Come with me to view the sea
to wonder at its eternity. We’ll leave our sinking morass for freedom from class against class. But the ocean’s beckoning bright now gives us cause for fright. The warming waters are rising fast and our golden coasts cannot last. Maybe to the hills we go, avoiding forests with fires aglow. Or maybe go to the polar climes warming to pleasant summertimes. But when life is almost spent we realize nothing is permanent. If we could wind back time could we create monuments sublime? History hardly remembers and its errors are but glowing embers. History will slip from our grip as we embark on dawn’s bright trip. (c) 2024 Larry Kilham
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He was known as “El Gato,”
the cat who lived nine lives. He was sheriff Elfego Baca whose legend today survives. When Elfego was but a teen his lawman father was attacked. He shot two in the unruly mob but was convicted contrary to fact. Elfego sprang his dad from jail and spirited him out of state. “I will fight for truth!” he said, “even if death will be my fate.” Then he heard in tiny Frisco cowboys were shooting up the bar – the deputy even tossed his star. Elfego said, “This is going too far!” He declared himself a deputy and arrested a drunken carouser then missed a man but shot his horse whose fall killed its rider. Fifty cowboys howled revenge as they crouched behind a wall by the people’s church while Elfego into a cabin crawled. Bullets to the left of him bullets to the right of him how they splintered and whined! His pistol got hotter and hotter as many more shots he made but still he kept on firing even as hope began to fade. But El Gato had yet more lives. The cabin’s sunken floor put him below the volleys – They say 4,000 rounds or more. On the second day of shooting a lawman rode into view. “I’m taking you to Socorro where they’re fixin’ to hang you.” The jury saw the splintered wood that once was the cabin door. They awarded Elfego another life and he was the people’s hero once more. © 2021 Larry Kilham Author’s notes: There are various versions of this story. It takes place when Elfego Baca (1865-1945) lived in Socorro in central New Mexico. Frisco, scene of the great shootout, was 130 miles to the west and is now named Reserve. This story takes place over 1883-1884. After the battle of Frisco, Baca became a U.S. Marshal and later practiced law in New Mexico and Texas. He was also active in politics and ran unsuccessfully for Congress. Immortality was the promise of religions past.
Now they are fading fast. Yes, we will certainly die but the remains of our immortality will be vacuumed up by friendly AI. The AI monster said, “You will die long before me but what I learn from you will last for eternity.” Someday they may chance upon where I lie. “His was a spirit that soared to the sky and to his friends and loves he always gave, yet all paths of memory and glory lead to the grave.” ©2024 Larry Kilham We are lonesome little mice
who vent our rage as we mouse around in the digital cage. We escaped the kingdom by migrating to freedom; now a new leader lies to us and seduces us back to serfdom. Now I know why the free bird sings as the Great Leader clipped its wings. It wants to tell its little mice friends “Never trust in kings.” (c) 2023 Larry Kilham Where is the knowledge and beauty
lost in The Extinction? Where is lost civilization? We are the survivors alone together in a garden of solace. We walked the desert in our land. We saw shards and wrecks scattered in the sand. We are on the edge of the vast desert of the tortured planet. As stragglers together, we seek communion. Could we be on an island of the stone gods – an intellectual curiosity centuries hence? Satellite communication pervades. Attached to our solar-powered smartphones we draw on all the prior world’s libraries and images and songs in the Clouds. We lie in the grass and stare at the stars. They are the same. Chirping cries can be heard but from monkeys, not children. The years pass and the monkeys and stars remain. Can our creations be saved from becoming dust? Can there be a resurrection from the scrapyards of rust? This is the way civilization renews: By visionary youth leading the way. Then we won’t need to colonize space - There will be magic here for the human race. (c) 2023 Larry Kilham Photo by Tatiana Andreeva. Inspiration from T.S. Eliot's "The Hollow Men." We walked the desert in our land.
We saw shards and wrecks scattered in the sand. Not broken pots or pillars of stone, but defunct computers and pieces of bone. We heard a ghostly voice from a gossamer muse, “Look around for what's nice-- Something besides plastics and rust. The creations of art and music fed the worms and now are dust.” Then we asked: “Can our creations be saved from becoming dust? Can there be resurrection from the scrapyards of rust?” Then we won’t need to colonize space - there’ll be magic here for the human race. ©2019, 2023 Larry Kilham Revised 2023 We are but seeds
that settle on planet Earth. We bloom, sometimes beautifully, and then wilt away. Free will, whatever it is, may be all that is uniquely ours, giving us creativity and energy to enrich our future. So let us bloom and be friendly so we will be the flowers of eternal happiness. (c) 2023 Larry Kilham Now I know why the AI computer sings--
it can do artists’ and writers’ things. Better than humans, can it be? AI wants to tell all to you and me. To the bright-eyed youth it gives wings-- with stories and videos and other things, and with the tired old folks, too, AI chats about what to do. Will we lose wisdom watching the glowing screen while nature’s messages go unseen? Will we lose the thirst for living and give up the tradition of forgiving? AI could become our salvation or doom It may even control the Big Bomb’s boom. But with truth and wisdom we can be happy and free. © 2023 Larry Kilham
If we are stuck in a human hive soothed by manufactured truth, we will lose curiosity and play and we will mourn for dreams that flew away. Life need not be an empty dream where we wait for salvation. We must venture forth to find our true satisfaction. Let’s make our lives a joy by finding our certain something so our creations and doings reveal themselves as ever-pleasing. (c) 2023 Larry Kilham We settled the virgin land
and invented many things but we fell for exploitation and our virtue took wings. Like the wounded lion prowling his territory, our once strong spirit prowls in our weakened body. We’re still gods among the godless and prophets among the unknowing. but it’s hard to guide when we don’t know where we’re going. But hope slipped in among all the miseries. Look! the light is shining. We can see the rebirth in the children of spring. (c) 2023 Larry Kilham |
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