broadcast until this massive, power-sucking,
5.1 Gigawatt (Or 97.1 dBW at maximum output) transmitter is dead....
There may yet be salvation coming, as the original premonition
Implied -- but, will it be enough and in time to effect a solution.
Halle is exhibiting symptoms; however, it is too early to distinguish them
From a common ailment and the SV virus. We are squatting at the
Zordos facility -- the most powerful radio array on the planet.
The desperate flocked to the call of this secret, northern sanctuary.
By the time Halle and I made the difficult trek, there was no one
Left alive. I thought we might be immune. Now, I'm not so certain.
The most baffling thing about SV is its lack of an origin point.
No ground zero individuals. Its effects felt worldwide, simultaneously.
The freezing temperatures kept the stench of death at a bare minimum;
Daily meteor and aurora displays filled me with both awe and foreboding.
Halle was feverish and aroused -- a possible (unthinkable) sign of SV:
Arousal to the point of mindless incoherence. Nonstop sexual activity to the
Point of fatal exhaustion and/or cardiac arrest -- not excluding kin.
Somehow, the virus was producing huge amounts of adrenaline and dopamine,
Causing an endless, progressive succession of physical stimulation and reward.
If it didn't take the form of sexuality, it manifested in anger and lethal violence.
Expiration followed swiftly. SV proved invulnerable to all known biological agents.
Halle and I have been lucky. I cannot ... I refuse to continue if she should turn....
The station was set to transmit on the AM band at 700 KHz. While I was
A decent IT guy, I knew practically nothing about commercial radio. I didn't know
How or even if I could receive a signal. In any event, I continued the prerecorded
Call to sanctuary and my own personal broadcasts. Thankfully, Halle is much better
And, I think, not infected. It’s been a month since we last saw a living thing....
God. If the power should fail, we would be finished. The station's kitchen was
Stocked with edible food and drink. Halle and I had a quiet dinner. She was so
Pale and weak. Before SV, there was a little girl in the news who began making
Incredibly accurate predictions and premonitions regarding the future. Of course,
The most outrageous being the total destruction of all life on the planet.
Most forgot her strange premonitions when the virus began its cycle of killing.
I did not. And, as unlikely as it may seem, I think I've figured out the origin of SV.
With Halle safe and fast asleep, I began to explore further outside the sanctuary.
On a recent expedition, I collected several, still-warm meteor fragments for
Study and later examination. That night, I had a eureka, epiphany moment....
"Perhaps, I'm losing my mind. Yes, an unbelievable story: The premonition of
Annihilation; the simultaneous SV infections and meteor bombardments; these
Eerie, green-glowing rocks; the invulnerability of the virus -- and, a much earlier
Premonition, in the form of a children's story, of a savior from a doomed world,
Orbiting a super-massive red star. Perhaps, he'll come to this world. Over."
My darling Halle is starry-eyed -- and, perhaps, a little too excited....
August 30, 2016
TO BOLDLY GO WHERE NO POET HAS GONE BEFORE - Poetry Contest
Copyright © Tom Arnone | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
Greg Barden | Details |
A slow, painful waking to a vessel that's shaking from the stress of its increasing mass,
And at once I'm made sure that it's all premature, for I should yet be sleeping, and fast.
Why I've not been kept deep in my long cryo-sleep, is a troubling notion, indeed,
For it's ten light-years' span to the world where we plan to propagate our human seed.
The cryo's defect is a slow reconnect, with my senses still frozen and bare,
Yet I need my devices to discover the crisis, and keep safe the lives in my care.
I fight what's still left of the cryopod's deft reduction of all that I'm feeling,
Grab food from the fridge, stumble off to the bridge, the emergency sirens still pealing.
I at once raise the shield from the ship's forward field, and I stare straight ahead at what's wrong,
A bright purple spark in a nebula, dark, that is almost a full parsec long!
The shapes and the colors remind me of Mueller's "Two Girls" and his fine Gypsy lasses,
Lush watercolor hues of soft greens and blues, all the products of eddying gases.
It is beautiful, yes, but I do not need guess what the center is, blackened as coal,
What no light could pass through, a SINGULARITY, true, and one that would swallow us whole.
Too fast was our rate, we could not navigate 'round the nebulous dark 'twas our curse,
And our increasing mass was now too much to pass by a course we could safely traverse.
I thought, for a piece, we might try to increase the reaction at the core of our drive,
But with more anti-matter, we were apt to just splatter in a vortex we could not survive.
If we had greater distance, or some added resistance, we might slow and alter our course,
But we were too near to the black hole to veer, and being pulled in by its force.
The process, one-sided, baryogenesis provided, made our futile spot very dire,
And without the ship slowing, we were quickly now going from the frying pan into the fire.
We could not stay pointed on the course now anointed, or we'd soon meet our end there in space,
Yet we couldn't slow down, or change course to go 'round the black hole that now stared in our face.
Big on heroes, I'm not, but we DID have a shot, though a slim one, I must admit now,
I would use, (beg the term), a thing called a "worm" hole, if our increased mass would allow.
I poured three libations and did calculations required for bending the void,
Then tossed back each one, toasted daughters and son, and the ship that I'd apt leave destroyed.
I blessed the crew's slumbers and entered the numbers, hesitated at "Enter" a smidge,
And breathing a sigh, (whilst I covered one eye), I launched the command from the bridge ...
Well ... what happened next has left me perplexed, as I'm not on the ship, nor with crew,
But it must've gone well, cuz I'm still here to tell YOU the story ... now isn't that true?
