Three poems: the monkey man of lima, plus two more - poetry
What Hides at the back of the Minute?
What hides at the back of the minute?
The rose was dead when I arrived;
Oh lovely minute, where art thou?
#675 5/18/05 [at the bookstore café; Roseville, MN USA]
12) Vietnam: Shrapnel
Here under the ball of blood
The air-is melting Hot!
You know you're all alone
The Monkey Man of Lima
Advance: He is the last of his breed, I do believe; the Monkey Man of Miraflores, Lima, Peru. Who winds his stiff music-box up, while the monkey dances, pulls out a slip with your destiny on it, from its drawer, and hands it to you; he is seventy-four years old, small framed and I confess, every time I go to Lima, about once or twice a year, I look ahead in visiting him; which he is as a rule in the park seven days a week, from about 2:30 to 9:00 PM. He vacations about three times a year for about two weeks each time.
I used him as a atmosphere in one of my before books, "The Mumbler," and gave him a copy, as one of the artists did a water color painting for the cover of the book, of him, and his monkey, and his music-box. His son read the book to him, since it was in English, and not Spanish. He attention it quite the item.
I know he is being paid up in age, and his back will not hold out forever, shipping that big made of wood box on his back ((a belt tied about him and the box))this man of five-foot three, 110-pounds) with his monkey in it-which he has conceded for 60-years-but until it does, until he retires, he is worth seeing, if one takes a trip that way, that is. Authorization me to echo an approximately lost tradition in the poem that follows, one I saw when I was a kid for a short time in Minnesota, and one that lives on in Lima, Peru, today, but may not tomorrow. #661; 5/14/05.
-I get a-thinking!
-I get thinking!
Dennis Siluk, Poet and Author, his website is: http://dennissiluk. tripod. com
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Opposites Do Be a magnet for Quite Well
When I am climbing up, you are stepping down. When I wear a smile, you wear a frown.
Poems have atypical cores, or so I believe, and can only be structured well for a few allegorical 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 inevitably know what poetry is per se, but I do know what the distinction 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 in recent times wrote, all with a assorted core, focus and style.
Learn About Love From Poet Rumi
In this contemporary 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 develop into a average to bond with citizens as each is discovery it a lot harder to meet one a further in the 'real' world.
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 character to do?It is not bacteriaAlthough it can eat away my soulIt is not a virusYet, it can keep me from affection wholeI know what will do the trick,What will put me back on top,A great big bowl of Ice CreamWill exceedingly 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 receiving 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 furious Fears I want to killI will do, at all it takesTo keep the monsters still.
The Trade of Copan [In English and Spanish]
English VersionThe Trade of Copan [480 AD]Advance: The ballgame at the Honduras square in Copan, the year was 480 AD, Copan's 3rd ruler, Mat Head, whom succeeded Quetzal Macaw, whom was the come to grief of the city is now the new ruler. Mat Head, was a female, the partner of Quetzal Macaw, and here is where the story begins.
So many looked to you for inspiration,Unlikely hero for the wheelchair nation.Proudly you fought and smugly you believed,Everyone loved you Christopher Reeve.
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 Cape was given A treasure of gold?; By none other than, Demonic goblins!?in the form of boiling fruit; Hence, Black Wrap fooled The goblins of oldBy using his cape to pull The burning blond 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.
Poetry "Reborn" Emerges In Crime story Mystery Novel
Since Mohamed Ali-then Cassius Clay-announced that he had printed "The world's straight poem," I have known that I would be a poet. "ME? WHEE!" His conquering declaration evoking shivers surrounded by my awkward teenaged identity, for I reasoned in rhyme.
Key Largo - Frater Albertus
Key Largo:The fans turn idly in front of the doorThey open wide presentation mangroves galoreAn egret in the everglades stalks its preyHaltingly it walks along its wayOn a different cheerful and sunny dayA woman's floppy hat shades her beauty not so brittleThe silky-smooth scarf that holds the hat flutters just a littleShe pauses in the threshold of the doorSurveying what she's looking forShe is looking above-board at meHer beauty flaunted all to see.'Where are you from?' while noticing I had a frownOn the other couch she in a classy manner sits downIn the small hotel lobby bar'A city north and very far.
Publishing Your Poetry
If you are critical about as your work in print by dependable publishers, there are a few points you be supposed to consider. Initially and most obviously, you need to agree on if you have poetry worth publishing.
Catherine Daly reviews Antidotes for an Alibi
Amy King Antidotes for an Alibi BlazeVox Books ISBN 0-9759227-5-0 2005These poems read to me like poetry versions of flash fiction. Now, I like flash fiction very much, but I like the more fabulistic kind.
Shaking out the Rugs [Following the Poet]
Let's be a consequence the poet to his Hell and heaven! Count his Ghosts and dilemma's?Reach out to touch his Stretched-out skies; let's follow The poet to see where he lays.Let's adhere to the poet to his end; To see if he can?whatever He wants to do, do over again?.
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 enduring city of illumination Uneven as a crumbled cake, lit up like a Christmas tree-The without sleeping city, with its stretched out wingsStretching from the mountains to the sea- Winding by means 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 a different 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 converse 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 mucky air, And hear the laughs of the children; the dogs on roofs Sights of the shoe-shiners: men and boys, in the parksAnd the frequent food carts; -- musicians, paper sellersAnd with its naked featherless wings, cover all-My Lima, Peru with its famous Cathedral:Golden fair-haired with high crowns, andWithin its plaza-square, a water fountain-celebrated.Under its sins, with its furrowed 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 chore 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 by now 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.
THe Monster Mash, A Necropolis SMASH (short story I wrote when I was 11)
The Monster Mash The Cemetery SmashHave you heard of the Monster Mash? I consider you know the story of how it came to be, right? Well, I'm here to tell the TRUE story to you.It sarted out late one night, when all monsters where out of human sight.
A Ship to Remember
The Lull of Sundown [Over Mantaro Valley] In English and Spanish
Twilight, was now beginning. As forthe sun, it was down-down over the Mantaro Valley of Peru.
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 Antediluvian Rock O'er the mountains steep-:A, vista I've longed to see, residesA site, I've longed to meet-; Thus, dwells, inside this African Valley,Among the best of man's feats? The great, Great Zimbabwe (Enclosure).A million-stones, built these antediluvian 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 endeavor of its self; a collective blooper at best; difficult for sure; but for the most part, the Inca Empire was comprised of ethnic groups who were dominated into the Inca Empire, akin to the Roman, which was a city inhabitants [Empire] you might say, who dominated the whole world into its Roman Empire; likewise, so did the Incas of South America.
Infected Ideologies [a Poetic Portrait]
the disease of extremism is infectious-; whoever cannot think of their child growing up devoid of it is part of the phenomenon! (the abundance of the day). fanaticism,-- with a athletic ideology are seeds for suicide! murder: giving reasons to rage!.
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.
Listen as I Share: WE
You speak simple, completley understandable justifications I acknowledge them, admiration you, honor what you tell me and even all the same I know where you're appearance from, I just required to share with you, let you hear: my heart..
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