Three poems (while in transition/english and spanish) - poetry
Here are three more poems by the author, Dennis Siluk, while nomadic througout Essential and South America.
Orange Timid Moon
O´er the Copan sky
an arch of dark
orange and timid-
of the Maya gods
Note: in print while at the Copan Ruines, in Honduras, April, 2005.
Versión en Español
Luna Tímida Anaranjada
Sobre el cielo de Copan
un arco de sombras teje sus telas
anaranjada y tímida -
más que pasa .
de los Maya dioses
Nota: escrito mientras estaba en las Ruinas de Copan, en Honduras, Abril de 2005.
Cyclye of the Buterfly
First they were an egg
Then the new cycle begins
But who was first?
Note: in print while at the Butterfly Conservatory, in Copan, Honduras, 4-24-2005.
The Austere Things
I was difficult to think of great equipment to write
The purring of the plane
What superior gift has God given, than
How often do we meet kings?
It is the clear-cut effects you see!
And so I shall close my eyes
(flying from Boater to Lima)
sitting in this damn plane
Note: While fleeting from Bonnet to Lima, Peru, the cause wrote this poem, behind you to get home to his casa in Lima, 4-26-05.
Poet and Biographer Dennis Siluk, is presently in Lima, Peru final some poetry he has in black and white while in the Andes, and Honduras, and Peru in General. Ahead of you to go to Colombia.
Web site: http://dennissiluk. tripod. com
Two Poems: San Jeronimo Brook & [in English and Spanish]
Fair Andes! Thy arms reach highOf iron-woven solid stone Thu art a condor to the skyOf glory covert in thy heartSo many paths, a maze of art?In thy old, Mantaro ValleyWhere adobes, breathe and tremble Beyond your bucolic shadowsThere lays the prettiest of brooksIs my heart, inside its stream!My image greatly carved, rippledIn its neat shallow watersWaiting, just behind you for me?As it opens up, opens up my soulMy rippled soul-searching-eyes!..
Memoirs of a Wastelands Rim [a Poem: now in Spanish and English]
Memoirs of a Wasteland's RimIt still was light when she paused at the wasteland's rim- Over, the rim rest like a sleeping brute, a stiff frame Adjacent to the blue where early stars hung like oil lamps Hanging from old beams and shade?the impassive frame Her traction trapped the beams, as she had fallen onto it Alone, she watched the forenoon, climbing about her A tramp woman, discernible by life, and at an angle dreams With arrival of hurt and molded muscle on her face Her assume engraved anti the impassive frame, She tried to jump, and lost her balance, killing like a bird Now sipping the gloom in the ledge and devastated hopes She yielded already the listless early payment of sunset Blood dripped, with her dying darkness And a cherry moon hurled a flame across The eerie clouds, burning all through the sky The beleaguered sky above her?Crossing the valley's floor her eye enthralled it Rocky images, main points Thrusting herself up confidently from to the ledge The painted cock-crow blushed over the rim Her brows and nose, face aligned with the building material stone Massive injuries was attractive form, Her figure balanced so languorously athwart the sun It was too great a task-to die alone?she wished now She had not jumped?a thousand feet below, yet to go. Too much for any woman in a lost world Out of the weak wood her mind had peace; She knew soon it would all be over-alas Mute and protesting alongside life's uselessness A narrow path lay below her lean body Between death and attainment, a careless foot The rocks beneath her weakening, she plunged Plunged to her death, in the figure hands of the valley Thinking of it, as she fell, accepted wisdom with a smiled, Saying, looking up-dead already her echoes: 'Time is short?time is short?time is short!' When they found her, her face was brave of falling.
Azra, Azra, Wake up Azra. Wake up Azra, It is time to go.
A Happiness Poem
If a happiness poem could bring forth a smile, Then my face would continually dress in style.If my ears could hear my central processing unit screen, From one to another, they, too, would grin.
Ode To Quetzalcoatal [Now in Spanish and English]
Ode to QuetzalcóatlQuetzalcóatl the GreatNo one knew his true name, so they Called him Quetzalcóatl-feather Serpent He and his crew of nineteen: faces Strange faces, imagery of a prince, a lord: King of the Yucatan in the year 986 ADHe was a tall man; long cloths, sandals; White as day, with a long beard, black hair. Some say red: some don't say? But they called him priest, Lord, king Amongst many things: god!.
So many looked to you for inspiration,Unlikely hero for the wheelchair nation.Proudly you fought and arrogantly you believed,Everyone loved you Christopher Reeve.
Black Blood, in Jeremiahs Vines - A Poem and an Article
Black Blood, in Jeremiah's Vines [A Dream Poem]And I heard the crackling of wood, and I noticed the Lord God had made men of wood, and fire came from his mouth.Then the wind poured its grief upon us-over our sins; and I heard the words for the seventh time, "Go to the mountains!"Foolish colonize of this land pray and understand-for He cometh! Thereof, toss physically to thy knees, for the roar of disloyal men will bleed: black blood, by means of the vines of Jeremiah.
