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Death & the supernatural: poetry/five poems - poetry

 

Supernatural Poetry

Here are five poems,-what I call-death and supernatural poems. Perchance a bit bizarre, a few stanzas may be, but with constant subtlety of course, and a ting of acuteness, but we have to hag on if we want a good ride:

1.

Evil's Creation

Thou knowith evil clings
To tender peace-;
Nor does it heed one's drowsy
Un-enthralled grief?

But delicately it darkens
Twilight's dunes-;
With pinch shadows
Straight from the moon.

O Night! Who giveth birth?
To Evils plight?
As mighty murmurs
Reached my breast?:

"His name has no beginning
And no end?!"

But why?! O why?
Everlasting King,
Have you created?!
Such a thing?

As mighty murmurs
Reached my breast?:
"To see, whom you love
The very best!. . . "

#609 4/1/05

2.

The First Depth

Struggling adjacent to unrestful skies
The warlords of eternal darkness
-unseen to life's apparent eyes-
Ebb and seek the prize, dominion!

'The First depth,' the silence of the deep
Eternal legions with unrestful eyes
The Abysses storm, uncircumcised
The enormous battlements now untied

'The First Depth,' with rival skies
Here, gathers demonic and divine
Now with storms, once clandestine beyond
Armies of defense, build their saga

And I saw dreadful swords like suns
Thunder and lightening by Orion
This was the communication of cosmic doom
If only man could have seen the gloom.

And the echoes I heard from the stars
Unnamed, immortal flames cast down
Gathered on earth for the final countdown
Armageddon's giant onset!. . .

#610 [4/2/04]

3.

Satan's Daisies

Walk slowly, he is near
Above the clouds;
Talk softly, he can hear
Our venom mouths!

With his dark charcoal horns
And plotted lust,
He that was once fair
Is after us!

#612 [4/3/05]

4.

The Iron Raven

"You cannot escape, sullied death
(Says the axiomatic, Iron Raven,
Who delivers the dead)-
My immortal Icons?!
Die, you shall, exhumed someday-. "
Fame is no exception, to the Raven,
He seals fate, in immoral ways!

#611 [4/3/05]

5.

The Granite Tomb

'Twill be the same, the same
(I told him, when he was living),
A wood or limestone tomb-
In a hundred years, let's say
Or a hundred so called days
What matters to he,
(He will be dead)-?
A pompous monument
Will be of no good-yet
He built it out of Marble
(Nonetheless), not wood!

Your name will be forgotten
Amongst the drivel and roots
O'er bad dampness; and
Who will clean your tomb?
(I asked him all these things
Before he died; and he never
Did reply-and built his tomb
Of marble, approving its size!)

You-in there, in that tomb?!
You cannot hear a thing-!!!!!
And out here they're building
Yes?another burial chamber
For a further rich man?!

#613 [4/3/04]

Poet and Author, Dennis L. Siluk: will be going to Lima, Peru tomorrrow [and the mountians],and to Focal America [Copan] thereafter, for a month to find more poetry to write about. . . and the secrets that reside in its soil. . . !

http://dennissiluk. tripod. com


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