Two poems: san jeronimo brook & [in english and spanish] - poetry
Fair Andes! Thy arms reach high
Of iron-woven solid stone
Of glory buried in thy heart
So many paths, a maze of art?
In thy old, Mantaro Valley
Where adobes, breathe and tremble
There lays the prettiest of brooks
Is my heart, surrounded by its stream!
My image greatly carved, rippled
In its neat shallow waters
Waiting, just behind you for me?
As it opens up, opens up my soul
My rippled soul-searching-eyes!. . .
Note: Amid Lima, Peru, and the Andes, and just ahead of is the Mantaro Valley; therein, lays the area and village called San Jeronimo; tucked away in its foliage, and rural background, is a brook, a brook that runs down form the mountains. It is a lazy and peaceful place. It glistens with the sun. What more can I say. #725 6/10/05
A las Montañas
¡hermosos Andes! tus brazos llegan alto.
De piedra tejida por hierro sólido
De gloria ocultada en tu corazón.
Tantos caminos, un arte de laberinto ?
Donde los adobes, respiran y tiemblan
Allí descansa el más bonito de los arroyos
¡Està mi corazón, dentro de su corriente!
En sus aguas no diluidas bajas
Esperando, solamente esperando por mí ?
Asi como esto se abre, se abre mi alma
¡Mis ojos de examen de conciencia ondulados!. . .
Note: Entre Lima, Perú, y los Andes, y solamente más allá està el Valle del Mantaro; allí dentro descansa el area y el pueblo llamado San Jeronimo; metido dentro de su follaje, y el fondo rústico, es un arroyo, una corriente que corre hacia abajo de las montañas. Esto es un lugar placido y pacífico. Esto brilla con el sol. Que más puede yo decir. *725 6/10/05
Fingers contained by my Dream
"Who's exclusive this dream of mine?"
Death, death contained by a red dream?
?to fine I was never where I thought-
?stinging, grabbing me in this dream;
Dedos dentro de mi Sueño
¿" Quién està dentro de este sueño mio?"
¡(ahora. . . buenas noches)!
Author/Poet Dennis Siluk you can see his books on http://www. bn. com or http://www. amazon. com
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 plant 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 crazy eyes of death.He order 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.
Four Poems: Two for the Devil, Two for Peru
Here is some witty poetry (not sure if that is the apposite word: witty, but it will do): one poem on the Aztec year 2012, a year that has been in the public's eye quite a lot; one on cloning, and the biblical end time events--which, if I may add seems ripe for the monster procedures that are said to take place; and two poems production with some tradtions of Peru; one imparticular, on vacationing, where not to go; all the makings for some thought.Aztec BabyOn December 25, 2012 AD The Devil had an idea- He'd clone himself In the form of a baby; Called the Antichrist.
The Gaul of La Laguna de Paca
Part OneI tell you a legend of long ago Of the cadaverous city of La Laguna de Paca, (Where I had met a drawn out ghost) Within this area 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 adjoining towns folks, she echoes.
Ode to: The Ice Maiden of Ampatos Brow [now in: English and Spanish]
Dedícate to Antonio Castillo. L.
The Time Has Come and Buzzing
Most of my poems are on paper late at night, often, as this one was, after I have bowed out the illumination to go to sleep. It seems that is the time when I am most creative.
Ballade of an Inca King
Ah! Leave the gold, wealth and landSays the Inca King?; In Spain, they leave the full of life streets, For sail to Peruvian shores;The mumble 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 after prisons doors-?They babble about his fair-haired ringsThey watch the winds cross the shores? They count the days that idle by, For gold they worship and will die.Envoy.
Four Poems: Crop of Angry Domestic animals [Katrinas Pathway]
Four Poems: Katrina's PathwayHarvest of Enraged Horses ((Dedicated to: Katrina)) crisis)It has happened before: Nearby and afar, Where the four-horses of Apocalypse With their blazing nostrils Breathed in the fury of the winds Only to vomit out, disaster; - Then galloped away, Against pale faces!..
Poetry "Reborn" Emerges In Detective movie Mystery Novel
Since Mohamed Ali-then Cassius Clay-announced that he had on paper "The world's nonstop poem," I have known that I would be a poet. "ME? WHEE!" His celebratory decree evoking shivers surrounded by my anxious teenaged identity, for I reasoned in rhyme.
