In poetry: gist of words [and ...rocket-belt] - poetry
In Poetry: Connotation of Words
When I write poetry, I check out the denotation of words for too often they sound the same, but once written, and if spelled wrong, in consequence, give a absolute altered gist of what I had intended; this I call a instant of harm control. If my rhyme is flat, and my inflection is off, so what, I can survive, as long as the gist of my words are not; and are as I meant them to be. Even punctuation can be off, and not do too much damage, but not so with my denotation of words, when they are off; or, is not as I deliberate them to be. I am not a professor, or perfectionist in/of English, nor need to be, a minor in text is it and will do, but here is the base of the iceberg in poetry-the gist of words. Write what you mean in words, and mean what the words say in journalism poetry; or so I must bear in mind for myself; or at least now and then hark back myself; prompt for my part that poetry is the main point or form in/of writing. Yet, every so often I must give up a bit to get something, but never the consequence of a word. Well, that is how I feel anyhow. Why? it is hurtful not only to me, but to the reader.
A poem on Vietnam called:
"Corporal Siluk and the Rocket-belt"
"It's a 'ell of a night
When, out of the clear
"Got to grab our rifles again,"
Dennis Siluk's new book, "Spell of the Andes," presently on http://www. amazon. com; he lives in St. Paul, Minnesota, and Lima, Peru. He is running on two more books, and a number of short stories.
Caught in the Arms of ED
YOU MIGHT THINK I AM STRONGI THINK YOU GOT IT WRONGI LIVE LIFE DAY TO DAYHOPING IT WILL GO MY WAYI HAVE MY Links AND MY FOOD PLANMY Analyst AND MY THOUGHTSMY Application AND MY EXCITEMENTTHEN A touch HAPPENS AND I GET CAUGHTCAUGHT IN THE ARMS OF EDTURNING MY EYES AWAYFROM MY FOCUS TO WIN THE FIGHTTHAT I Attention WAS GOING TO STAY.HE TELLS ME THAT I AM SELFISHTHAT I Ought to DOUBT MY EVERY MOVEONE Close I AM HAPPYDO I HAVE A RIGHT TO FEEL THIS GOOD?DOUBTING MY Dilution AND CONFIDENCEAS ED Continually KNEW I WOULDI AM Behind INCHES About MY WAISTAND MY PANTS ARE Declining OFFI SEE THE FACE OF ED IN MY HEADAS HE BEGINS TO LAUGH AND SCOFFYOU THINK YOU ARE GOING STRONGYOU THINK YOU GOT ME BEATLET ME SEE YOU LOSE EVEN MOREYOU WILL SEE THAT YOU WERE WRONG.
Three Poems and Paradise Lost [One for Hell, One for Heaven one for an Inca King]
The Fast-moving water of HellHell's furnace- Likened to a chimney Vomits her torrents Of flames- Into the air Through earths crust And the earth's trembles-!Agitated, she projects A thick curtain of smoke To heat the feet of those Who provoke her every wish. Like molten iron She waits for the soul(the moment) Then molds, into her enclosure Human serpents? Out of savage flesh!No storm, no struggle No eruption, no typhoon, Just a terrible phenomenon, Hell is accomplished of producing; And upon death, Back into the Abyss They melt!.
The Game of Life
When your life becomes unbearable And the light of agreement ceases to glow, When all your dreams and aspirations Lie quiescent on ambition's death row.When you feel that all is hopeless, Life troubles just seem to abound.
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, conceivably 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, chief 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.
Poetry "Reborn" Emerges In Crime novel Mystery Novel
Since Mohamed Ali-then Cassius Clay-announced that he had in black and white "The world's straight poem," I have known that I would be a poet. "ME? WHEE!" His celebratory decree evoking shivers inside my awkward teenaged identity, for I reasoned in rhyme.
Three Sweet Poems, and Two Not So Sweet [now in: SPANISH and English]
1) End PoemWherever you are today- Is where you were meant to be; It's where God, dotted the 'i' and the 't'?!2) God's AngelsGod asked his angels: "Why do you look so sad?" Responded one angel: "Sir, we can't find the shade."3) An Empty SpaceOut of wisdom one will wait, travel far for love; the thirst will not kill them.
How I astonishment what he's doing as I sit alone at night. How I awe who he's seeing How I awe if I'm right.
Passion and Poetry, and Life
Ironically, the passion that can counteract the disgust for difficulties depends on the endeavor to overcome these difficulties. The irony resides in the circularity of this assumption - which applies to all areas of activity, together with poetry: One must make the crack to overcome difficulties to attain hit and feel capable, and one needs this achievement and air to have a passion for creation this effort.
For My Mother
I cannot bear to think of when you will be gone.I do not understand how I will get along.
Three Poems: Dona Leonors Revenge; The Old Moon; Communal Sides [All in Spanish/all in English]
1) Doņa Leonor's Revenge [1627 AD]Rafael Ortiz's fate Was on the plate Of Doņa Leonor'sWhen she arrived In Lima, Peru; To taste revengeFor the beheading Of her husband. And so the plot?was now played out (in an alleyway) As she devastated her trout!In SpanishTranslated by Nancy PenalozaLa leyenda de: La venganza de doņa Leonor (1627 después de cristo)El destino de Rafael Ortiz Estaba sobre el plato De doņa Leonor.
Take some time to stop and look at nature. Pick up a rock or two and think about where it might have on track out and what it might have gone all through to end up where you found it.
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 charmed by the beauty of the biological world, commonly portraying its cruel and savage humor in his work as a evidence of his own not public anguish and magical beliefs - converted that avant-garde man had lost touch with the primal side of his nature.
Two Poems and an Examination ['Witness,' & 'An Old Love']
Two Poems and an Chemical analysis ['Witness,' & 'An Old Love']WitnessMy face belongs to whoever sees it Everything has a gist but life Even the bugs strive for existence God saved man, from God Ghosts have lonely sins Her bones are stones Up and down the hill Gardens blossom Spotless skies Dramatists August I can not rest!..
Four Poems: Two for the Devil, Two for Peru
Here is some witty poetry (not sure if that is the appropriate 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 industry 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.
Azra, Azra, Wake up Azra. Wake up Azra, It is time to go.
Write Your Way to Fame
Have you ever attention about how nice it would be to see your poem discussed in the New York Times? Think you have what it takes to befit a famed poet? Well the fateful truth is that no one has what it takes to be a famed poet. Here's a diminutive exercise: Name the most celebrated contemporary poet you can think of.
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.
Ole Bulky Jeeps & Paper, Ink and Rain [two Peoms]
Ole Bulky JeepsThrough late summer's heat These bulky shaped jeeps Ride by house and farm City and barn-Hungry for Spring-again, in suspense to avoid The Slipping and sliding Of winter's ice and wind?[s]Their big legs are dirty From heartrending dust and rain (Here and there, everywhere) Through all kinds of terrain Like emotive clouds caught In the plants of the woods? They never slow down a ting They have a duty, and give.It's part of how they live- In military-, bulky ole jeeps!.
Footprints to Mantaro Valley (a poem in Spanish and English)
Footprints to Mantaro Valley (English version)In what flee art hid?-Where declining 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, delightfully low. I do but know thy by a glanceAs the clouds above me know? .
Beautiful Dreamer, Stephen Foster, Americas First Folk Song Writer
"Beautiful Dreamer" was in print by Stephen Care for just ahead of his death in 1864 at age 37. The song became one of his most illustrious and most popular.
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