Eight poems - poetry
Out of the eight poems provided here [all beforehand unpublished], four are Poetic Prose, a few Far-seeing [what I call Vsionary anyhow], a few Free Verse, and a few with more form and structure, more carefully to the Auden style of: stanza, with a beat rhythm, and rhyme. In aphorism that, I do accept as true all the poems are handing over a rich arrangement of meaning, some of them painfully close bond amid pleasure and destruction. They ought to ask to the senses and coin imagery in our minds, for poetry is just that kind of dialect that most complexly and actually qualifies.
Let me flee from
I shall change
As the fire goes out
With the moon upon my face
Life on a Finger
If this is life on a finger
What has my life been plotting?
I love fruit
everyone makes such
I just want
Poetic Prose: can be musical, lacking rhythm or rhyme, and still hardy an adequate amount of to alter to the impulses of the soul or conscience; or so I believe, and so saying, here are a few I think may lessen for such a test, four in particular:
First of all, I do not claim to be a critic or scholar of Prose Poetry, but I like inscription Prose Poetry when I like to wipe fantasy to the side, for some analyze it seems less chief for me at some point in this stage. I'm also allowed-or, so it seems-to be a bit more moralistic, in the brief; my mind can comb my travels more, ancestors more-spontaneity is fresher with Prose Poetry for me. I'm even a bit reckless or eminently, or brightly uninsightful in the sense of killing on to-or annoying to- make a point. Thus, my prose might be called a decisive essay, but it is not.
Even Shakespeare tried his description of Blank Verse with Prose. Conqueror Hugo, whom I visited his house while in Paris one afternoon, and whom is a great poet, as is Baudelaire-in my eyes, used cadenced innovations to build prose, where I use very little. But hope to get the same effect. But I have erudite in poetry, and maybe the hard way, it is what occurs to you, that makes it all worth while, and apparently to the reader, who marks its worth; not what occurs to the other person; we have too much of the imitator crap. So here are a few new, just this minute out of the oven poems in prose:
Co business Wisdom
"?to glance at me?fine carpets on walls?Fish Fly about the room?the fart?water pills?funerals?age often keeps quiet?order a plate of bratwursts?pass out in the vomitorium?we got old?(and he shit in his pants)?water pills (ease heart stress)?boxer shorts?who is God? (he heard his voice once, it sounded like his)?Ah war bigness addiction?the poet aging on the stool?LSD?MTV?Jackson?Dylan?Elvis?Sushi?FBI? (the poet dies ((l997))?Beethoven?is about one man?Genocide?Skeleton?" In the beginning?:
The Brooklyn Bridge
The Brooklyn Bridge: she's on a bike, I'm walking. She screams:
"Get out of my way! Get on your own side! Read the damn Sign!" I say: "Fuck you!" (A pause)
It was a burp (kind of)-first words out of my mouth, out of anger?. Then I moved bit by bit to the apt side of the bridge, its boulevard like walk; and enjoyed the rest of the March skies-
A Tired Kiss
A kiss of a tired woman: lips of soapsuds, no lip pressure-; tired so long her mind forgot how to tell her lips to form a kiss?. Now froth dance on her lips: form bubbles-depart like ships on voyages. Her kiss forms into a loose kiss? then more like a hand-shake. Her wife (firm and frank) no longer looks at them; to him they are like dark-clouds about to rain. At one time her companion said: "You were the best!"
I own furniture that dream-you know, like it has a life of its own; they speak their own language-; like the lot else that circles the sun.
There is no soul complex though, only some, some awareness, with windows and doors; the cascading of rain and snow; assignment to a a few room, equipment like that.
I don't know what infuriates them, other than the impertinent man. So, idol they remain, each to its own, I suppose; before you for curiosity or admiration to bloom, anything!. . .
Poems to come:
Girl and the Ox
Dennis Siluk lives in the Midwest with his wife Rosa, and in Lima, Peru where he spends a few months out of the year. He has been characters poetry for over 40-years, and has had his poetry in print in a digit of newspapers, magaziens,books and in about every bend of the world. In l981, his first book was published, "The Other Door: Poetic Exhortations" now worth quite a few times its creative value, as seen a moment ago on Ebay, and abe. books, launched a love afair with poetry. His website is: http;//dennisiluk. tripod. com
Do you ever stare at the paper, coming up for poetic inspiration? Well, you can stop before you and start using systematic techniques for creating poetry. If it seems too mechanical or contrived at first, don't worry.
