The dead god of copan (in english and spanish) - poetry
And the Death God said: "Let it rise to its glory in the Rio Valley-for a season; then let it be gone, we shall call it Copan?"
Prologue: Empires come and go, liken to cosmic events, or the storms about the world: Atlantis, Mu, Greece, Persia, Rome, the Inca Nation, and even the great Maya heroic times of Copan, in Focal America. All came and all left, one way or another; now just dust and artifacts in the spiral of time. But I shall pick out one, just one king, Smoke-Imix [-God K], for he was the last of the great warriors, or so I believe.
[The Saga begins]
Before there was 'new light,' the 8th Lord of Night ruled in the Valley of Copan?-then light broke out [3114 BC] over the Copan Valley-and women and men walked hand in hand to coin a new civilization-but where there is peace, there is blood in the sands?and this is where it all began?.
#467/Feb, 2005; devoted to Clark A.
Versión en Español
El Dios de la Muerte de Copan
Por Dennis L. Siluk
Traducido por Nancy Peñaloza
Y el Dios de la Muerte dijo: "Déjelo levantarse de su gloria en el Valle del Río-por una estación; después déjalo que se vaya, nosotros lo llamaremos Copan?"
Prologo: Imperios viene y van, comparados como acontecimientos cósmicos, o tormentas alrededor del mundo. Atlántica, Mu, Grecia, Persia, Roma, la Nación Inca, e incluso el gran Tiempo Heroico Maya de Copan, en América Central. Todo viene y va, de una forma u otra; justo ahora como polvo y artefactos en la espiral del tiempo. Pero escogeré uno, solo un rey, Smoke-Imix [-God K], por que el fue del ultimo de los guerreros, o eso es lo que pienso.
[Así comienza la leyenda]
Antes de que hubiera la 'luz nueva,' el octavo Señor de la Noche gobernó en el Valle de Copan? -después la luz se esparció [3114 BC] sobre el Valle de Copan-y mujeres y hombres caminaron tomados de la mano para crear una civilización nueva-pero donde hay paz, hay sangre en las arenas. . . y esto es donde todo empezó?.
#467/Feb, 2005; dedicado a Clark A. Smith, Poeta, quien creía que Copan estaba relacionado con Atlántica.
Note: Spanish Description concluded 4-20-2005.
Author and Poet Dennis L. Siluk is presently in Honduras, in San Pedro de Sula, about an hour drive to the Copan site, which he will be at tomorrow, and has just complete the Spanish Adaptation of the poem. . . Rosa Peñaloza
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 incessantly you roll Giving depth that's been drainedOcean keep me warm Wrap me in your brine Caress me with your tidesOcean disappear my tears As they flow in you I bathe my soulOcean let me grow in your depths Color me brilliant 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, creator and teacher.
A Case of The Fears
Chicken Soup is good for a coldSleep is good for the FluWhen I get a case of the FearsWhat is a being to do?It is not bacteriaAlthough it can eat away my soulIt is not a virusYet, it can keep me from air wholeI know what will do the trick,What will put me back on top,A great big bowl of Ice CreamWill actually hit the spotThat was great and now I am doneOne bowl just won't doIf one is good, then more is greatAnd now I have eaten two.Bowls three, four, five and sixCame and then they wentI think my case of the fears are fixedLook at how my time was spentI am in receipt of sleepyIt is time to go to bedMy fears are no longer in my stomachNow they are in my headI close my eyes and I can be livid Fears I want to killI will do, anything it takesTo keep the monsters still.
Daybreak at Pikes Creek [a Poem]
Daybreak at Pikes Creek [Summer of 2005]Daybreak by Lake Superior Rising out of the woods like: A swamp mist I'm before you for breakfast(at the B&B) I pace the grounds The scent of green shrubbery: Trees, flora, flowers-rain Intoxicates me- Branches like big brown arms Descend? The embankment, to the right Blue eyed, like mine-reflect From the creek beneath me (my wife says 'be careful' she went to get the camera) The greens and blues touch My face and blue jeans- Reflections mirrored like Musical notes of a symphony (I'll see them later in pictures) For now, it's daybreak In Minnesota.#813 8/26/2005Note: the author, Dennis Siluk, took his wife Rosa [me: on my birthday] to Lake Superior, this summer, and I recognized the chief lake in the world.
The Gaul of La Laguna de Paca
Part OneI tell you a legend of long ago Of the buried city of La Laguna de Paca, (Where I had met a drawn out ghost) Within this constituency of Huancayo--Peru; Truth lies, but only the soul knows.Part TwoSo the legend goes, of long ago: During the rising of the full moon The Mermaid of La Laguna de Paca, appears And to the close towns folks, she echoes.
Since Youve Been Gone...
My life has changedin so so many waysIt seems to constantly bein a state of disarray..
Three Poems: Phantasm of the Rocks; Lady from Lima & Bell Ringer of de Copan
Phantom of the Rocks[Huancayo, Peru]Night falls deepUpon the traveler!Low, over the AndesBy Huancayo-;They know a legend,Not of this earth,Where evil lurks(Over Palla-Huarcuan!..
