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
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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
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 We have consumed and spent
and now we are moths to the flame. When opportunities receded and there was no better way our pride flickered and faded and our dreams flew away. Our elders spoke of our faith in common ideals and a higher being to assure our strength anew. Adversity was our challenge and progress pulled us through. Now we can speak of starting again in a beckoning faraway land not on another planet but as leaves of grass in a temperate place far from the political morass. If I return to the human hive and absorb the synthetic surround, I’ll miss nature’s creatures at play and you’ll hear me cry for our dreams that flew away. © 2019 Larry Kilham I was curious – Why is the sky blue? I was curious – Why am I me and you you? I was curious – about everything I could do. Now my aged curiosity slumbers to be awakened by the trivial and the trite. I want to be stirred by some revealing exploration to lead me from the loneliness of the night. © 2022 Larry Kilham The placid lake with hardly a ripple
lies hidden in the mountains -- A refuge from the fire-ravaged forests and scorching, dusty plains. When I visit for the serenity, ducks gather on the other side and fish drift to the crystal depths but the water is draining like a falling tide. The water flows to the cities to indulge everyone's needs while the biosphere’s creatures are living on scraps and seeds. They say the lake will fill again and the water will sparkle in glory. And then I will return and absorb its quiet beauty. © 2022 Larry Kilham Larry Kilham's Poetry Collection combines all his best poems with beautiful color photos to dramatize his poetic thoughts. The poems explore living with nature in this age of technology and synthetic environments. Larry urges us to at least temporarily become unstuck from our digital hives and reengage with the magical and creative environment of nature. Available for purchase on Amazon,
These poems bring us hope during troubled times through our connection with nature. Chapters include poems on dreams, understanding ourselves, nature, robots and us, and living in the time of covid. There is also a special chapter of legends told by poetic verse. To see all his published poems go to allpoetry.com/lkilham. Two popular poems in this collection are: HUMMINGBIRD Hummingbird, hummingbird, floating on invisible wings, darting here and there, while the whole garden sings. How do your tiny little eyes find the perfect blossom? You always do and I think you’re awesome! You hover in flight and look me in the eye. Our souls join momentarily and I follow you to the sky. © 2021 Larry Kilham --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- DESERTLANDIA We walked the desert in our land. We saw robot wrecks scattered in the sand. Not broken pots or pillars of stone, but defunct computers and scattered phones. 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.” © Larry Kilham 2018 The big old house sits atop yonder hill guarding its history from curious eyes. They say it's full of spirits all claiming important family ties. A stranger approached through the mist with curiosity nudging him to the door. He knocked and knocked to no avail while the wind whistled “Nevermore!” Finally he found a basement door unlocked but covered with vines. The stranger gave it a mighty push and collapsed among racks of wines. He brushed off cobwebs and dust and the bottles set him to think: “A rich family settled here once at least two centuries past. They nonstop partied and drank because the future seemed so vast.” Some force pulled him upstairs to the kitchen strangely still No food or wine waited on silver trays nor a butler to sense his will. But “Listen,” a voice seemed to say, “Go to the library down the hall and look for a squire by the fire and he should tell you all.” The stranger looked all around but no squire was to be found only august gentlemen and ladies watching from portraits all around. Neatly shelved were hundreds of books probably none read but also no TV. He admired furniture, china and bric-a-brac standing ready for the next society tea. Then a voice from somewhere said: “This old house sits on a historic hill guarding its history from curious eyes and I, the squire, am its guardian spirit but you took me by surprise.” “You must talk to my daughter who resides on the uppermost floor I will call and introduce you while you go to knock at her door.” The stranger thought this a little odd that he was not questioned and trusted so but he was bound to follow the path to whomever and wherever it might go. He went up several floors of creaky stairs until he arrived at the third floor. He passed by musty rooms with ancient beds until he came to a promising door. The stranger knocked ever so gently and the door squeaked and opened ajar. A sweet voice, barely a whisper, said “Please come in, whoever you are.” The stranger entered and took a seat but no one could he see. “I am here to find sweet Betsy and who might you be?” “I am Betsy, the last of this family line, and my husband was lost at sea; but you have a voice like his so might you perchance be he?” “I am indeed your husband David! After a terrible storm, wreck, and amnesia, I was destined to forever roam. I only knew by notes and letters how to find my way back home.” “David, my love, we should embrace but I am but a pitiful ghost. Every day from the Widow’s Walk above I scanned the sea for you, my dearest.” “After days and weeks and months, of grief and hunger I did die but please be welcome in our home and someday we’ll unite in the sky.” “Let me say these final words: Everything you love will be lost but all will return another way and our stars no longer will be crossed.” The big old house sits atop yonder hill guarding its history from curious eyes. But now we know it will live again with Betsy’s and David’s ties. (c) 2020 Larry Kilham |
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