"I heard what you said, Red. Yet, I have to disagree.
Top 20 Poetry Quotations
Explore the consequence of poetry and the motivation of poets with this exclusive assembly of suggestive quotations..
No one be supposed to have to beg or crawl already humanity. No one be supposed to have to chart to acquire philanthropy.
Ocean Heal Me
Ocean Heal MeOcean heal my wounds Let your waves curl and foam on my body Wash away blood, heal scarsOcean renew me with your power As constantly you roll Giving asset that's been drainedOcean keep me warm Wrap me in your brine Caress me with your tidesOcean disband my tears As they flow in you I purify my soulOcean let me grow in your depths Color me animated blue, coral, green Clear = revitalizedOcean your spray anoints me Cool and refreshed My spiritual renewalOcean be my friend Hold me flowing in your currents Ever moving, ever changingOcean, heal me.© 1983 Susan BaconSusan Bacon is a researcher, cause and teacher.
Kafka lands resurrected in Crewe deposited by a hoary alien craft, And even as he is wondering what to do He is asked to show his pass Or pay an instantaneous one off fine At a cash distributor of his choice And they are examination all the time On his irises face and voice.And of choice they find that he is not, They ascertain he just cannot be there, Although he seems as if he is visible, And has hands and toes and hair, If he is not on the Great Data Bank, He plainly and cleanly cannot be, He is not programmed and he is not ranked He is certainly not like you and me.
It's dark, it's cold, its' just six thirty,thoughts of sleep still dull my brain,As I clump down, exclusive my coat,a person along for the ride clone, just before you for a train.Insidious rain, just raining down,through weak light of creeping dawn,Paper sandwich bags and old auburn cups,blowing past, look so forlorn.
A Death in Cajamarca, Peru (Atahualpa, in Cajamarca ((in English and Spanish))
The Epic Poem:A Death in Cajamarca, Peru [Atahualpa, in Cajamarca]Advance: This is a version, not a change of any kind, on the captivity and death of Atahualpa the Inca King of the Inca Empire, in the 16th century (Peru).Atahualpa, durable in Cajamarca Greeted by De Soto, his free ally from Spain! "Be Calm! These times will be tolerant to you.
Azra, Azra, Wake up Azra. Wake up Azra, It is time to go.
A Hundred and Fifty Dead [Korean War--l952]
There I sat, ninety-five grade weatherOutside; the bookstore café, was cool.An Old Timer stood by me, explaining:"There were two-hundred of us on the Island,Near North Korea, back in '52-We guarded 16,000-prisners?"All of a sudden, all hell broke looseThree-hundred North Koreans cameOver the bob-wired fence, in pursuit"It all happened in a affair of secondsThe machineguns killed 150-of themThat's all I saw in the war of '52.
Learn About Love From Poet Rumi
In this avant-garde age of technology, busy lifestyles, and obsession with consumerism have taken a lot of the romance and love out of our lives. The Internet has befit a channel to bond with associates as each is judgment it a lot harder to meet one a new in the 'real' world.
In Poetry: Connotation of Words [And ...Rocket-belt]
In Poetry: Consequence of WordsWhen I write poetry, I check out the denotation of words for too often they sound the same, but once written, and if spelled wrong, in consequence, give a accomplished another consequence of what I had intended; this I call a instant of destruction control. If my rhyme is flat, and my inflection is off, so what, I can survive, as long as the gist of my words are not; and are as I meant them to be.
Lord Byrons She Walks in Beauty
Lord Byron's cavity elegy to "She Walks In Beauty" is among the most memorable and most quoted lines in romantic poetry. The cavity lines are effortless, graceful, and beautiful, a appropriate match for his poem about a woman who possesses easy grace and beauty.
Sleep, Dreams, and a Poem
The Incubus' Flash-lightHe looked confidential my head And found a dreamHe didn't like-;As I looked back at him, I found an incubus Shinning a light(and stole this poem from him-last night).Thoughts: Dreams and Poetry: in dreams we let go of our inhibitions; in poetry we write them back out.