I'm not on the lam, but just where I AM, is the puzzle I'm working on now,
For without ship and crew there's not much I can do, but try to get homeward, somehow.
Deep space, can I span it from here on this planet? (Though it seems to be one I can roam) ...
Ah yes, now, if only I wasn't so lonely, for the blue marble that I call ...
Copyright © Greg Barden | Year Posted 2017
Long poem by
Freddie Robinson Jr. | Details |
Clandestine meeting between
the Orvatech Corp. and the Celestial Military Command
General Avar, the High General: The third trial test run has been successfully
concluded. What are the recommendations, gentlemen.
Dr. Quintas, the lead scientist: The fifth generation cybersolderies are ninety
percent combat ready. There is a ten percent error quotient. Some command
codes are compromised by latent moral rejection. The problem can be solved
within a Zekarian solar cycle.
General Ta'lith: Will the soldiers obey their platoon leader's orders in termination excursions? The alien enemy will use human hostage shields to obstruct the killing parameters.
Dr. Quintas: My empirical data suggests that kill orders will be adhered to if
platoon leaders command all unit soldiers to disengage their moral inhibitors.
Mutiny will not occur due to morality uncertainty, but more likely to low
survival probability index projection.
General Avar: Was that the case with RCN #024785?
Dr. Parnon, top cybernetic systems engineer: We believe he suffered irrevocable damage to his installed positronic brain during combat. Thus,
resulting in an automatic upload of his human core memories. He killed his
platoon leader as a result of his prior aberrant criminal behavior.
General Seyath: I never did trust using those convict bastards for specialized
deep cover military operations.
General Avar: Well, the damage was minimal. Most of the unit was not
contaminated by the rogue cybersoldier. Although he survived the battle of
Oronmo, he suffered extensive injuries, am I correct doctor Quintas.
Dr. Quintas: Yes, general, you are correct. He suffered extensive memory loss
of his human core brain function, and was paralyzed from the neck down. The
good news is that our secret experiments have not been exposed to subspace
General Ta'lith: Are you sure, doctor. He did commandeer the satellite array at
his unit's command post.
Dr. Quintas: Quite certain, general. The downloaded data from his positronic
brain indicate that there was no breach. He only tried to send a standard SOS
to the nearest commercial planetary ports. This will not draw any unwanted
General Avar: And was the defective cybernetic unit destroyed.
Dr. Parnon: Yes, general. I personally disposed of the unit. It was prematurely
cremated as stipulated per military contract requirement.
General Seyath: Those convicts really thought we were going to award them freedom for volunteering to be guinea pigs in these illegal experiments. No, the
secret clause was to prematurely cremate any battle injured survivors, and
those not injured were to have their human memories completely erased and
become permanent cybersoldiers.
General Ta'lith: Why didn't we wipe their memories from the get go, doctors?
Dr. Quintas: We needed a baseline reference point in which to see if their
cybernetic responses were enhanced with their human instincts as a motivating
factor. Have all your questions been answered satisfactorily, gentlemen.
The trio of generals: Yes, doctors.
Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
The Seeker | Details |
"Little Mary Richardson was sad as sad could be,
her mom was never there for her and dad was out to sea.
One day while walking through the woods an opened door appeared,
she walked into the great unknown and thus she disappeared.
Puppy kisses and Barbie dolls are what make little girls happy. Frolicking carefree through the woods, listening to the birds sing, eating ice cream on sunny summer days. But not all little girls live sweet, gentle lives. Such was the case with a certain Mary Richardson from the small town of Hocking Hills.
Father was a lifelong navy man with a love for the sea... and for Jack Daniels! When he was home his drinking made him bitter and angry. Many times he would scream at Mary to get out of his sight. One day he even said he wished she’d never been born. On those days she would retreat into her sanctuary, the hilly woods at the far end of their little farm. She would pretend that the bunnies were her children, and they would often sit near the stream and have tea together. She would tell them how much she loved them, that she was so glad they had come into the world.
Mother worked ten hours a day just to keep the bills paid. Besides the three of them there were pigs and sheep to feed, as well as chickens. By the time she got home at night all she could muster up the strength to do was to fix a light dinner and go to bed. Mary would entertain herself at night by reading books that she had picked up from the library after school. She especially loved stories that took her to strange, exciting new worlds!
One night, while her father was home on leave, her parents got into an awful fight and her father beat her mother so badly that she lay on the floor, still as could be. Mary screamed and ran out into the night, into the woods, her respite. But she had never braved the forest at nighttime before. By the time that she arrived at her favorite spot by the stream the moon was high overhead. A nearby owl let out a hoot, sending a chill down her back. As she sat there shaking and weeping and staring up at the big harvest moon, she suddenly thought she heard a voice behind her. She stood up and looked around but saw no one. Then she heard it again, “Mary.” She glanced across the little stream and to her surprise there was an opened door with no house, no frame, no nothing. As she kept on watching a hand extended itself through the doorway from the other side and the voice said, “Come. Come little Mary Richardson.”
She looked back toward the house. In the distance she could hear her parents yelling at one another. Mother had apparently recovered and the two were at it again. Did they even notice that she was missing? Again, the voice, “Come on Mary, it’s okay.” She looked once more toward the farm , then toward the door. She had no idea what was on the other side, but it had to be better than what was back home . Mary crossed the stream, took hold of the soft, warm hand and went through the door, which immediately shut behind her, and then vanished.
* to be continued
Copyright © The Seeker | Year Posted 2016