Victor D. López's Blog: Victor D. Lopez, page 56

For Devon Short [On the tragic death of a five year-old boy]

A little angel winks from up above,
The littlest fireman in God’s domain,
Bathed in God’s Grace, covered with His love,
Untouched by earthly cares, worries, or pain.

Too soon your race was done, Devon, dear child,
Only five summers’ suns warmed your sweet face,
And yet you brought much joy for one so mild,
To all who knew your smile, felt your embrace.

Tears mark your passing in a time too brief,
We wish God had less pressing need of you,
Your family struggles now to bear their grief,
Lord, grant t...

Angustia

Yo también he conocido la angustia,
Aunque pocos que me conocen lo saben,
He anhelado que terminara.

He oído la dulce llamada,
Susurrado en mi oído a veces,
De acabar con todo.

Pero siempre pasó,
Demasiados sueños incumplidos,
Que no podía dejar morir.

Aunque no soy una chica joven,
Todavía puedo relacionarme con un dolor,
Demasiado difícil de soportar.

Traen lágrimas de sangre,
Palabras de jóvenes colegas con el dolor,
Que ellos luchan por soportar.

Haciéndose daño,
Para escapar del dolor m...

Heartbreak

I’ve known heartbreak too,
Though few who know me know it,
Longed for it to end.

I’ve heard the sweet call,
Whispered in my ear at times,
For self-oblivion.

But it always passed,
Too many unfulfilled dreams,
I could not let die.

Though not a young girl,
I still can relate to pain,
That’s too hard to bear.

They bring tears of blood,
Young colleagues’ words with the pain,
They struggle to bear.

Doing themselves harm,
To escape the greater pain,
Of their precious lives.

I beg you each, please...

Vida Malgastada [A Wasted Life — Spanish original with English translation]

Que tragedia es una vida malgastada,
persiguiendo lo que el orgullo pide,
a lo largo a veces uno lo percibe,
al ver cerca el final, lejos la entrada.

Nunca pensé ser yo quien destacaba,
Shakespeare en Macbeth cuando el describe,
la vida “sombra caminante” y la mide,
como “un cuento de un idiota… nada.”

Cuando se cerraron todos los portales,
que apuntaban a otros horizontes?
no me di cuenta, trepando por montes,
que no eran mas que tinieblas irreales.

Que ser honesto puede encontrar paz,
cuando la...

Requiem for Mom (Lita – 1929 – 2018)

You were only seven when you went blind,
But could see again in less than two years,
Two years later you were seeking to find,
Full time work to help your mom ease her fears.

Eight brothers and sisters home, and dad dead,
From fascists’ caresses in dark, dank cells,
You rolled up your sleeves without tears or dread,
Worked full time packing fish and working wells.

At sixteen you left for a foreign shore,
Worked hard, learned to read, saved all that you could,
To pay mom’s passage and two brothers ...

Linked Haikus on Poetry

A poem is a song,
That resonates a lifetime,
In receptive hearts.

Poetry is life,
That grows from the fertile soil,
Of our broken dreams.

Poets are weavers,
Who spin fragile threads of hope,
From dust in the wind.

Reserve your copy today at https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1035449 (Publication date: November 1, 2020)

My Summer Vacation

Two textbooks finished,
Two instructor’s manuals,
Two test banks as well.

Two papers on law,
Submitted to two journals,
Soon to be published.

A new appointment,
As Distinguished Professor,
Welcomed news as well.

Research conducted,
For a new course developed,
(Immigration Law).

But all at a price:
Not enough time with my wife,
No real vacation.

All friends far away,
The same true of family,
Parents in heaven.

Nose pressed to grind stone,
The sands of time drift away,
Is this all there is?

...

The Pages of My Life

I read the pages of my life so clear,
Its images dismissed as pains of youth,
And yet, though far, I see them all so clear,
Relive the fear, hope, warmth glimmers of truth.

Vague shadows visit me and leave behind,
Uneasy feelings draped in tenderness,
I see too well, yet wish that I were blind,
And fear above all else my truthfulness.

If only I believed that I could find,
One path in life to follow faithfully;
How sad that knowledge can be so unkind,
And pain the wages of our honesty.

I’d gladly...

Central Park

Flowers bloom next to rusting Pepsi cans,
Watered by the spit of cocaine dealers,
And the semen and vaginal fluid,
Of hot lovers groping under blankets,
Under stars dimly blinking through thick smog.

Nightly haven for muggers, rapists, fiends,
Whose every breath profanes the species they,
So poorly represent, turning Plato’s,
Featherless bipeds, to dead plucked chickens,
Soul-less, pointless wastes of protoplasm.

Abomination– not in itself but,
For the use it’s put to: a bone for dogs,
Who’ve never ...

On Pointless Introspection

I am an ostrich, hiding deep within myself,
My head submerged in murky moods,
Screaming in a vacuum.
No, not a vacuum, but a sound-proof room,
With walls of ten-foot stone,
A fortress,
Clammy, cold and, dimly lit,
That admits no sound,
But the monotonous percussion,
Of a heart that knows the one eternal truth:

We are born dying,
And every breath that we take,
Every beat of our heart,
Brings us one step closer,
To the grave.

It is easy to forget a world exists outside,
My diminutive cell when my teeth ch...