Ballade of an Inca King
Ah! Leave the gold, wealth and landSays the Inca King?; In Spain, they leave the full of go streets, For sail to Peruvian shores;The hum of the gold is sweet,It glows and glistens like the sun A mountain of gold, or the grave Awaits the human, Inca-god?!Spaniards sing their songs of victoryWhere breaks the green Peruvian sea; Who now, worships the Inca King (?) Guarded at the back prisons doors-?They gossip about his fair ringsThey watch the winds cross the shores? They count the days that idle by, For gold they worship and will die.Envoy.
Five Poems from Home [And a view on the earth vs. the poet]
Five Poems from Home1) Remembering: Dorothy Parker [Dedicated to the 1920s Poetess]Let it be said, Dorothy Parker lies dead, cremated to ash and poetry; thus, she died at the ripe old age of seventy-three-.The tiny woman with a big mouth, who got trapped in the rain and couldn't get out: continued to play the game, all the same, like drops of rain upon a pane.
Looking Out the Rear Window
The funeral rite concluded With the cleric shaking hands, Offering words of comfort I didn't quite understand.The undertakers came forth And summoned pallbearers' four.
How wonderfully sweet to be a dweller dwelling on the road of goodbye. Bittersweet tears fall as I think of all the spaces I'll never see, all the faces I'll never know, all the joys I'll never share, as I head for the unknown.
The Plane from Iquitos [1959-Part One]
Iquitos & the Amazon Part OneIt was December 2, l959, I was meeting on a small prop-plane goodbye Iquitos, Peru for a trip down the Amazon concerning the opening, the mouth of the mighty Amazon,--to Manaus. As we flew low one could see the waters of the Amazon, the city all the time impressed me, but more from this birds-eye view, you could see the mighty river in its squid like form, with all it tentacles [contributories: waters concerning to the river].
Antidotes for an Alibi
Amy King's first full-length collection, Antidotes for an Alibi, insists that we appraise the deceiving clarity of our measures and the goals that motivate us. How does one in point of fact get from "A" to "B"-and is there ever actually a "B"? What color is the white space concerning "A" and "B"? Upon earlier inspection, become known realities bring to light themselves to be leaky and fragile, encrusted with textures and grains that lead the eye on not to be trusted pathways.
New Poetic Work By Ethiopian Colonizer Promotes Respect, Courage And Cultural Sensitivity
McLean, VA - "The Curative Conscious" tells the story of an Ethiopian refugee boy on his fascinating journey to America and adulthood. Biographer Kifle Bantayehu, a 23 year-old second-generation Ethiopian immigrant, recounts this distressing tale in poetic format.
Two Poems: Black Poncho, and Spirits of de Copan [in English and Spanish]
English Version12) Black Poncho(of Saint Cosme Hill, by Lima, Peru)Lost in the grottos of Peru- By the hills of Huancayo Black Cloak was given A treasure of gold?; By none other than, Demonic goblins!?in the form of baking fruit; Hence, Black Cape fooled The goblins of oldBy using his wrap to pull The blistering fair-haired fruit Through the Andes to Lima, Peru!?Henceforward, he was swindled By a jeweler of dire repute. Thus, his life misrepresented (as so often they do); And now he lives with: Thirty-five dogs, on San Cosme Hill.
I Hate The Wait (Weight)
I get up in the morningAnd want to stay in bedOh, so nice and warmLike fresh from the oven bread.My day is oh so busyI wish that I could stayIn the quiet of my houseIf only I could play.
I Saw the Universe
I can see the indigo blue of the skiesOr the navy of the nightI can see the stars wink, the grin of the moonDuring the changes of it's monthly face**I am in awe**I see the sun on it's yearly trekAlternately arousing the life in the earthAnd then loss away to allow it to sleepUntil the next spring**I am told the Universe is "out there"Beyond those stars, moon and sun,Yet the power of what I can seeIs a fathoming clear of my comprehension**I am in awe**"Out there" no time, no seasons passNo sense of age, hatred or loss existOnly the infinity0f the Universe**What IS "out there"?What IS the Universe that has no end?What IS the power that creates all this?I want to see it too**And then I remember..
Poems have atypical cores, or so I believe, and can only be structured well for a variety of abstract language-heart beats; like all counselors are not made for all clients, so all poems are not made for the same person, or purpose; when we read we all have our likes and dislikes; I do not automatically know what poetry is per se, but I do know what the eminence of poetry has, and great poetry is close to an illusion?it carries an echo I do believe-figurative yes, at best, and questionable yes, by far. Here are five poems I've freshly wrote, all with a altered core, focus and style.
To My Friend, With Love
All is still; all quiet; The world seems to be at peace. My soul is singing its cadenced melody And I'm led like in a dream to write its tunes.
Asha of Darfur [A poem with a commentary by the author]
Asha of DarfurCry, cry-oh diminutive Darfur woman For your sister Janjaweed- [in Sudan's hard region-who was raped to death); Where rape and death run ramped;And Asha prays the Arabs don't' hear Here bawling barely black tears? ?in fear she will be chained to a bedIn Darfur, by the insidious justice Of the Arabs, who run ramped?Ah, yes! In Darfur you've guessed, It is not a crime to raped and arrested; By the very one who raped, and terrorizedYou; it is the conquest?Satan's ribs!..
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 become weak away.
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