Let Your Feelings Be Your Guide
The light of all eternity shines with me now / My feelings light up my life / How I find my way is firm by them / They light my path and show me who I amWhen I was young, I felt so many clothes / Then came the day when I could not stand the pain / My world was chaos then, full with be sorrowful and grief / So I bunged up to guard that fragile Self withinYears would go by ahead of I could open again / I was compulsory to by position afar my charge / Life dealt me blows which I later accepted as my own / To arouse me to that be distressed deep surrounded by my SoulI worked hard to find my way back to the Light / To that place contained by where I could feel once again / There my Heart shone forth with a brave face / And shed light on all that I had concealedNow I see how I clogged that tender-hearted Self / How I froze in the face of my fortune / Troubles swirled about as a devoted font of grief / And I fell to sleep out of fearI am arousing now to the deep void contained by / Where I've stored all those troubles and pain / I fight my way back to that base once again / So I can come forth absolutely and be trueMy life moves ahead as of this day / When I committed to conclusion my true Self / I've engaged all comportment of demons on this journey / To benefit to that Find deep insideI wish for life to fill me now and bring all it can / I am craving for come across and for cyst / I want bountiful raw materials from my Soul to fill me / So that I can truly enjoy all that I beholdThis work is from time to time challenging as I have erudite / But no more than any task requiring Love / This journey enriches me with its end / And fills me with Life and SoulThis is my gift to myself, my own holy Soul / To have, to hold and to observe / This Heart that bled is now curing its wounds / And can burgeon again from what Life bringsLet there never be a arrival to where hurts cramp me up / And fill me with animosity and pain / I am awake now, yes, and can move ahead / To be aware all that Life has assignedOh glory to you, my Sweet Soul, for advent this day / I thank you from the bed of my Heart / We two can sing all together the praises of Love / That take us advance on this journey all through timeNever let it be said that one so deserving / Could not find his or her way Home / All whom will adhere to shall see this Light in turn / And know that their journey can be wonI take you with me now, my Sweet Soul / For you are here in my hands / Where I can see you / And together, we can be so bold"Move on," you say to me. "Move on, my love / The Light needs for us to do so" / And my Heart sings with the promise / So that "Yes" is the come back with I can render with easeMy Heart is packed with Love and joy in this jiffy / Knowing that I am with you, my Soul / My feelings tell me you are there and at all times were / Till that sleep came over me ahead onBy initiation to your touch do I know You / And find my own truth there in your eyes / You show me all through Love what my end can be / I am inspired by this caring designI am happy we are here together, in this life / I am content that our love is so brawny / For now I can reach you, my Sweet Soul Magnificent / When you call to me from deep surrounded by my HeartI have your come back with Dear, and know this to be true / That you and I are everlastingly to be born / In this life or another, we join with each other / And We Soar .
Lifes Too Short
Time goes by to quickly to hold your feelings inside Especially when their so strong even if they don't abide..
Three Poems: Liberty, Death, and a Frog [with Commentary on Liberty]
Frog SummerSummer grows hot, for the New-blooded frogs; The bugs are thin, yet the Frogs stay fat, young and sassy. In these palsy times-they Only listen, as we dry up away.
Biography of Charlotte Bronte
Charlotte Bronte (1816 -1855) Author and Poet.Charlotte was the daughter of the Rev.
Lima, City with the Stretched out Wings [In English and Spanish]
Lima, City with the Stretched out WingsIt's an ink-black night: no stars: a moon in sightJust dots of: red, green and white-white lightsAs the plane descends, descends, slides down On the long-drawn-out-spun-out long drawn out city of illumination Uneven as a crumbled cake, lit up like a Christmas tree-The restless city, with its stretched out wingsStretching from the mountains to the sea- Winding because of the valley's, forests, and streams Stretches, stretches its naked wings-endlesslyAs,I'm descending, down, over and about the city (descending, descending, and sliding to the ground)The city with stretched out wings-and endless lights Down, behind, around, the ground, it's immune to me I'm just part of its evening, a debut in its inky seaInvisible people: cats, dogs, birds, and rats-infiniteUncountable: dots; streams of lit dots, dot-lights; People: walking, talking, sleeping, drinking by the dots People: waiting, killing, robbing, praying, by the dotsFor tomorrow, tomorrow and an added tomorrowThey say-:you are ruthless, and I know this to be trueAnd they tell me you have thieves and murders-And this, I dare say-but shall-is also true, very true But show me a city to the awkward of eight-million-? I shake my fist and say: '?show me! But no one does'So alive, so brave, with bright and hungry hearts;I say, show me one that sings in poverty and smiles Prove me one that celebrates year-round of its heroes Show me painters that are as good-that sell on streets-As good as: Picasso, Dali, Rembrandt, and Yang YangAnd that welcomes the world with stretched out arms-Show me all this, or some of this, and I will say no moreWith this,I descend to its streets, its crowed winding streetsAs well as, to its neighborhoods with dust and dirty air, And hear the laughs of the children; the dogs on roofs Sights of the shoe-shiners: men and boys, in the parksAnd the copious food carts; -- musicians, paper sellersAnd with its naked featherless wings, cover all-My Lima, Peru with its famous Cathedral:Golden fair-haired with lofty crowns, andWithin its plaza-square, a water fountain-celebrated.Under its sins, with its creased aged men, lovely women,They all stand tall and bow to its Inca history, its glory- Its world that once ruled all, like the Roman Empire,Like the American Dream, they were the noble, the kingsAnd now, from grind and toil, sweat and strive, all, all Grinding, grinding away, each and everyday, lover of the, King of Kings: Jesus Christ-this is the Lima I know today; a mighty ship that has previously sailed the seven seas, now resting!?Spanish VersionLima, La ciudad con las alas extendidas Translated by Rosa PeñalozaEsta es una noche oscura: no estrellas, ni luna a la vistaSolo puntos: rojo, verde y blanco-luces blancasMientras que el avión desciende, desciende, bajando A la larga-extendida-plana persistente ciudad de luces Plana como un panqueque, encendida como un árbol de navidad-La despierta ciudad, con sus alas extendidasExtendidas desde las montañas hacia el océano Zigzagueante a través de los valles, bosques y riachuelos Estirando, estirando sus alas desnudas-interminablesMientras,Voy descendiendo, abajo, por encima y alrededor de la ciudad (Descendiendo, descendiendo, y deslizándose a la tierra)La ciudad con las alas extendidas-y luces interminables Abajo, Abajo, detrás, alrededor, la tierra, es inmune a mí Sólo soy parte de esta noche, un bautizado en su oscuro océanoInvisible: gente, gatos, perros, pájaros, y ratas, infinidadIncontables: puntos, riachuelos de luz, puntos de luz; Gente: caminando, conversando, durmiendo, comiendo bajo los puntos de luz Gente: esperando, matando, robando, rezando bajo los puntos de luzPor mañana, mañana y otro mañanaEllos dicen--:Tu eres implacable, y yo se que esto es verdadY ellos me dicen tú tienes ladrones, y muertes-Y esto, me atrevo a decir, que esto también es cierto, muy ciertoPero muéstrame una ciudad de ocho millones contraria --? Sacudo mis puños y digo: "?muéstrame," pero nadie lo haceTan viva, tan valerosa, con corazones fuertes y hambrientos:Digo, muéstrame una que canta en pobreza, y sonríe Pruébame una como esa, que celebra alrededor del año a sus héroes Muéstrame pintores tan buenos-que venden en las calles-Tan buenos como: Picasso, Dali, Rembrant y Yang YangY que recibe al mundo con extendidos brazosMuéstrame todo esto, o algo de esto, y no diré masCon esto,Desciendo a sus calles, atiborrada, zigzagueantes callesAsí como su raro vecindario con polvo en el aire Y oigo la risa de los niños, los perros en los techos Vista de los lustrabotas, hombres y muchachos, en los parquesY los numerosos carros de comida, músicos y vendedores de periódicosY con su desnuda y desplumadas alas, cubriendo todo-Mi Lima, Perú, con su renombrada catedral:Amarilla dorada con su coronadas torres, yDentro de su plaza cuadrada, una celebrada piletaBajo su piel, con sus arrugados ancianos, tiernas mujeres,Todos ellos parados altos, y reverenciando a su historia inca, sugloria- Su mundo que una vez gobernó todo, como el Imperio RomanoComo el sueño de América, ellos fueron los nobles, los reyesY ahora de pesadez, y esfuerzo, sudor, lucha, todos, todos extenuados, fatigados, este y cada día, amantes del Rey de los Reyes: Jesucristo-esta es la Lima que conozco, hoy; un poderoso barco que ya navegó los siete mares, ahora descansando?Author/Poet Dennis Siluk, web site: http://dennissiluk.
Hindu Poet - Kamalakanta
Kamalakanta was born in Burdwan India in the late 18th Century. From an early age he spoken an appeal in holiness and later in life Kamalakanta customary beginning into Tantric Yoga from a Tantric yogi named Kenaram Bhattacharya.
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