King Tiger to Rose Arcade

And then the battle began.   It’s not

a pretty fable, this time the lord

of plenty up against the dark of

nothingness, indefinable unless

you’ve seen a dead body or stood in any

cemetery.  For a long time there was

nothing, some vague threats over the radio.

Even the Apricot trees bloomed.   There were

always rumors of war when we were young. 

Nothing now but old swords swinging

in the wind. In a county not unlike

ours each little town is an armed camp

of rifles and the miles go by

on highways built for tanks and heavy trucks.

If you see the pictures there are

young men holding each other

hostage.  Imperial Moloch and

solitude have brought them there.

Famous Science Fiction Novels

In the end the earth

dies, of course, and either

the detestable aliens

offer us a new ugly

religion or we are

simply ash, our

buildings empty,

on fire. Usually

the humans who are

left learn to sigh

and may even

forget the old

god who got them

into so much

trouble in the first place.

But remember

in some books there are

children picking

weeds and dandelions

from front lawns

all across America.

No one mentions

the wicked step-father

who takes literally

his little patch

while the ghost

of an alien satellite

plays tricks with

his brain.  He will

eventually drive

to the desert

leaving his car

and his jacket

on the road

and no one will

know where he went.

Al fin del siglo,

the largest and widest

of these volumes

echoes off the walls

like a bad opera,

too many notes and the people

really don’t know what

they’re doing, except

that they have special

guns, horses, and parades

like we do here, only there

the masters make clear

their plans, their

domination of the solar

system, the large rocks

that fly by our little

planet, not knowing

we’re here at all.

Midnight and the Jack of Spades

Are you any
busier than you were
twenty minutes ago.
If so, I'd like to know
the secret of your
departure, what
time you left your
room in search
of an awkward
feeling wafting along
the byways
like diesel smoke.
In fact, that must
have been you
speeding by
like fast freight
train, so full of
energy it would
take you miles
to stop.  Now
the years are
just as heavy.  A friend
asked what happens
when we outlive
our dreams, our ambitions.
I said I'm being courageous
enough to get out
of bed in mid winter
at five am to scrape ice
from the car.  The
one my father
wanted me
to own, sometime
in a future he knew
he'd never see.

H. Is Dreaming Again: Herman Kahn Writes a Letter to the Rooskies

Let’s say the war’s

Begun:  our massive

Machines girding under

The weight of the Rockies

Ready to fire.  Our sleek

Submarines floating somewhere,

Could be the Baltic, could be

Anywhere the cold-free

Burst of neutrons,

Of plutonium and

Lithium 6 over your heads.

Let’s say the war is on

The radio:  the crack

And static of unknown

Commands, the halting

Tone of your comrades

As they see the missiles

Come in, shattering Moskva

And creaming the Urals—

All you’ll have left, all

You ever had left

Was Pushkin and vodka.

I know by now my

Radioactivity surpasses

Yours.  The might of

The laser and microwave,

My citrus screwdriver--

Between the different

Things going on today,

I forgot to call you back.

La Sonnambula

That'll be the day:
the spangled memory
of you in your sunglasses
like Doris Day--
sometime after the endless
long stairways and beautiful
spaces you'll wonder why
there wasn't music playing,
say Brahms or Strauss.

In the Miami
Valley apple blossoms
are counting the days--
up on the hill the last
strains of La Sonnambula
are playing while
I explain my life,
everything in it.
I am moved by your simplicity
and the small decorations
telling me so much. You know

I like the sun too.