How wonderfully sweet to be a dweller dwelling on the road of goodbye. Bittersweet tears fall as I think of all the sitting room I'll never see, all the faces I'll never know, all the joys I'll never share, as I head for the unknown.
I Saw the Universe
I can see the azure blue of the skiesOr the cerulean 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 once a year trekAlternately beginning the life in the earthAnd then desertion 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 away from 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..
Breathing-in, Minnesota [a poem: now in Spanish and English]
In early fall, in Minnesota, the rain falls, falls, In buckets, buckets and more buckets-: drops Likened to music from its many streams-land Of ten-thousand lakes; moistened gravel, gravel Everywhere?Grandpa sits on the porch-daydreaming of, of Something, i don't know chill about the corner-; As the flies disappear, with the mosquitoes? Leaves will soon vanish, dimness will come earlyMaybe he's accepted wisdom about summer: miles and miles And miles and miles of cornfields; his childhood now Long gone, he hums a hymn, a song; looking at the Metal-piped fence, he made, with three poles, on the Embankment, important up the steps to the porch; It's worn-out like him.The winds in Minnesota smell fresh, fresh from all The foliage, there's a lot of it.
Rules for Journalism Poetry
You've been characters poetry since that first assignment in your high discipline copy class. You know the rules about inscription poetry, right? Are there rules? Well, if you hang around the poetry forums crossways the Internet as much as I do, you'd find that there are a lot of amateur poets who fixedly assert that there are no rules for characters poetry and if a big cheese even suggests appraisal poetry or books on poetry, many of the amateur poets will throw up a cynical front.
The Treasure of Catalina Huanca (In English and Spanish)
Note: on paper after since the a small amount adobe 16th century cathedral San Sebastian, in San Jeronimo, by the mountains of Huancayo, Peru, after being taken there by the Wandering Quechua guide, Enrique (4-13-2005).The Treasure of Catalina HuancaWritten by Dennis L.
Song of the Great Zimbabwe, and Silver and Inca Blood [Poems and notes]
"Song of the Great Zimbabwe"Across the African, winter's skyIn the Southern edge of Zimbabwe Looking down from the Hill ComplexFrom on top, of an Antique Rock O'er the mountains steep-:A, vista I've longed to see, residesA site, I've longed to meet-; Thus, dwells, contained by this African Valley,Among the most of man's feats? The great, Great Zimbabwe (Enclosure).A million-stones, built these antiquated wallsSome twelve-fathoms, fathoms high That seems to reach unto the sky;Some say: a fortress, and palace, it is; And perhaps-, the legendary 'Ophir!'#747 7/2/05Silver and Inca BloodIn the Great Silver mines of Potosi-(Inca Indians) Conscripted mine workersCarry Quotas of ore-up hundreds of feetOf rope laddered-steps For don Francisco de ToledoAnd King Philip II, of Spain-;A farcified eyesight to becomeRich-off Inca blood, In the year-1571?#744 7/1/05Notes: (The Inca Empire): the guess is often that the Inca Empire was a large project of its self; a communal confuse at best; dense for sure; but for the most part, the Inca Empire was comprised of ethnic groups who were dominated into the Inca Empire, analogous to the Roman, which was a city homeland [Empire] you might say, who under enemy control the whole world into its Roman Empire; likewise, so did the Incas of South America.
Poetry "Reborn" Emerges In Adventure movie Mystery Novel
Since Mohamed Ali-then Cassius Clay-announced that he had in black and white "The world's express poem," I have known that I would be a poet. "ME? WHEE!" His dominant declaration evoking shivers inside my concerned teenaged identity, for I reasoned in rhyme.
The Exit Poems [Iron and Fire & No Heroes]
The Exit Poems [And Socrates]Iron and FireIron can be allay by fire- grows hard in the cold; and all the gates therein are, as it was, clogged again. So, often are those misled? by luxury and pride, who push humbleness aside-: thus, deliverance their vanity and perfection their virtue? and in the end, they all collided.
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 imprisonment and death of Atahualpa the Inca King of the Inca Empire, in the 16th century (Peru).Atahualpa, lasting in Cajamarca Greeted by De Soto, his free alone from Spain! "Be Calm! These times will be tolerant to you.
Shakespeares Couplet XVIII, Shall I Balance Thee to a Summers Day?
Shakespeare's sonnets demand time and energy to appreciate. Accepting the abundant meanings of the lines, the crisply made references, the ability of the images, and the density of the sound, rhythm and arrangement of the verse difficulty interest and experience.
Infected Ideologies [a Poetic Portrait]
the disease of extremism is infectious-; whoever cannot think of their child growing up not including it is part of the phenomenon! (the abundance of the day). fanaticism,-- with a able ideology are seeds for suicide! murder: giving reasons to rage!.
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.
New Poetic Work By Ethiopian Migrant Promotes Respect, Courage And Cultural Sensitivity
McLean, VA - "The Curing Conscious" tells the story of an Ethiopian colonist boy on his fascinating journey to America and adulthood. Dramatist Kifle Bantayehu, a 23 year-old second-generation Ethiopian immigrant, recounts this agonizing tale in poetic format.
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