Five mixed poems, with notes [now is spanish and english] - poetry
Night in Jamaica
It was a rainy night they say
Love for love
Epitaph in El Dorado
Ride high, ride high
There upon a cliff
His drive you mad brain
And so it was
Epitaph of a Shoeshine Boy
I cannot sleep, I cannot sleep
The earth is warm under my feet;
I cannot sleep, I cannot sleep
Whereas, I walk alone again
Note: When I was a boy of 11 to 13, I used to go from bar to bar in St. Paul, Minnesota and shoeshine (l958-61). I made money that way, until I was 14-years old, at which time I worked for what is now the "Fitzgerald Theater"; where Battalion Keillor (whom I met twice) has his show, "A Grassland Home companion. "
Ah! Last night it was a night
I so love the wild rain
Note: It rained out last night (a storm), in St. Paul, Minnesota, USA; 3:30 AM. My care for used to be frightened by such storms, but I loved them it seems; odd are we not, so assorted in what we value. #721 6/8/05
Cinco poemas Mixtos, con apuntes
Noche en Jamaica
Esta fuè una noche lluviosa ellos dicen
asesino fallò su blanco
Amor por amor
Alto al Paseo, alto al paseo
Allí sobre una roca
Su cerebro enfurecido
Y entonces fuè
Estoy harto de este poema
No puedo dormir, no puedo dormir
La tierra està caliente bajo mis pies;
No puedo dormir, no puedo dormir
Mientras que, ando solo otra vez
Nota: Cuando yo era un muchacho de 11 a 13, solía ir de bar en bar en Saint Paul Minnesota y lustraba botas (l958-61). Gané dinero de esta manera, hasta que yo tuve 14 años, en el cual trabajé para lo que es ahora el " Teatro Fitzergerald "; donde la Guarnición Keillor (con quien me encontré dos veces) tiene su espectáculo, " A Praire home companion"
¡Ah! Anoche esto fue una noche
Nota: llovió afuera anoche (una tormenta), en Saint Paul, Minnesota, EE. UU; a las 3h30. Mi madre solía estar asustada por tales tormentas, pero yo los abrigue eso parece; extraños somos nosotros , tan diferentes en lo que valoramos.
Poet Dennis Siluk http://dennissiluk. tripod. com the book, "Spell of the Andes," is just about ready for the public, got a note today axiom it is going to press. . . this is the best of Dennis' poems on Vietnam and Peru, and Copan, Honduras Rosa
Ceasar Vallejo: Black Roses [In English and Spanish]
Cesar Vallejo: Black RosesBow down your head ol' poet- To face God's grace ahead There are no more trenchesTo dig today? In the afforest of your head,So-: Bow down, bow down,Ol' barbaric poet! Death rides the horse ahead I hear the crackling of a whip See the demented eyes of death.He writ you to his den- The devil and his wind,So-: Bow down, bow down Your blood tainted brows He will take you to the edge.
The Dead God of Copan (in English and Spanish)
English VersionAnd 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 Essential America. All came and all left, one way or another; now just dust and artifacts in the spiral of time.
My hero, my best friend, my Grannio (a.k.a my Grandmother)
She raised me like I was her own daughter from the day I was born 32 years ago.She loved me like insignificant person else has ever loved me in my life.
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 asset 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 rinse my soulOcean let me grow in your depths Color me animated 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, dramatist and teacher.
Grandpas House & From Iraq with Love [Two Poems]
Grandpa's House [The ole Real House]The house considered necessary painting Sun-blistered and flaking Grandpa ongoing to have us Boys-Mike and I- start Doing some scraping-While he, pealed off the ole Paint, and in progress painting?Just a humble inexpressive house With quite a few rooms, but Strong adequate to keep the Winds and coldness snows out, How he loved that ole house!..
Mechanical Poetry - Part Three
Have you ever read the lyrics of a Simon and Garfunkle song? Pure poetry. Want to write poems like that? Start repetition them.
