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The bungle of lima and road to mantaro valley (two poems) - poetry

 

Footprints to Mantaro Valley
(Peru; in English and Spanish)

In what flee art hid?-

Where declining mountains groan In shadow and among

The fast-moving water of the Rio? Is not your name Mantaro Valley?

Beyond the footsteps of the Andes--?

I can hear your voice in echoes

I can hear thy voice, beautifully low. I do but know thy by a glance

As the clouds above me know? . Ah! Gone like that, but love-love!

Hath found my naked soul!

4-20-05 (#627) Note: in black and white after bearing in mind the Mantaro Valley, afar the Andes.

The Exterminate of Lima (Dedicated to: Mario Poggi)

Prologue: I do not wish to judge anyone, lest I be judged, and God forbid be supposed to I be judged by any person but He. Thus, I write this next poem with a word of discretion to the person who reads likewise, that all is not as it seems, is it. Having said that, it has been said the Psychologist Mario Poggi-whom I met on three occasions and purchased a monument from, and acknowledged one from him as a gift-has erudite the hard way-that is, the curse of revenge has long wings; hence, revenge is for the Lord. Why? Since both the righter of wrongs and the victim are cursed thereafter (one does not have time to make amends if that is actually his wish; the other, loses his life leisurely as he lives on). Thus, "The Exterminate of Lima," is especially a conjure up of the carving Mr. Poggi calls, "The Face of Anguish"; or at least it is to me. For the duration of our three meetings, I did not find in his eyes guilt for his deadly deed, for he rid a city of a fanatic who was acerbic up bodies and burying them,-and perchance saved a few lives, did he not? But considerably a depression that he did not close his eyes at some point in the administer of his assassination of man called "The Butcher," and now the sculptures he has molded with his hands are the eyes of his soul.

The Poem "The Bungle of Lima"

The Psychologist, he killed

"The Botch of Lima," So it has been said?

With a belt about his neck He strangled him to death!

As he sucked in his breath-- Head engraved like a fish!?

Poetic Justice!

He died a purple death

The "Butcher of Lima?. " And no one wept.

And the media cried the name: "Poggi! Poggi!?you're insane!"

It is as fate would have it

Motionless and beyond Are the cold blades of redemption.

#628 (4-21-05)

Poet, Dramatist Dennis L. Siluk, is now peripatetic all over South and Chief America and when given the chance, is stopping at Internets to send back some of his poetry, as he creates his poems. His site: http://dennissiluk. tripod. com


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