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Phillip E. Carpenter

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Member Since: Before 2003

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Featured Book
Emilia's Emancipation
by Gracie McKeever

The Matchmaker: Angela Calminetti, mother of five, New Age practitioner and gifted psychic and telepath, is proud of her family ties and does everything she can ..  
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Books by Phillip E. Carpenter
Beyond Tomorrow
by Phillip E. Carpenter

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Recent poems by Phillip E. Carpenter
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In 2478, year of great Fate, maser-beamed through the void word went out,
Sol had decided enough was more than enough, it evolved without a doubt.

Supernovas were documented, but not prevented, a concept now well understood,
but still not controlled or even patrolled, not considered beneficial or good.

Humans had evolved as well, but not too swell, not quite as much as hoped,
no pure energy forms, no all-seeing norms, in fact most of them went around doped.

No magic mental matter transmissions, no psychic physicians, no moving of great masses,
no manipulation of Newtonís Law nor gold-transforming lead raw, no Universal free passes.

Still bound by flesh, earthly greed and a mesh of weakness, venality and fear,
Man was still Woman, Woman still man and no one wanted to hear.

Feet of clay creatures from old sci-fi features, colonists, pilots, soldiers all
they heard the news with varied views, bitterly knowing endless Night would soon fall.

Mars Station broke in, an idea to spin, a proposal of consequence to state:
send off a sleep ship on a long and deep space trip with the best of the best before itís too late.

It seemed a way to ensure and assure they endure, their extinction to prevent
and there was little choice to offer in the empty coffer, no alternative in any event.

So the giant ship was hurriedly built, and all felt a portion of guilt for waiting so interminably long
with heads in the sand, not taking a stand, so stubbornly, selfishly wrong.

All resources were tapped, the resources zapped, money no longer a factor,
all work lamps were lighted, all workers united from hobo to famous film actor

And when the ship was done, all aboard to the last one,
it roared up the ramp into space,
those left gazed up the slope watching their last great hope for survival of the human race.

For six hundred years, with dreams and fears, the passengers soundlessly slept,
their physical care in each personís lair by programmed robots was kept.

And the time finally came when a planet much the same, with the right gravity and oxygen skies
came into sensor range and although it seemed strange, the sleepers opened their eyes.

The few setting foot on that soil knew they faced hardship and toil, struggling to begin again,
create new life, build a world free of strife, so the world would be perfect for all women and men.

Generations passed by, young watched elders die, but still they struggled on to achieve.
Time finally arrived when goals for which they strived now seemed close enough to believe.

A new utopia had come, they cried, though many had died, but former problems now were past.
Still, here and there, just about everywhere, cracks appeared and the joy didnít last.

Little things at first, among the worst, perhaps were jealousy and hate.
Prejudice and greed came next, then fear and horror, too many emotions to relate.

Squabbles led to fights over property rights, relationships, politics and religion.
And soon little fights led to fires in the nights and armies forming in each region.

The Settlerís War was just like before, blood, mayhem and yet more still.
They slaughtered without cease, not really wanting release from the ages-old urge to kill.

And when it was done, there was hardly one who was still hearty and hale,
too few for a crew to even make do, and so comes the end of my tale.

Humanity tried, but eventually died, trying to do a noble thing.
But in the bitter end, no man is truly a friend, oh, death, where is thy sting.

Their nature is that of a ravenous beast, and even the least has it hidden deep inside,
If they could but will it, perhaps even kill it, then maybe they wouldnít all have died.

I am sad for that bunch, but itís now time for lunch, so I guess Iíll go eat my rock.
My pseudopods are dry, so is my nictating eye, I must get back to my shipís airlock.



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Reviewed by jude forese
excellent futuristic fantasy!
Reviewed by Thomas Sutherland
Funny and tragic at the same time, extrapolating the concept that no matter how technologically advanced humans become, they are still at heart just another animal among those left on this planet with the same drives and instincts they've always had. I really enjoyed this poem.
Reviewed by na na (Reader)
You're are on quite a futuristic journey.
Bill Murray.
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