On a winters night
I froze alone in silence
Life and death the same

Haiku are short — very short — poems
In this haiku, an alcoholic dies as he lives, alone.
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On a winters night
I froze alone in silence
Life and death the same

Haiku are short — very short — poems
In this haiku, an alcoholic dies as he lives, alone.
Lilly was wet and needed to warm herself. Breaking off a dead pine tree limb, she ran to an overhang and used her striker to light the wood’s resin. “Thank you, Daddy, for teaching me how to survive,” she whispered as she fell asleep by the fire.
This piece of microfiction is a character story from my apocalyptic novella Every Yard Is A Grave. Character stories are small glimpses into a character’s life before, during, and after the book.
They rose up through white clouds; Mary was so excited. she was on her way to heaven. “Look, we’re almost there, baby!” Reaching back for her husband’s hand, it slipped away as he fell to an earthly hell. Mary cried in her mother’s arms.
“Remember back in the ’70s when they said the earth would be a frozen globe? And now they’re saying it’s going to get too hot.”
“Think they know it all, don’t they, Ma?”
“That they do, Pa,” said Mother Nature to Father Time.
Millions of years have passed, and all evidence of a technological society has melted away in the earth’s core. Two people have survived in an unknown green zone; a man and a woman. Others live in the wastelands, but they have been too busy to seek them out. A child is on the way, and the woman must stay healthy. After taking a bite out of an apple, she offered it to her husband.
An international team of researchers in 2014 concluded that super-volcanos could erupt at any time without outside triggers, making predicting such an event more challenging.
This is due to a phenomenon called the “buoyancy effect,” which occurs when the molten magma inside the super-volcano reaches critically high pressures due to the much denser rock around it, forcing it to the surface.
Tests conducted at the European Synchrotron Radiation Facility in Grenoble, France, suggest that the transition from solid to liquid magma alone can create pressures strong enough to crack more than six meters of the Earth’s crust above the caldera.
Using synchrotron X-rays, the scientists established that a super-volcano eruption might occur spontaneously, driven only by magma pressure without the need for an external trigger.
Super-volcano triggers recreated in X-ray laboratory
http://www.esrf.eu/home/news/general/content-news/general/supervolcano-triggers-recreated-in-x-ray-laboratory.html
In Aesop’s fable, The Ant and the Grasshopper, some say the ant should have been charitable. But I don’t see it this way. Charity, in my opinion, is for those who have met with misfortune. This was not the case for the Grasshopper. The Grasshopper was lazy and played the summer away.
Today, we have many grasshoppers whose only plan for survival is to live off others’ hard work. When winter comes, they are unprepared and can fault no one but themselves.
One bright day in late autumn a family of Ants were bustling about in the warm sunshine, drying out the grain they had stored up during the summer, when a starving Grasshopper, his fiddle under his arm, came up and humbly begged for a bite to eat.
“What!” cried the Ants in surprise, “haven’t you stored anything away for the winter? What in the world were you doing all last summer?”
“I didn’t have time to store up any food,” whined the Grasshopper; “I was so busy making music that before I knew it the summer was gone.”
The Ants shrugged their shoulders in disgust.
“Making music, were you?” they cried. “Very well; now dance!” And they turned their backs on the Grasshopper and went on with their work.
There’s a time for work and a time for play.
Every life is a gift, but most go unwrapped, their treasures wasted out of fear of having the paper torn.
Every atom in the universe stilled as the toxic energy from one spread to them all. Leaving an apple with two bites out of it lying on the ground beneath the Tree of Life, fruit it no longer bears.
As I sit down to write, my mind tells me to do something else; anything but write. I’m exhausted, worried about our country, which is under attack by the socialists among us.
In 22 days, we will see the results of their efforts.
In 22 days, we will see how many Americans vote.
In 22 days, we will decide the fate of our grandchildren.
In 22 days, we will see what kind of government we have left for them.
In 22 days, we will make history, and our children will praise us or spit on our graves.
In 22 days….