Life is a Fantasy
LIFE IS A FANTASY!A pink-eyed rabbit, fuzzy whiteHops in bedrooms full with frightA child of six with much to knowHer father's basest feelings showShe knows of LOVE, only by means of himHe satisfies his every whimHe leaves, she wipes himfrom her chin!Her protect NEEDS to see the bestHe answered her God requestTo have a roof to comfort bringA yard where all the birdies singTell me how she could especially knowWhat find for culture could she go?Her protect consistently beaten if not worseThe cycle of violence - a woman's curseConflicting visions, dependenciesOne can go on many idiosyncrasiesShe could not make him defendant beDenial, avoidance? she disbelievesThe rabbit hides beneath tall trees.At thirteen a step-grandfatha'Finds a well-trained girl that oughta'Do what able men requestNever aware what is bestAnd run away she does at lastFreedom can be such a 'blast'A rabbit's foot upon a chainThe FANTASY her 'safe' domainHow long in life must it remain?To keep her from these menWho at all times for her lips, do 'yen'A state trooper in Tennessee Like every other man does see Her lips so full and delicious red Through the bars, not in a bed.
The Botch of Lima and Footpath to Mantaro Valley (Two Poems)
Footprints to Mantaro Valley (Peru; in English and Spanish)In what draw back art hid?-Where lessening mountains groan In shadow and amongThe fast-moving water of the Rio? Is not your name Mantaro Valley?Beyond the footpath of the Andes--?I can hear your voice in echoesI can hear thy voice, beautifully low. I do but know thy by a glanceAs the clouds above me know? .
THe Monster Mash, A Burial ground 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.
Expressing an Emotion - The Art of Journalism Poetry
Writing poetry is an art, a way of expression, conclusion connotation in few words. A air of passion flowing out onto the pages, words that flow into each other and yet communicate the inner most judgment and feelings of those who read the words.
Opposites Do Be a focus for Quite Well
When I am climbing up, you are stepping down. When I wear a smile, you wear a frown.
How wonderfully sweet to be a dweller dwelling on the road of goodbye. Bittersweet tears fall as I think of all the chairs I'll never see, all the faces I'll never know, all the joys I'll never share, as I head for the unknown.
Death & the Supernatural: Poetry/Five Poems
Supernatural PoetryHere are five poems,-what I call-death and supernatural poems. I don't know 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.
Storm Rising along the Lima Coast
Storm Rising along the Lima Coast [Summer of 2002]?wind was blowing at high speed It never left for a instant Bursts of fury I found it challenging to keep My feet placed, thus, I clung to my knees For one harmonious jiffy I could not now disguise it From in my opinion Some clever air Manifested itself Then the in progress drew Sharply away from me With her mystery-Back out into the open sea Yet-, still it roared back at me! It was an spoken announce It made my head swim I noticed it kept-step With my exultation!?#761 7/14/2005Notes: There are mysteries to the sea, at times it seems as to have its own mind, its own character; as if description was plugged into all that exist. Earth itself being an creature with its own lively soul.
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.
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, perchance coldness about the corner-; As the flies disappear, with the mosquitoes? Leaves will soon vanish, gloom will come earlyMaybe he's idea 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, foremost 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.
AFRICA (to africans in diaspora)africa here i come, africa africa of the black soul the soul of an antediluvian cultivation the background of your timid tribes.its your voice i hear africa your voice of the conversation drums your beaded drums and the royal trumpeter the metal gong of your town crieri have come to see your music dance i have heard of your perpetual minstrels have i not heard of your undulation hips! i have heard adequate and have come to watch wouldn't you dance for me africaafrica here i come africa would you not show me to your tribes the timid tribes of your syrupy tongues the different tongues of your good menafrica, black soul africa tell me about your gods your gods of the sky and of the nurse earth your gods of the hills and of the rivers aboundshow me to your kings africa your kings of the antiquated dynasty the antique house of rusted spear and shield africa, here i come africaHEAVENLY GUESTheavenly guest heralding thunderously in its own awake pelting on men as well, the gods gathering itself drop by drop.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning: A Debate of How Do I Love Thee?
"How Do I Love Thee?" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning was printed in 1845 while she was being courted by the English poet, Robert Browning. The poem is also posh Elegy XLIII from Sonnets From the Portuguese.
Ambiguity and Abstraction in Bob Dylan's Lyrics
To many citizens contemporary poetry is a turn-off. The analyze for this is that the bulk of these poems are boring.
Savage Nature: The Life of Ted Hughes
One of the most crucial poets of the post-war period, Edward James Hughes (1930-1998), was drawn towards the primitive. He was captivated by the beauty of the artless world, normally portraying its cruel and savage disposition in his work as a consideration of his own delicate anguish and numinous beliefs - certain that avant-garde man had lost touch with the prehistoric side of his nature.
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