It's dark, it's cold, its' just six thirty,thoughts of sleep still dull my brain,As I cluster down, contained by my coat,a customer clone, just behind you for a train.Insidious rain, just drizzly down,through weak light of creeping dawn,Paper sandwich bags and old auburn cups,blowing past, look so forlorn.
Never Ever More
Once upon a midnight dreary, coffee cold and dream bleary, all night sat there characters COBOL, coding apply crossways the bed sheets, changing grammar for the mainframe, having checkered my final line, I took the floppy from the drive.Typing with a steady hand, I then invoked the SAVE command, but there below my effectuation, appeared the cryptic communication, "Abort, Retry, Ignore" and nil more.
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 alternative of the day). fanaticism,-- with a authoritative ideology are seeds for suicide! murder: giving reasons to rage!.
Two Poems: Boyhood, and Old Age [with a note on style]
BoyhoodOh me! Thy glorious days have flown! I mealy noticed, now they're gone, How at once accepted the flowers! Time does not stop youth's bells; It was like I was in a spell, And my face now shows the hours!Ah yes! My young past days, Still lively in my blond age, When all was quick and new Now wrapped in movies and books, And contacts and ancestors were all I knew And love was shown by affable looks!#741 6/26/05Old AgeThey stop by to see me now To find what's old and new, They peer into my-everything, And carp my views; They tell me what I must like, And that I be supposed to be grieved-These are my fragile contacts That takes the strongest liberties?I mean to take the signal off; And put the phone beyond the door; In vain I speak to tell them why -I shan't live here anymore!#742 6/26/05A note on Style: some ancestors ask, "What style of poetry to you like the best?" I can never counter that question; it is open-ended to me. If I feel like flouting free from tradition as in the poem of: "Old Age," so be it; and if I feel conventional verse, a stricter correct blueprint ought to be used, as in "Boyhood," and can add completely to the poem, so it is.
The Ballad of: Brawling Mad-dog Sergeant Rook [Now in: SPANISH and English]
English VersionA bunch of us guys in the hutIn ?Nam Were in concert cards, singing songs; In a solo-room, back of the hut Lay mad-dog, Sergeant Rook;And inspection from a distance Was his sidekick, Physical Cook.When out of the night, he wantedTo fight This bully of six-foot-two Dog-drunk, smelling like a skunkI sought to fight him too.
Famous Poets Quotations - Top 30 Poetry Quotations by Illustrious Poets
"For this analyze poetry is a touch more philosophical and more commendable of acute consideration than history."-- Aristotle"Every American poet feels that the whole accountability for contemporary poetry has fallen upon his shoulders, that he is a literary lords and ladies of one.
Footprints to Mantaro Valley (a poem in Spanish and English)
Footprints to Mantaro Valley (English version)In what back away art hid?-Where diminishing mountains groan In shadow and amongThe torrents of the Rio? Is not your name Mantaro Valley?Beyond the footsteps 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? .
Two Poems In print For the duration of Recovery
Since my wife and I are moving, or preparing to move, we've been going all the way through our equipment as most associates must, to arrange for the new location, and in doing so, I found two poems, ones I wrote in 1990, now 15-years old, never published, and so I'd like to advertise them today. I was a heavy drinker up to 1984 (some twenty years drinking), when I quite, and so these poems must have a bit to do with it, a feeble contemplation perhaps.
Five Mixed Poems, with Notes [now is Spanish and English]
1.Night in Jamaica [Peruvianism: 1810]It was a rainy night they say When don Simon Bolivar Slept in the arms of beautiful -Luisa Crober (of Jamaica); thus an Assassin missed his mark When he stabbed Major Amestoy Sleeping in the dark In Bolivar's hammock!.
Feelings, O How Glorious!
Sometimes we feel hard-pressed, Our backs alongside the wall; Sometimes we feel lightheaded, As if we are going to fall.Sometimes we feel fierce anger At those who abuse guns; Sometimes we feel ashamed Of how we treat God's barely ones.
The Lull of Dusk [Over Mantaro Valley] In English and Spanish
Twilight, was now beginning. As forthe sun, it was down-down over the Mantaro Valley of Peru.
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, habitually portraying its cruel and savage makeup in his work as a deliberation of his own own distress and magic beliefs - committed that advanced man had lost touch with the prehistoric side of his nature.
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